Going for Surgery
My husband had
repeated episodes of discharge from his left ear.
“I have some sort
of allergy” he announced “that is why the discharge is intermittent.”
I protested, “It
has to come from some where, so go to an ENT surgeon. There has to be a reason.
In children it is usually a hole in the ear drum.”
“That is in
children. It is a different age group. I know how to look after my health.”
He is a professor
of medicine and infectious diseases while I am only a paediatrician.
This went on for
the next five years. Finally when he was due to retire, nagging from everyone
drove him to the ENT surgeon.
“I cannot hear too
well in my left ear. I think perhaps it is from listening to my wife for the
last 45 years.”
The surgeon burst
out laughing. “Even of that is the case we have to have a look.”
As he examined the
ear, he announced, “Your ear canal is congenitally deformed, there is a hole in
the ear drum and the infection has spread to the bone behind.”
My husband looked
at him in horror. ”What are you planning?”
“Surgery”.
There seemed to be
hundred reasons for postponing surgery.
“I have to go to
XX, YY, ZZ to conduct exams. My surgeon is travelling. My grandson is coming
for the holidays.”
Finally I put my
foot down.
“I am going to be
60 years old. Please do the surgery before that.”
The date was fixed
and we packed to go to hospital.
“Why are you
taking your gym clothes?” I asked.
“I want to wear them for surgery.”
“You can’t “ I
said they make you wear hospital pyjamas.”
He always prided
himself on the fact that he worked in the institution 35years without being admitted
into the hospital even once. He did not have a clue about nursing procedures.
I, on the other hand was a veteran. Admissions for the delivery of two
children, and later, as I grew older ,for tackling various glitches in my aging
reproductive system.
“I am sure they
won’t ask ME to wear hospital pyjamas,“
he said.
The morning of the
surgery, he attired himself in his latest running outfit and sat down on the
bed.
He looked
longingly at the cup of coffee I was drinking. ‘Get me a cup of coffee.”
“No,” I said, “you
are supposed to be starving from midnight.”
“The emptying time
for the stomach is one and a half hours. They will never know. The surgery is
still two hours away.”
I had mental
visions of him vomiting during anaesthesia and developing aspiration pneumonia.
“No.” I went and
sat outside with my coffee.
The nurse arrived with a set of oversized hospital pyjamas. He disappeared
into the bathroom to put them on. He reappeared with the pyjamas on top of his gym clothes.
“No,” said the
nurse, “you have to remove your clothes.”
He disappeared
into the bathroom again. This time when he emerged, she said “you have to
remove your innerwear also.”
One more long trip
to the bathroom. They compromised and he kept his underpants on under the pyjamas.
After the nurse left he said, “look at these awful over sized pyjamas.”
“Be grateful they
have buttons in the front, in labour room and in the gynaecology wards we have
backless gowns with nothing for our legs.”
“I don’t believe
it.” He said.
The surgery took longer than anticipated.
A junior doctor
came out and said, “his neck is stiff, cannot be hyperextended and his mouth
won’t open. The anaesthetist had a tough time intubating him. ” I listened in
silence.
Once we reached
the ward the nurse said “nothing by mouth till 3:30pm. After that clear liquids
for another 3 hours.”
As soon as she left he said, “get me a Pepsi.”
I was not sure
that it falls in the category of “clear
liquids.”
Anyway I was too
tired to argue.
General
anaesthesia apparently produces a ravenous appetite. The Pepsi was followed by
600 ml of lime juice, two coffees, a
“kitcdi,” a hot and spicy chicken soup, a rava dosai and an apple.
The next
morning a junior doctor came to remove
the ear dressing.
She repeated the litany
about the stiff neck. “you have to remember this in case you have anaesthesia elsewhere”.
After she left, “What
nonsense”, said my husband, “ I can move my neck and open my mouth. See.” He
made some violent movements.
“I am sure you can, but don’t till you have the sutures removed.”
He got fully
dressed. “Can we go now?” he asked the nurse.
“Well the chief
has to come for grand rounds to see you
first.”
The nurse brought
some tablets. “You have to take these.”
“Just leave them
here I will take them later. “No,” said the nurse,” take them now!”
He sheepishly
swallowed the pills.
“I want to be dropped at the gym after
discharge, I feel a lot less groggy now.”
I think he wanted
to exercise his neck and jaw.
“I don’t think you
can” I feebly protested.
“I had surgery to
my ear, not my abdomen.”
There was no
arguing with that.
The unit finally came on grand rounds an hour later.
“No head bath, no weight lifting and no jogging for a week.”
I sure am glad they were so explicit! Perhaps they overheard?
We headed silently
home for a week of house arrest.
Dr. Gita Mathai
The writer is a
paediatrician with a family practice at Vellore.
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