Friday, July 21, 2006
I GOT A SCREW LOOSE!
'
After being roused at a rude six in the morning I put some clothes on and was met by the Kiwi patient transport driver Dion.
A lovely part Maori chap with a fantastic sense of humour, with whom I get along with really well.
It was a very fresh morning as even in the underground car park it was BLOODY COLD!
Riding in the back of the transporter with the differential whining away like Johnny Howard, I watched with interest as the city started to stir in the first hints of twilight.
It reminded me of those early morning starts in Tassie on the way to a rally.
We'd be half asleep, cold and driving to some cold bush destination in order to stand around in the cold and perform servicing or official duties.
It also reminded me of some of the motorsickle trips where we'd once again be up at sparrow's fart in the cold, in order to get somewhere far away at a reasonable hour ( like the 900km Broken Hill trip for example ).
After being admitted, I promptly reverted back to my slumber.
With the inevitable occasional stirrings, I would steal a glimpse of the ever brightening outside scene.
The half lit hospital smoke stacks and chimneys were kicking into life and spewing forth great plumes of steam and smoke, which danced around like spectres in their dying throes before finally dissolving into the atmosphere.
Eventually the pre operation procedure, now as familiar as any daily ritual, began to take up my attention.
After the usual barrage of questions like: your own teeth? any allergies? any metal in your body? smoker? diabetes? I was left alone to contemplate this upcoming surgery and what it means to my recovery.
This seemingly minor and uncomplicated operation means a lot as it suddenly accelerates my recovery.
This in turn will bring me closer to terminating my existence as part of the furniture in this rehabilitation centre.
It is a bit like jail sometimes, but without the unpleasant showering incidents or brutalisation by inmates and non inmates.
Although I have heard of cell mates having quarrels.
One was tapped around the head with a crutch for his incessant failure to cease his mind numbing monologues.
It appeared that this particular human piniata possessed a defect, which crippled his ability to stop his jaw from performing a continuously reciprocating movement.
Patients do greet each other with a "What are you in for?" and there is a certain unspoken respect, usually displayed by a certain knowing look and slow nod, for the ones who have been here longer or incurred more extensive and debilitating injuries.
There are also the ones who are in for minor offences like the aged ones with hip replacements.
Oh I do digress.
I was told to disrobe and replace my fine convalescent attire with a hospital issue arseless gown.
Then I was wheeled by a young orderly ( orderly of the first stage ) to the theatre area.
My old surgeon Dr. Doig, met me there and had a bit of a poke around my knee to find the offending screw end.
Once he located it with the subtlety and delicacy of a rugby forward, he once again asked:
"Which football team do you barrack for?"
To which I replied:
"Ahh.......which football team do you barrack for?"
"You're learning." came the reply.
My anaesthetist turned out to be a good one and managed to insert the IV line with a minimum of fuss or pain.
I praised him for this and commented on his obviously being very good at his job.
"Oh it's a bit of luck as well. Like yesterday eh ( whatever the nurses name was )?" he said.
"What, you mean the patient survived?" I asked cheekily.
About then the injection of liquid goodness came on.
I was expecting the inevitable drop out of consciousness, but it didn't come.
The now familiar metallic taste didn't penetrate my mouth and nose.
Confused, I had to ask:
"What was that stuff mate?"
"( Sister ) Morphine." replied the anaesthetist.
That would explain why I was still with it.
Not long after that I got the oxygen mask with the special gas and next thing, no more screw in knee!!
I think I must have woken up too early.
My eyelids peeled apart and I was staring at the ceiling in the recovery room.
I suddenly realised there was something in my mouth.
"Oh, hang on a second mate."
The nurse put down his paperwork, leant over me and pulled out this bloody huge pipe out of my throat.
And this thing just seemed to keep coming and coming.
I remember thinking, this is what all those porn stars must feel like.
I think they planned on removing this ventilation pipe before I woke up.
