We Baby-Boomers have been through a number diagnoses and surgeries; not the least of which, have been major. This one was major. I’m pretty sure that most of my Baby-Boomer peers have been through this at least once or twice. However, I must put this down to see if any of them had similar experiences.

The days that led up to this surgery were crammed with several appointments for x-rays, blood labs, MRIs. CT scans, PET scans, and not to mention, arrangements for payment. These things accomplished there was nothing left but the pre-surgery exam by the anesthesiologist before the actual surgery.

So, moments before this major surgery, I was in a sort of stall, or for lack of a better description, an assembly line holding pen. Naked, with the exception of a print hospital gown and a poofy paper hat, designed to keep a patient’s hair covered for the surgery, and a pair of footies to keep the feet warm. According to previous hospital itemized statements, these items are very expensive.

There were patients on either side of me, and we were divided by mere curtains, giving the faintest illusion that there was privacy for the pre-surgery necessities and the meeting of our anesthesiologists. I heard conversations from both sides. On the left, the doctor asked someone, “How much do you weigh?” A woman’s voice answered, “Last night I weighed 250 lbs., but I’m sure I’ve lost some since then.” On the right a man asked a nurse for a bed pan to sit on, and something to ease the pain of his hemorrhoids. So much for pre-surgery privacy.

Nurses buzzed in and out, hooking me up to pre-surgery drugs, and offering pleasant conversation to put the patient at ease.

“Hi! I’m Nancy. I’ll be your nurse while you’re here in prep. Are you in any pain? Can you show me on this chart how bad your pain is?”

Okay…..Where is my clicker, so that I can click Nurse Nancy off?   Instead of hurting her feelings about her monologue, I say: “I don’t have pain, but I do have anxiety about having a tracheotomy and then being flipped over to have half a lung removed.” Nurse Nancy looks at me questioningly. “Can you show me on this chart just how bad your anxiety is?” Well, if this is just taking it to the Nth. She’s really taking it to the hilt trying to take care of me. “Yes, it’s number 3….the worst. What are you going to do about it?” Nurse Nancy smiled, and said….. “That’s coming right up! Here, we’ll just inject this into your drip, and open up this valve! There! Feel better?” Just then the anesthesiologist popped in. “Any questions for me?” He asked. “I don’t know. Who are you?” He sobered up his smiling routine enough to answer, “I’m the anesthesiologist!”   I said,  “Well in that case, I guess not."   I was gone!……….ZONK!!!!!!!

The next thing I remember, about an hour later, I was sitting up on a gurney, and a nurse was removing my hospital gown, and hooking me up to a lot of monitors. I looked around and saw that I must have been the star attraction in a surgery theater. There was a balcony, of sorts, and there had to have been about eight or ten doctors and nurses staring down at my nakedness. The anesthesiologist appeared and reintroduced himself. “In just a few seconds, you’ll be in ‘Happy Land’.” I Looked him straight in the eye and was armed and ready with a really smart-ass reply, which, for the moment, I had forgotten. He grinned and said, “Ready?” I said, “Well…if you must……uhhhhhh!” Dang! I really had a monumental statement to make, and all of it went away……. And that’s all I remember until about 7.5 hours later. I was again sitting on the gurney, naked.   Nurses and doctors were removing all the monitors from various parts of my body. I started helping. “Here! You missed one!” I heard one male voice say, “Hey! She’s supposed to be out!” A female voice countered, “She won’t remember a thing! Try to keep her from grabbing stuff.”

Well, in spite of the “Milk of Amnesia” that I had been given, I do remember a heck of a lot. There was much to follow that surgery, and I ‘m sure I’m not alone in that either. It just seems to go with the age; that age where your parts start to wear out like a beloved car you’ve had for so many years. You know you can’t really buy a new one, and so you just make the old faithful one work a little longer. She’s serviced me well, and they don’t make ‘em the way they used to. I'm going to keep her around for a lot longer!