Post Op – Day 5 – No Complaints Tonight!

I’ve done a quick re-reading of my last few posts, and have come to the conclusion that I’m complaining too much. So, in light of this revelation, I’ve decided to make this post 100% complaint-free!

During my hospital stay, I really liked having a nurse who:

1. Spoke very little English, and gave no signs that he comprehended one word I said during his nine hour shift.
2. Brought me blankets when I asked for pillows.
3. Brought me Kleenex when I asked for a straw.
4. Signed me up for the ‘unrestricted’ dinner of roast beef, green beans and mashed potatoes even though I was on a strict liquid diet.
5. Didn’t know how to adjust the bed length so I was, during the duration of my stay, curled up in essentially a toddler bed.
6. Did not wear a watch, and so had no clue to time and/or my medication cycle.
7. Ignored repeated requests for apple juice, but regularly brought what appeared to be random items left of food trays in the hallways – spare yogurts, a bowl of cereal, and even an open container of apple sauce without a utensil.
   

There – That felt so much better. All my negativity was really wearing on my soul! By now all of you know how I feel about bad service. It was refreshing to be treated so well by a professional hospital staff that miraculously knew what I wanted, and provided it with promptness and courtesy.

Post Op – Day 4 – I Hate Unpacking!

Ema dropped me off at my ENT’s office this morning at 8:40 AM. The appointment wasn’t until 9:00, and so I sat, hunched on the front steps, imagining the dramatic visual impact that my fetus-like stance would have on the office staff as they drove into their parking lot to start their day. “Oh that must be Tom, the one for which we’ve short-changed meds, short-sheeted beds, and failed to call his prescriptions in as promised. . .poor fellow.” Oh yes, I did say ‘short-sheeted beds,’ but that will be covered in the next post when I get into the details of my hospital stay.

But alas, all this pitiful exercise really yielded was a sore back and a cramp in the ball of my foot that is – several hours later – still nagging me. You see, by 9:10 AM there were nine of us standing in front of the office, including two, six-month-old twins with chronic ear aches, an elderly man with a hole in his cheek, and a polished-looking woman in a business suit. At this point not one member of the office staff had driven past. It was becoming obvious that the staff had a secret entrance, and about then that I put my ear to the door and heard giggling from inside. I glanced at the business woman who correctly read my cue and in one smooth motion, whipped her cell phone from her purse and pressed a single digit – the speed-dial number for the lobby of the office. I heard the phone ring, the giggling stop, and the ‘clack’ of the deadbolt as the door swung inward.

I didn’t see my ENT today. Those special meetings are granted only to those who have yet to secure a surgical contract. I saw the Physician’s assistant, Anne, today. I think they used to call these people nurses, but they may be medical students without any real credentials – I’m not sure. Anyway, for what I needed today, my three-year-old would have qualified. Today was the day I got the ‘packing’ taken out of my nostrils. I’m happy to say that my prediction in my previous post regarding the composition of the packing material was correct. It is indeed vintage newspapers! In my case, vintage obituaries, apparently belonging to some of my doctor’s previous patients. Eerie, yet fascinating reading!

The Obits were removed, and I was told to come back in five days to have the stints taken out. I didn’t bring up the point that five days from now is a Sunday. We had all been through too much by this point; and I needed to find a comfortable place to resume my recovery far beyond the sounds of the screaming twins, and the giggles coming from the reception desk.

Post Op – Day 3– Let the Irony Begin

Okay – Open wide as I provide you with your daily dose of irony as I take my daily dose of whatever this green stuff in the prescription bottle is: I get the UPPP surgery so that I will be able to breathe better at night, and I spend the last two nights gasping for breath – not getting one wink of shut-eye because my throat is too swollen! I’m certain that one day – hopefully soon, I’ll be able to read this and laugh. Sure isn’t happening now. . .

Tell ya what though – My kids sure are being cute. Sam keeps bringing me toys and books, handing them to me in a very charming way. Yesterday he brought me a box of Kraft Mac N’ Cheese, and said, “Here daddy feel better – mac n’ cheese.” I smiled so wide that my lip nearly cracked.

Here’s a quick reminder to get your “Things I hate/Things I love” submitted for our contest. The drawing is April 1^st, and the winner will be announced on episode 43. That’s it for now kids – gotta get horizontal again, finish watching the rest of ‘An Inconvenient Truth,’ and figure out how to liquefy yet another delicious meal.

Post Op – Day 2 – Misery Loves Company

First of all, hats off to Ema who went mono a mono with my ENT yesterday in a valiant attempt to get me some more potent meds. Loritab is essentially liquid Vicodin, the same medication prescribed to me for my wisdom teeth recovery two months ago. I’m sorry, but plucking a few little teeth and having my throat reamed out with a drain snake are hardly comparable and so neither should be the prescribed pain management! The doctor claimed that he doesn’t like prescribing any of the Oxy’s – Oxicodone’s for those in the know – because they are potentially addictive. In my mind, that makes about as much sense as car manufacturers advising against wearing those pesky seat belts because in the event of an accident your shoulder might get bruised. C’mon people, prescribe what I need, and let me take my own chances with the agony of withdrawal.