Anyway, after all is said and done, a good day though.
.
After being roused at a rude six in the morning I put some clothes on and was met by the Kiwi patient transport driver Dion.
A lovely part Maori chap with a fantastic sense of humour, with whom I get along with really well.
It was a very fresh morning as even in the underground car park it was BLOODY COLD!
Riding in the back of the transporter with the differential whining away like Johnny Howard, I watched with interest as the city started to stir in the first hints of twilight.
It reminded me of those early morning starts in Tassie on the way to a rally.
We'd be half asleep, cold and driving to some cold bush destination in order to stand around in the cold and perform servicing or official duties.
It also reminded me of some of the motorsickle trips where we'd once again be up at sparrow's fart in the cold, in order to get somewhere far away at a reasonable hour ( like the 900km Broken Hill trip for example ).
After being admitted, I promptly reverted back to my slumber.
With the inevitable occasional stirrings, I would steal a glimpse of the ever brightening outside scene.
The half lit hospital smoke stacks and chimneys were kicking into life and spewing forth great plumes of steam and smoke, which danced around like spectres in their dying throes before finally dissolving into the atmosphere.
Eventually the pre operation procedure, now as familiar as any daily ritual, began to take up my attention.
After the usual barrage of questions like: your own teeth? any allergies? any metal in your body? smoker? diabetes? I was left alone to contemplate this upcoming surgery and what it means to my recovery.
This seemingly minor and uncomplicated operation means a lot as it suddenly accelerates my recovery.
This in turn will bring me closer to terminating my existence as part of the furniture in this rehabilitation centre.
It is a bit like jail sometimes, but without the unpleasant showering incidents or brutalisation by inmates and non inmates.
Although I have heard of cell mates having quarrels.
One was tapped around the head with a crutch for his incessant failure to cease his mind numbing monologues.
It appeared that this particular human piniata possessed a defect, which crippled his ability to stop his jaw from performing a continuously reciprocating movement.
Patients do greet each other with a "What are you in for?" and there is a certain unspoken respect, usually displayed by a certain knowing look and slow nod, for the ones who have been here longer or incurred more extensive and debilitating injuries.
There are also the ones who are in for minor offences like the aged ones with hip replacements.
Oh I do digress.
I was told to disrobe and replace my fine convalescent attire with a hospital issue arseless gown.
Then I was wheeled by a young orderly ( orderly of the first stage ) to the theatre area.
My old surgeon Dr. Doig, met me there and had a bit of a poke around my knee to find the offending screw end.
Once he located it with the subtlety and delicacy of a rugby forward, he once again asked:
"Which football team do you barrack for?"
To which I replied:
"Ahh.......which football team do you barrack for?"
"You're learning." came the reply.
My anaesthetist turned out to be a good one and managed to insert the IV line with a minimum of fuss or pain.
I praised him for this and commented on his obviously being very good at his job.
"Oh it's a bit of luck as well. Like yesterday eh ( whatever the nurses name was )?" he said.
"What, you mean the patient survived?" I asked cheekily.
About then the injection of liquid goodness came on.
I was expecting the inevitable drop out of consciousness, but it didn't come.
The now familiar metallic taste didn't penetrate my mouth and nose.
Confused, I had to ask:
"What was that stuff mate?"
"( Sister ) Morphine." replied the anaesthetist.
That would explain why I was still with it.
Not long after that I got the oxygen mask with the special gas and next thing, no more screw in knee!!
I think I must have woken up too early.
My eyelids peeled apart and I was staring at the ceiling in the recovery room.
I suddenly realised there was something in my mouth.
"Oh, hang on a second mate."
The nurse put down his paperwork, leant over me and pulled out this bloody huge pipe out of my throat.
And this thing just seemed to keep coming and coming.
I remember thinking, this is what all those porn stars must feel like.
I think they planned on removing this ventilation pipe before I woke up.
Anyway, after all is said and done, a good day though.
.
