Lumpectomy Hijinks

Posted: August 25th, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | 1 Comment »

“Lumpectomy Hijinks”

ACT ONE – “Getting Started”
    My prep-nurse in my personal initial pre-op waiting room was, well, a bit of a dits, nice, but a dits. She kept repeating, “I’m going to be asking you a lot of questions,” then she’d pause, get lost somewhere inside her head and repeat, “I’m going to be asking you a lot of questions.”
    After her having raced out of the room and repeating this scene several times my dad and I exchanged that family look of “totally up to no good” mischief. He and I got to talking about a specific comedy skit that Tim Conway did years back on the “Carol Burnett Show.” Tim played an old man reeking utter havoc on his hospital room after having surgery. I could only find the small outtake with him in the wheelchair portion of that skit to post today.
    Another one of the comedic shtick bits in that skit was of the old man hanging on, and sliding back and forth on, the hospital curtain room divider. So, every time after the well meaning nurse would repeat her line, ask no questions and then exit the room, my dad and I would pantomime hanging off of and sliding around on the room’s privacy curtain.
    Finally, I was wheeled off to the wire-loc phase of my day. This is where they look digital x-rays of my breast to locate EXACTLY where to insert a thin wire into my breast for my breast surgeon to know where to cut more breast tissue out for a larger biopsy sample.
    The small room was brand spanking new. Everything in there was new, right down to the combination locks on the cabinets where the techs needed stuff to perform my wire-loc correctly. Yup, you got it, the dang locks wouldn’t open for nothing! The friendly team of techs worked around that glitch though and we got down to business. My boob got smooshed, numbed up and stuck with a thin guitar like wire.
    I thanked the Radiologist for my Lady Gaga look. Then the sweetheart xray tech handed me a marker and said, “You get to write whatever you want on your breast, so surgery knows exactly which breast they’re to operate on.” I looked at her, “Like the freak’n wire stick’n outta me isn’t a big enough ‘hello?’ for ‘um?” She laughed and I proceeded to draw the little smiley face that I always make on Facebook.   =;>
    They were about to tape a Dixie plastic cup over the wire, I asked for the pen. I wrote “1 oz Rhum, 1 oz fresh lime juice, 4 oz Canada Dry Ginger Ale.” I handed them back the cup and said, “Well? What the hell? And, you guys need a better class of cups for cripes sakes. Dixie cups?”

ACT TWO — “Nordic Stock”
    With the now drink recipe Dixie cup taped in place and after getting wheeled back to my little private pre-op waiting room to hang out in until going to the OR, I decided to do an extremely deep relaxation meditation. A countdown from 10 to 1, each number down bringing me yet even deeper into a state of total and complete relaxation. I was all the way to number three, my body was nearly feeling Valium relaxed. I heard a bass male voice begin to introduce themselves.

(Picture is of my Honey & Angel a couple of years ago)
    As I started to open my eyes I could feel I had made myself feel pretty dang self-induced buzzed. The male’s voice was still prattling on. My eyes opened to see a man with a chest and biceps at least 2-1/2 to three times larger than my Honey’s. You need to understand, I squeal with delight when I can’t span my two hands around one of my Honey’s biceps because they’re so big. I love laying my head on his broad chest. 
    In my self-induced buzzedness I was in awe! We’re talking NFL defensive Nordic stock standing in front of my self-induced buzzed brain here. I held up a hand, while still gawking at this Nordic expanse of a chest and asked him to please repeat who he was and what he did. He rattled off some impressive and complicated nursing title.
    In hindsight, I do believe he took my next question as an insult, it wasn’t meant to be. “You do what?” He defensively proceeded to rattle off what his credentials were and where he got them. Buzzed me finally started to realize that I had indeed insulted him. Still staring at his chest, I interjected, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to question the validity of your credentials or position. It’s just that I’ve just never heard of your title before, I was trying to understand exactly WHAT you will be doing on my boob team today.”
   He took a step back, saw I was smiling, looked deeply perplexed and told me in layman terms what he did. He was the Anethstesiologist’s big-wig titled nurse. I laid my head back, looked up at him and just got out a, “Wow! Impressive, never even knew that position existed.”
    He walked ahead of me as I was being wheeled down into the OR. I tried getting him to laugh, no go, zip-o-lah. The Anethstesiologist and some of the other OR staff had already met me earlier with Dr W. They quickly figured out I was a smartass. I had told the Anethstesiologist in a Spanish accent, “I don’t wanna know noooothing! I don’t wanna hear your voice, noooooothing! Knock my ass out!” … Well, the Nordic stature nurse must not have been present for my prior comedy act that morning.
    Friendly greetings where re-exchanged as they helped me get up onto the OR table. Nordic nurse was standing behind me, I turned my head to him, “Hey, what is your chest measurement?” He annoyingly mumbled, “I don’t know.” I looked at the Anethstesiologist and said, “I’ve been trying to get him to laugh, he won’t.” Somebody else in the room said, “We’ve been trying for ages.”
    As the other nurses were adjusting my body position and such, I turned my head around one more time, “Bicep numbers? At least?” I could see a twinkle in the Anethstesiologist’s eyes. I tilted my head back one more time and told him, “Look, I write blues lyrics and one of the songs I’ve written is titled, “Climbable Man” — you’re climbable.” A burst of laughter was the last thing I heard before being knocked out.

ACT THREE — “High Entertainment”
     When I finally came to, after surgery, I was higher than a kite tied to a rock on top of Mount Kilimanjaro. In fact, I don’t ever remember being that high EVER in my whole life — legally or illegally.

    Medical staff was buzzing all around me, asking me all kinds of questions — all of which were answered with a stoned out laugh. I think they finally gave up for a little while.
    Then a nurse offered me some choices of things that I could sip and nibble on. I chose Canada Dry Ginger Ale and some saltine crackers … here comes the “high entertainment” bit.
     After painstakingly taking my stoned out higher than a kite time to open up the first of the two packets of saltine crackers, which (no lie) look nearly 5 minutes worth of time to accomplish — I carefully, ever so carefully got the two crackers into my mouth with zero crumbs. I was quite proud of myself.
    The nurse that had given me the soda and crackers happened take a look in on me just as I was about to take a sip of soda. What I hadn’t realized was that my body had built up quite a bit of static electricity. As I brought the can of soda to my mouth the crumb filled soda cracker wrapper stuck to the soda can and my hand like a magnet — yup, crumbs all over the front of me.
    Crumbs everywhere, I’m trying with all my might to shake the cracker wrapper off of my hand and it’s not budging! The nurse and I both burst out laughing, I said, “Now THAT is what you call ‘high entertainment,’ huh?” She nodded in agreement, asked me if I’d be okay. I told her, “Oh yeah, I’ve got at least a good 10-15 minutes more worth of ‘high entertainment’ left with the second packet of crackers.”
    I told her, “Good thing I forgot my camera. There are quite a few of my friends who would pay you good money for pics of me right now.” She put her hands on her hips, “Dang, and I could really use some extra money too.”
    Well, I was right … between my stumbling finger dexterity and high electromagnetic status — I kept myself highly amused for a quite a while. My dad said I looked like a mad owl. Guess my hair was sticking out every which way.
    I hope I didn’t confess to any of my unconfessed childhood or teenage antics to my dad on my ride home, because I don’t have any memory of the ride at all, not one.

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One Comment on “Lumpectomy Hijinks”

  1. 1 Anonymous said at 4:49 am on August 26th, 2010:

    Hang in there!