I scheduled surgery with the surgeon who diagnosed the hydrocele in the canal of nuck because he seemed so impressive in the E.R. Although I had reservations such as, the manball isn't painful, so why am I going in for purely aesthetic surgery, shouldn't I get a 2nd opinion, this is inconvenient, I'm not going to be able to run for a week or so, etc., I went ahead and went in for the surgery on July 24th. I should've listened to my intuition because from the get-go, nothing seemed to go smoothly.
They told me to check-in at 8:00, I arrived at 8:00, walked in the front doors of the surgery center and sat down at the check-in desk. The women at the desk was on the phone ordering fish tacos. Who orders fish tacos at 8:00 in the morning? Andrew was with me and we mumbled about how odd this was while she finished her phone call and then I filled out paperwork, handed it back to the woman and we had a seat in the waiting area. They called me back and off I went to remove my clothes and put on a fabulous paper gown, which is more like a paper robe now a days, I was weighed and shown to a bed. The woman brought me my medical bracelet which said, "ERICA BRITTNEY DUNN." How someone could mis-spell 2 out of 3 of my names can only be explained by the woman preoccupied with ordering fish tacos, who made my bracelet. They told me they would get me another bracelet, which they didn't. I'm not one to be finicky about my name. Growing up, if someone called me Desiree (my sister) instead of Brittany, I never got irritated. Call me Britt, B, Brittany or the like, and I'm fine with it. But spell my name like Brittney Spears, and I'm irritated. Anyone remotely familiar with geography knows that the proper way to spell Brittany is two t's, a-n-y. I can't help it, I'm an English major and since my mom's mom was straight from England, I'm a bit English to boot.
So, the surgeon comes in and we talk about what is going to happen. We get to the part about the anesthetic and I tell him that I'd rather not be knocked all the way out. He says its up to the anesthesiologist, so when he comes over, he says that its up to the surgeon. That should've been my a cue that something wasn't quite right. The right foot doesn't know what the left foot is doing? More like, it is up to ME, and I didn't take the cue. The anesthesiologist convinces me to let him knock me out (no doubt because its easier) and then explains what happens, "I'm going to first give you some medicine that will make you lose consciousness. Then I will insert a bladdy blah in your throat and then you'll get another medicine,"
I interrupted, "Wait - why are you just calling everything "medicine?" That's how I talk to my 3 1/2 year old." He just giggled and asked if I had any more material for him . . .
Why do they feel like they have to dumb everything down so much? When the surgeon was explaining what a hernia was, he said it's a bladdy blah in your stomach . . . and I said, "My stomach?" And he corrected himself and said, "well its really your small intestine, but I just say stomach." There's a big difference between my stomach and my small intestine. Like MILES of difference, to be exact. It is as if they think that I don't know I have something called "intestines" and anything called a name other than "medicine" is too complex for my simple-woman mind.
After heaving myself from one gerny to another and accidentally mooning the entire room, we had a brief discussion about not having country music playing in the operating room, they shot something burny into my arm and I was out. When I came to, I didn't have my glasses on, my entire "stomach" and pelvic region was numb. Someone had taken off my hair net, which I found odd. I'm lying in a strange place, numb from the waste down and my once hair-netted hair is not cascading down my paper gown? Maybe after surgery, the surgeon says, "All sewn up! Okay boys, time to let our hair down," and they all take off their hair nets, shake their locks out, and they dance me out of the operating room.
As I come to, I barely focused on the surgeon sitting at a desk, just across the hall from my bed. "How did it go?" I asked.
"Oh, fine," he answered, "it wasn't a hydrocele after all. It was a hernia."
"It was?!" I said. The first thing on my mind was - bummer, hernia, now my recovery will be 3 weeks instead of 1
He says nothing.
"How long did it take?" I asked (who knows why I asked this.)
"About 30 minutes," is what I heard. I'm not a professional surgeon, I've only dissected worms in middle school biology. I didn't sew it back up when I was finished but I'm pretty sure it took me longer than 30 minutes. Maybe he said an hour and 30 minutes? I HOPE it took longer than 30 minutes. Brownies cook in 30 minutes. Surgeries should take longer than 30 minutes.