Alright – I promised myself that I wouldn’t build this post around one long rant, so I better make it a short one instead. My throat, by the way represents only half of my misery. My nostrils are packed with what feels like vintage newspapers and a few plastic ‘stints’ which, according to information I gleamed from my 45 second conversation with my doctor yesterday, are the only things supporting my nose at the moment. I fear sneezing out these stints and watching as my nose collapses against my face like a deflated punching bag.

More fun to come? You bet. My throat feels worse by the minute, so you can expect my next post to be even more uplifting! Keep the faith, my friends. I’ll be back to share more shortly.

UPPP Journal – 3 Hours Before Surgery

It’s 6:04 AM on the day of my surgery. I’m to report to Long Beach Memorial Medical Center at 8:30 AM for my UPPP (Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty) and Septoplasty. I considered getting only the UPPP done, as one mutilating, invasive surgery per day is usually my limit, but when they told me I could ‘super size’ the order to include the Septoplasty, well. . .I just couldn’t resist!

Yesterday I had to go to the hospital to do all the administrative paperwork, get some blood drawn, and a chest x-ray. The x-ray tech introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Mike, and I’ll be your x-ray technician,” and then asked “Do you know why you are getting a chest x-ray today?” This threw me for a loop. I mean, I assumed this type of info would be on that chart neatly tucked under his arm. But I decided to play along, “Well, I’m going in for throat surgery tomorrow, and I suppose during the procedure if the doctor sees anything deeper down my throat that needs attention, he could use the chest x-ray as a map.” Mike didn’t turn back toward me. He shut the door behind me and asked me to take off my shirt. Now ordinarily, when another man asks me to take off my shirt, it’s after a couple of drinks and maybe some playful eye-batting, but Mike was all business. A few seconds later and it was all over. . .the x-ray, that is. -Jeeeesh.

I was instructed to not eat or drink anything after midnight, and I realized immediately that the poor folks at the Taco Bell all-night drive-thru window may have to clock out and go home early. Phil and Claudette, if you’re reading this, I’ll be back as soon as I can, so keep the Chalupas hot! And that brings up another depressing thought. The lovely dinner that Ema made for me last night was my ‘last supper’ for at least two weeks. I suppose eating less will be a good thing, but eating far less is going to be a shock to my system. You see, my side dishes are bigger than most peoples’ main courses. It’s not unusual for me to have lasagna with a side of tostada grande.

Well, I better go and not drink or eat anything now. I’ll check in tomorrow with the first of several post-surgery updates. Thanks for your time, your patience, and your well-wishes. - Tom

I’m Afraid I Might Have Extreme Hypochondria

I watched a segment on ABC’s Good Morning America on Saturday about this newly-coined condition called Extreme Hypochondria where the sum of your imagined illnesses creates a depressed, and anxious mental state from which the only escape seems to be intensive psychotherapy. Well sign me up! The laundry list of imagined illnesses read off by the host didn’t come close to the number of unconfirmed conditions I’ve self-diagnosed in the past year. Heck – I’ve even had to make up some names for diseases that our esteemed medical community has yet to discover. Like Acute Inflamatory Clamatogenisis – The highly disruptive intestinal disorder caused by ingesting four liters of Clamato in one hour on a bet. And Redundant Hyper-Ocular Amelioration – The absent-minded insertion of a duplicate pair of contact lenses on top of the ones already in your eyes.

What makes all of this so scary is that I’d just as soon sweep the notion of Extreme Hypochondria under the rug, forget about it for now, and go on about my normal life. After all, I’m going into surgery this coming Friday! I certainly don’t need yet another health-related issue to keep me awake at night. However, I can’t help but think of the potential damage I could be doing by ignoring such a catastrophic disorder! Maybe I should forgo my UPPP and Septoplasty, and address this instead. Look, if Extreme Hypochondria is as damaging as I’m building it up to be, then I may want to seek treatment immediately, and risk suffering from Post-Operative Pathological Regret Syndrome - The inevitable realization that you’ve mistakenly chosen your least-serious disorder to treat. Actually, I’ve never suffered from that one. But now I'm worried I might.

Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty and Septoplasty Scheduled!

Folks if all goes as planned, I’ll be going under the laser-guided, serrated scalpel on Friday March 2^nd. Cards and flowers can be sent to me c/o Forest Lawn Memorial Park - Cypress California.

Now look – Ema tells me I have a tendency to catastrophize a bit, but you all know that she’s a delusional paranoid, so I guess both of us can’t be correct. While you’re digesting that, chomp on this - There's no way I'm going through this procedure without dragging every one of our fine listeners down with me, so one of us will be keeping y’all informed via this here Unblog.

So turn on, tune in, and drop out. . . it's what I'll be doing in just over three weeks. That, and contemplating the words of another brave American who faced tremendous odds with the courage of a thousand generals - Lance Armstrong: "Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.”