Dying is Not An Option /Installment -9-
My Mom had both her knees replaced in her late seventies. She’s in her early eighties now, and walks tall and proud with her new knees. She’s very happy she had them replaced. She had them individually replaced ten weeks apart. She has relayed to me many times that she is so happy to be living without the awful arthritic pain in her knees. (First of the many reality checkups for me in considering having my knee done! My Mom did it! If she could do it at her age, I certainly could too!) Replacing one knee should be a piece of cake right? Wrong! The second reality check I would discover many weeks later. It’s much easier hearing and reading about having knee replacements than actually having one done.
I met with the orthopedic surgeon (OS) at the Mayo in February. I had x-rays of my knees taken an hour or so before my appointment. The OS is a delightful, no-nonsense type of guy with a huge funnybone that he tries to hide, but it pokes its little amused head out now and then. He informed me that my right knee was much worse than the left. No black areas in between the bone joints, just bone moving on splintered bone. Both knees were bad, but I could find a huge relief by having the one knee done. What did I want to do about it? I informed him about my CLL (leukemia), just in case he didn’t know, and he immediately called Doctor R, my oncologist. Told him he had me in the office, and I had relayed I had CLL, and wanted to have a knee replacement. They talked. I listened. He hung up the phone, turned to me and said, “Doctor R. thinks you need to have the knee replacement surgery to be more productive with your life. I agree. When do you want the surgery?” Just like that! “OK,” I said, “schedule me an appointment for the surgery, and I’ll show up.” Damn, I was going to have my knee replaced and it appeared as if I would be able to heal from the surgery just fine. My window was still open to heal. One for my side . . . stupid leukemia!
The Mayo machine moves with quiet precision. Within days of meeting with the orthopedic surgeon, I had a pre-op appointment scheduled for the knee surgery. The actual knee replacement would follow a week later. Danny had taken a week off from work for the surgery, with another week promised if I needed him to be home. I was set for the replacement.
I checked into the Mayo hospital on Friday at 7:30 AM, April 20th. Earlier that morning, half asleep, I had brushed my teeth without using a lot of water, and gunk was still sticking to my teeth. I automatically reached for a small piece of sugarless gum we keep in the car’s storage compartment, and was chewing it all the way down to Mayo. When I entered the hospital’s surgical floor, the nurse looked at me and stated, “You’re chewing gum.” I turned red from embarrassment (like a school girl caught cheating or something) and immediately felt guilty, swallowing the gum!
You swallowed it she said, coldly and sarcastically, admonishing me with her face and eyes. “So?” I said (still dumb to the whole point), “I always swallow my gum.” (Dumb comeback!)
“I’ll need to report this to the anesthesiologist,” she retorted smugly.
Ah, shit, my early morning brain kicked in. Did it say something on my pre-op instruction sheet about not chewing gum before surgery? I couldn’t recall. Crap-o-la!
I was led almost immediately after my chewing gum admonishment to the pre-op rooms, where it seemed hundreds of people were scurrying around, getting surgical patients ready for their operations. My assigned nurse told me she wouldn’t be putting in my drip until I saw the anesthesiologist. “What’s this all about?” I asked.
“Chewing gum activates the stomach juices,” she relayed. Not a good thing. “Didn’t you read your instructions?”
Apparently not, I thought sardonically. Missed that little tidbit of information on the thirty or so pages.
“One little piece of gum,” I gasped, “and this whole gig is over?”
“Yup, if that’s what he decides,” she informed me.
What a blow to the ego. Here I was set for knee replacement surgery, and a piece of gum was standing in my way. Man oh man!
The very competent nurses and assistants completed all the pre-op stuff in a timely and brisk manner, (including removing the polish on my right toenails.) Everything was completed, except, the damned arm drip for the actual scheduled operation. My anxiety level was climbing by the second. Then, I did what I do sooo very well. I calmed myself down and decided to hell with it. If they held off on the surgery because of one piece of gum, I was done with the knee replacement idea. I would fight for the surgery to be done then and there. I was ready. If they decided not to do the surgery, I was done with the idea. I wasn’t that damned understanding and strong.
The anesthesiologist and his assistant appeared from out of nowhere. Let the games begin! He glared down at me with disdain in his face, and said rather crudely, “Did you not read your pre-op instructions?”
“I didn’t remember gum being on the list,” I answered, “and I’m truly sorry. I really didn’t think about gum being a no-no, and I didn’t chew it to piss anyone off.”
“Well,” he stated, I’m postponing your surgery.
“And I,” I spat out, “am out of here, never to return again for the knee surgery in this lifetime. That’s the bottom line Doc. Do the surgery and take the risk, or don’t! Personally,” I choked out, “I don’t think I have the balls to come back here again and prepare my mind to deal with the potential aftereffects of this operation. I have leukemia and a very small opportunity to have the surgery. I want to be more productive in the years I have left to me, but I don’t want to take any crap from anyone either.”
I took a deep breath of air and waited.
“OK,” he said calmly. “Let’s do it then.”
He was right of course, and I was definitely wrong. But, I knew I would never have returned, taking the chewing of gum (without thought) as a sign to step back and rethink the operation. (Me and my signs.)
The surgery went very well, or so I was told. I was drunk out of my mind when I awoke for the first time. I was very verbal about loving everyone, much to my husband’s chagrin and the recovery room staffs’ amusement. The second time I woke up, the pain was intense. My first thoughts were about my Mom’s knee replacements, ten weeks apart. Man-oh-man, she is my hero, I thought. That took courage for her to do that. She forgot to tell me it hurts like hell though.
More Later . . .