Post-Operative Pain: Part 4-The Final Installment

When we last left our heroine, she was bravely facing surgery...inspiring those around her with her calm, unflinching resolve and quietly harmonious nature. "Lauren, dear," our patient said sweetly, "Could we take a brief detour before proceeding to the operating room?" The surgical nurse granted this request, helping Amy to get to the restroom and exiting to afford her a bit of dignified privacy.

Ok...no windows. Who cares if we're on the second floor and I'm tethered to an IV line? I can shimmy down a drain-pipe with the best of them. I quickly scanned the ceiling for a convenient sliding panel where I could slowly scoot myself along a drop-ceiling pathway. Nope. I was going to have to knock out my surgical nurse, Lauren, and make a run for it. Blast the luck. They used this room as an alternative stock room but the heaviest item in my arsenal were paper towels and toilet paper. My time was up and Lauren was back to guide me firmly back to my chair.

A long-time student of Grey's Anatomy, the operating room came as quite a shock. Where was the viewing gallery where the hospital interns hang out in their spare time. Or, old school, the gallery where Kramer and Jerry watched a surgical procedure while snacking on "Junior Mints" until one of the tiny mint candies gets away from them in a big way and gave new meaning to the word "cavity." My imagined operating room was more narrow than the patronage aisle of "Carlo's Bakery" (which appears MUCH bigger on TV).

I believe that, as my thoughts weren't very far from Jesus at this time, I was inspired to make a biblical connection as my arms were laid out, crucifixion-style and strapped down which didn't freak me out, AT ALL. Dignity and self-respect immediately exited the room and I wept silently. Lauren materialized at my side, apparently forgetting that I had rudely dismissed her earlier offer to pray with me. As she quietly held my hand, I tried to gather my wits enough to ask if she gets paid by the hour because, if so, she should probably at least be wiggling power cords to make sure all the life-saving electrical gadgets were working properly but unfortunately I was crying too hard to form a coherent sentence. Also, I had a death grip on Lauren's hand that would have required the Jaws of Life for any hope of extraction.

Fast-forward to the following Sunday (skipping days of excruciating--for me, anyway...because I am a HUGE wimp--pain) where I tried shuffling frantically away from Lauren who was busy hurdling church pews to get to me. She hugged me and then shared with my family how brave I was. When my family was done laughing hysterically...this took awhile...Lauren then told me what a strong Christian witness I was. Well, that was a stumper. Seeing my confusion, Lauren asked what I remembered during the recovery time following the surgery. That would be a great, big, ol' fat nuthin'. Smiling, Lauren happily informed me that I spent the twenty minutes emerging from anesthesia reciting The Ten Commandments. And that's not all...oh no...not for Amy Mosiman. Not only did I recite The Ten Commandments; I recited The Ten Commandments BACKWARDS. I have to admit, I am oddly proud. If you'd asked me beforehand (thanks, by the way...for NOT asking me beforehand), I would have predicted that I would have been reciting an impressive list of other words not necessarily affiliated with the bible.

So...it's over. This experience has inspired me to never have surgery again. I am addressing my " Monkey Arm" condition holistically. Step One was, despite having had three holes punched in my stomach, re-arranging all the furniture in my classroom so that my right arm would rest comfortably while using the computer mouse. "Why didn't you just switch the mouse over to use it with your left hand instead," Brad asked. "What...so I can exacerbate the other arm," I responded defensively (because I don't know how to switch my computer mouse capabilities). Step Two is to pretend the pain doesn't exist and that everyone is awakened from a sound sleep every night, clutching their arm and crying. Someone who obviously doesn't know me very well (and, SHOCK!, obviously doesn't read my blog) suggested a doctor's visit. Please allow me to refer you to "Post-Operative Pain: Parts 1-4: The Mini-Series." Suggest it again and yes, I'll be happy to recite the reasons why you should keep your medical opinions to yourself.