Gregory Freeman: Sights, Sounds And Tastes Of Hospital Made Columnist Ready To Come Home After Surgery. 10/1/2000

Headline: SIGHTS, SOUNDS AND TASTES OF HOSPITAL MADE COLUMNIST READY TO COME HOME AFTER SURGERY
Reporter: By Gregory Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Sun., Oct. 1, 2000
Section: METRO, Page: D3, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

An unexpected emergency

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
I'd pulled a muscle earlier in the week, and the pain had remained with me. I'd planned a visit to the doctor. He would fix me up with some pills or a quick shot, or so I thought. I'd planned a busy day. Lunch with one fellow, a couple of interviews, a column to write.
My doctor had other plans.

He looked at me and told me I had a hernia.
   OK, I thought. I'd better get the prescription for something to take care of that and then move on. It's not going to be that simple, the doctor told me. I had an "incarcerated hernia, " he told me, and it was likely that surgery would be the only way to repair it.
   Wow. More serious than I'd thought. OK, I figured, I'd better check my schedule and see when I might be able to go in for surgery.
   Again, my doctor had other ideas.
   "I think you may have to have surgery right away, " he told me.

From that moment on, my life was a whirlwind. No time to go home to pack. No time to plan for this. Just a straight drive to the hospital.
On the way over I hopped on the phone, canceled my lunch, my interviews and called my bosses to tell them what was happening.

Once I got to the hospital, I was interviewed by a bevy of doctors who asked me the same questions over and over.
Why was I there? Did I feel pain? Did it hurt when they did this? (It did.)

Next came the vampire factor. A nurse came in and took several tubes of blood from me, convincing me that a career counselor would have advised Count Dracula to work in a hospital.

An IV was put into my arm, I was wheeled into another room, where I met my anesthesiologist. This is a person who you see for a couple of minutes and then forget everything.
The anesthesiologist put something in my IV, I looked over at my wife and whispered "I love you, " and that was all I remembered.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up, lying in a hospital bed, my wife waiting for me. She asked how I felt.
"Mmmmmmf, " I mumbled. It took a few minutes for my mouth to catch up wi th my mind so that I could actually speak words. Once I could speak, my throat was sore. I was in a narrow bed with railings on both sides.
My wife kissed me and told me she'd see me the next day.

Nighttime in a hospital is anything but a stay at the Comfort Inn, and I had a hard time sleeping.
   Because of my surgery, I couldn't really toss and turn in bed. I felt restricted. I was cold. The IV machine kept beeping. I'd doze off and be awakened because I was cold. A nurse brought me some warm blankets.
   But I still couldn't sleep. I asked for something to help me sleep, and a nurse brought me a couple of tablets to take. I took them and finally dropped off, only to be awakened 10 minutes later. "Time to check your vitals, " a cheery nurse said, thermometer in one hand, blood pressure cuff in the other.
   I was reminded of an old Three Stooges routine, where Moe slaps a sleeping Larry and says, "Hey numbskull, wake up and go to sleep." I kept looking for Curley to show up.

Meal times in the hospital were another matter. Nurses expressed a concern that I never ate everything in the meal.
It wasn't because I was sick; it was because, well, let's just say hospital food leaves a lot to be desired. I found myself asking questions like how can turkey smothered in gravy be dry? Is there anything more bland than hospital noodles? And why is Jell-O the only palatable thing on my plate?

No one was happier than I to leave the hospital. The doctors, nurses and aides were cheerful and all, and I admire their dedication. But I know why a hospital is the kind of place people don't care to hang around.

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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