Day Surgery - Post #14

I've heard that an Achilles tendon, once severed or pulled, or in this case disconnected, is never the same again. Given the difference between the size of my right and left calf muscles, I am expecting to be undergoing a lot of exercise of my left leg if I am ever to build the muscle up to what it once was. Voluntarily offering up to possibly disconnect makes absolutely no sense to me. But what do I know? I fell off a ladder!

I am convinced by a very convincing doctor that the form must be signed in order to proceed. And he assures me, the likely hood of him proceeding with said procedure is less than twenty percent. Not the best odds, but certainly not the worst. I sign 'em up.

Day surgery. In an out in a matter of hours. I arrive the day of, and, after the prerequisite forms in triplicate and the installation of my new wrist bracelet, I am shuffled off to the telephone booth to dawn the ever famous Dignity Gown. Faded blue. Why they require my butt to be hanging out for all to see in order to get my ankle repaired is beyond me but that seems to be the case regardless of your ailment. I think somebody, somewhere decided that everyones ass need be exposed in order for doctors to optimally function.

I am sitting on the proverbial Group W Bench in the waiting room with me arse stuck to the cold vinyl when the first nurse arrives on the scene. She starts firing questions and jotting down notes on the clip board, one of which kinda grabs my attention from all the rest. "So I understand we are here for surgery on the right calcaneus"? There's that 'we' again. My response, "when you say the 'right' do you really mean 'the correct' or do you mean the 'not left'? Cause I can assure you, the ankle in question is definitely the left". "Oh" says she. "The computer report indicates the right ankle. I'll get that up dated right away". "Yes, please do", says I.

Twenty minutes of uncomfortable shifting of stuck bum on sticky bench when in comes Nurse Two. "Good morning Mr. Dufus. I understand we will be having surgery on the right ankle today. I'll need some blood before we get started". "Uhhhhhhh, I just spoke to a nurse about twenty minutes ago about that right ankle thing. The correct ankle is the left ankle. The left is the ankle that requires the doctors attention I assure you. Not the right ankle. The info in your computer is incorrect. She promised she'd fix that". "No worries" she says. "We'll get that updated right away. Right arm please".

Now I am sitting here without a cast on my left foot. The cast has been off for some time now. Even the swelling and the discoloration that identified the badly broken left from the not-so-badly-broken right has all but disappeared. I start thinking, how are they going to be absolutely and without a doubt sure, and get this right? I mean left. I mean correct. And that means do the left foot. I was told that I'm out cold and won't be around to tell them whats what. Clearly there is some serious confusion surrounding this rather basic issue. You hear disturbing stories coming out of hospitals about amputating the wrong leg etc, and I begin to wonder if this is possible or are they just playing out another standard gag to kinda wind up the already somewhat agitated patient.