I have officially undergone my first real surgery. Last March I had an examination under anesthesia and a non-surgical procedure where a drain was temporarily put in, but it wasn't really a surgery. Today I had the full deal, complete with top notch painkillers and an unexpected shave.
The surgery in question was a procedure called a fistulotomy. Though some of you may think that 'Fistula' sounds like the name of a sexually deviant He-Man villain, it is in fact a medical condition. To use the Wikipedia summation, a fistula is "an abnormal connection or passageway between two epithelium-lined organs or vessels that normally do not connect." They can pop up in sinuses, your brain, lungs, blood vessels, and, yes, the anus. Whee!
So today my dad (generously on loan from the Judi Henry Foundation of Reno, NV) took me to the hospital where I got to surrender my clothes, put on booties and a shower cap, get IV'd and gassed and have my bum tinkered with for a couple of hours. And they didn't even buy me dinner, kids. At least I got some party favors: a sitz bath, five yards of gauze and a prescription for hydrocodone (score!)
I am very grateful to have Dad here. The Henrys have definitely had their fill of hospitals this year, as all three of us have had surgery. At least the dogs made it through 2008 unscathed. Heidi has also been wonderfully supportive and considerate. She got lucky enough to spend the most hectic week of the fall quarter juggling a houseguest, a three-year-old with a fever, and a 30-year-old on painkillers.
And finally I am here to testify that the best medicine in the world is not laughter or penicillin or your love (which, let's be honest, is more like bad medicine), but the smile of my darling Daisy girl. I went from groggy post-anesthesia Baba to alert pre-dance party Baba in a heartbeat as she got home from school. If you do not have a charming young girl who loves princesses and crab rangoons to cheer you up when you are down, comfort you when you are sick or poke your eyelids when you are sleeping, then you, my friend, are missing out.
That's all I got - I'm starting to feel a slight throbbing, which means only one thing: time for more drugs!
2 comments:
I mean, with a story like that, how CAN one comment?
The sentiment at the end aside, it's pretty gruesome.
And I can't believe I missed it...
God, so many ass jokes, so little time.
It was a good show. BTW, I have no idea who this is.
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