I've seen a doctor or two in my day. I had a lumpectomy in my teens, major back surgery in my teens, wisdom teeth pulled, scar revision and a bad kidney infection. When you have a surgery, they follow up with you the next day or the same day to see how you're doing. I liked the surgeon personally, but professionally, he totally sucked. After my surgery a nurse lady told me not to lift anything, get these pain pills, take it easy, don't do a lot of stairs and my mom and I walked out, all the while, I'm still loopy from being knocked out. Since nobody de-briefed me or my mom directly after the surgery, I expected someone to call and give me the dirt. That day, nobody called. The following day was Friday, and nobody called. The swelling was three times the size of the original manball, and I was starting to get worried. After the numbing shots from surgery wore off, it was painful. Since pre-surgery, we talked about hydrocele surgery and recovery, not hernia surgery and recovery, I felt totally in the dark. I didn't know what to expect, how I should feel, when I should start feeling better and looking less like a dude.
On Monday, I phoned the surgeon's office. The office ladies were completely put out to speak with me and informed me in no uncertain terms that it was not their job to phone people post-surgery, that was the job of the surgical center. After a short, frustrating conversation with the medical assistant, I learned that he repaired the hernia with mesh and also that the biopsy that he did came back benign. "Biopsy?" In EVERY doctor's office I've ever dealt with, when lab work is performed, they call right away to relay the results. Not in this office! And the medical assistant is being completely unapologetic, so I can only assume that this is standard practice. I called back clearly stated that I felt there was a lack of care and communication and that I needed to speak with the doctor. They took a message and told me they would give him the message. 4:00 rolls around and no call, so I phone again. "He's in surgery all day, there's a note here so you'll probably hear from him tomorrow." Again, unapologetic, so all I could do was relay that I felt that the lack of care I was getting and lack of communication I had experienced was very frustrating. She made me an appointment for the next day.
I arrived at my appointment 15 minutes late, signed in and sat down. Upon entering the office, I wasn't greeted or acknowledged while signing in. I sat down and made note. While waiting, another woman waiting was called up to the window and handed back her I.D. card and insurance card. Then the receptionist said, "Your 15 minutes early for your appointment, so you have plenty of time to fill these out."
"I thought my appointment was at 1:30? I was told 1:30?" the woman said.
"Yes, well, now you have plenty of time to fill that paperwork out," answered the women behind the desk. The patient turned confusedly with her paperwork and sat down. I felt slightly validated. So it was not just that I slipped between the cracks, this is just standard practice at this practice/factory.
My phone rang and I answered. It was the doctor. "I'm sitting out in your waiting area."
"How long have you been waiting there?" he asked.
"Only about 2 minutes. I was late. I'm sorry. Do you still have time to see me" I answered.
"Yes, of course," he answered, "I'll have them send you right back."
So when the doctor entered the office, I was sitting in a chair and he sat across from me, then a gigantic woman came in and stood directly above and next to me. I guess this was his bad cop, in case things got nasty? I'm not sure, because she was never introduced. I can only assume that she was the medical assistant I spoke with the previous day.
I began to launch into what I had rehearsed about the lack of care and communication I had received and was interrupted, "Yeah - I'm sorry. I usually do talk to people post-op, but I was filling out some paperwork from the last patient when you came to, and then when I went to talk to you, you were gone." Was that an apology? Did I miss something? If it was an apology, it went right by me.
Nevertheless, he felt the manball and wanted to see me again next week, in which case, if the swelling hasn't gone down, he will "order another ultrasound." That sounds so majestic when he says it like that.
I left feeling no satisfaction and am still not sure if he really fixed the manball or not. Its still much bigger than the original. I made an appointment with another surgeon and the soonest I could get in is August 7th, so I guess I'll just wait and see. My cousin suggested I make an appointment with a plastic surgeon that did some work on her husband and I think I will do that, too. She said he is really anal, which I guess is something I want in a surgeon. Plus, if I'm going to have to go under the knife again and be numb from the waist down, maybe I can get a free or discounted butt-lift while they're down in that area. What the heck.
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