I called work early and told them what was happening. I remained in a dilaudid haze throughout the day since my injections were all that kept me from killing myself. I still had hopes for passing the stone before surgery, which was scheduled for early afternoon, and kept drinking and peeing constantly. When the transport person came force me into hospital garb (I was wearing my t-shirt and shorts under the gown they’d given me in the emergency room) and wheel me to the operating room, I tried peeing one more time to pass the stone – without success. Damn.
Once in the operating waiting room, I was asked for the seventh time (I was literally keeping a count) whether I was allergic to any medication, and many other questions including if I had metal in my legs or not. The nurse that was asking these questions was on the left side of my bed. The anesthesiologist on the right side was waiting for her to finish so she could speak.
“Are you allergic to any medications?” she began.
I was in pain because the dilaudid had long since worn off. I was irritated and it showed. I looked at her and then back to the one who had just asked the same question.
“Are you serious?”
She was, she said and so I told her I wasn’t. The first nurse walked away, but when she returned, she began to question me again.
“Do you have any metal in your legs?”
“Look – I’m really in a lot of pain. You need to write my answers down somewhere so you don’t forget. You asked me five minutes ago if I had metal in my legs. Don’t you think you’d have seen me slip out of here to insert a rod of some kind into my leg in that time? No. I DON’T HAVE ANY METAL IN MY LEGS!”
She wasn’t too happy with me and she probably controlled my pain medication. It was a bad move, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. At some point, the anesthesiologist slipped me a mickey and the next thing I remember was being in the recovery room with a new nurse.
“So…are you allergic to any medications?”
No comments:
Post a Comment