Astoundingly, within 30 minutes of home, we saw two black bears! I say astoundingly, because these are the first bears we have seen since moving here last Thanksgiving. (All we needed was one more bear and a blonde and we would have had the grand slam.)
Evidently, the bears find the grass along the verge of the road easy pickings, but as Highway 4 is soooo narrow, and extremely windy and hilly along this stretch, it's a wonder they don't get hit. I was able to slow right down to a stop and use my iPhone to take this fellow's picture, but alas, the second bear we spotted was on a stretch that had nowhere to stop safely. As Edsel Murphy would have it, the second bear would have made a much better picture, surrounded by flowering lupin. Ah well.
We made it to Port by shortly after 9 AM and headed for the West Coast General Hospital, a small but great hospital with a wonderful atmosphere, replete with a waiting area with real trees.
One rarely enjoys going to a hospital, but I must report that our experience was terrific. The charming receptionist who logged me in at Admitting turned out to be the Mayor's wife, and her friendly and helpful demeanor set the atmosphere for the rest of the visit.
The Surgery RN, Lynne, was great in explaining what would transpire over the course of my visit, and kindly provided me with a distinctly non-couturier, yet oddly provocative ensemble (especially if your blanket should slip). This is an outfit that would make anyone feel comfortable shopping at Walmart. Next came a period of waiting, or to clarify, yet another of many periods of waiting. After all, this is a hospital, which, of course, is like a really big doctors office... waiting is all part of the experience. When I was called by Lynn, another gentleman complained he was here first, and I thought "Yeah, right... Do you really want to piss off the surgical team?" OK, I have to admit that I also thought, "Ha Ha, my hernia trumps your colonoscopy!", but had the good grace to do this silently.
Once suitably accoutered, and feeling drafts in places I typically don't, I was ushered to another waiting area, where I eventually met Cordula, another charming RN who had yet more questions and more explanations for me. She was followed by Dr Vanderputten, my Surgeon, who confirmed my name and what I was there for, and then, with a flourish, signed her autograph on my left upper leg in a dashing purple marker. (I presume it was her autograph, but, of course, no one really knows what any doctor has written.)
Next up was Dr Smit (I do hope this is the correct spelling), my Anesthesiologist, and we discussed my preference of having the surgery under a local rather a general anesthetic. She and the surgeon agreed to try this and monitor how I was tolerating it, and if needed, to then move to a general anesthetic should it become necessary. More waiting now ensued as the OR was made ready between patients, and soon I was summoned for the main act.
The OR RNs were again excellent people, and I got to meet Bill in person (he had phoned me the prior week to start the paperwork), and I was introduced to his fellow RN, Elan. I was laid out on the table, strapped down and prepped with a cunning set of pneumatic stockings that knead your legs to promote circulation, IV, blood pressure cuff and various other bits and bobs.
Next came the drugs. Take my word for it, this is the best part of the whole thing, and it makes you cringe to thinks that surgery was once done sans the wonderful world of pharmacology! As I stated, we were to go for a local, which also includes a good dose of 'Don't Care' via the IV, and the rest of it... I simply don't remember. (I learned afterward that I was still in too much discomfort with the local, and so Dr Smit moved to a general.)
The next thing I knew was that I was waking up in recovery, making the acquaintance of yet more stirling RNs, this time, Daniel and Marla. Recovery is basically 2 hours of first trying to remember WTF you're doing there, and then figuring out how to reconnect your gummy mind with your bruised body. Oh, and you get cranberry juice and cookies too. Once my 2 hours was up, the next step, before they let you leave, is to be able to walk to the bathroom and pee.
Well! Daniel helped me up and I discovered that they had most inconveniently killed my left leg. Although it looked like it was there, it was too numb to support me. Tricky situation, that. Similar to being profoundly frozen at the dentist's, but thankfully, no drooling.
Evidently, with so much good drugs saturating the site of the hernia - it started out to be a local, remember - it ended up doing a number (pun intended) of the entire upper leg. So guess what... more waiting, naturally. So I spent the next 40 minutes trying to flex the dead appendage and massaging the numb flesh back to some semblance of life. Luckily, I was able to cadge more of Marla's cranberry/ginger ale cocktail, and my later attempt proved good enough to execute a hobble to the washroom, and thence a wheelchair ride to the front gates.
Marcelle was waiting anxiously for me and after we loaded my poor old bod into the car, I demanded to be driven directly to MacDonalds as I'd had nothing to eat or drink since 8 PM the previous evening, and it was now past 4 PM! Then we were back on Highway 4 once again, headed back to Ukee. I'm writing this on the couch, with the benefit of a couple of Tylenol 3, and an icepack, part of me still numb, but damn glad to be home.
A really BIG shout out to the great people at West Coast General Hospital, thanks for making my experience a fondly memorable one. For those of you, Dear Readers, that are entertaining a hernia, or other surgery, I highly recommend this fine establishment!
Very funny and interesting. Only in Canada where you can see and take photos of bears on the way to a surgery. Where else in the world anybody can experience that.
ReplyDeleteI hope you feeling better now, Simon!