IV needle. (Google Images)
I thought the worse was over when my attempt at crimping my hair failed miserably, and I ended up with a bad permed fro rather than the cute crimp throwback style I was going for. But, like many things in my life, I should have known that there would be something else. So here goes the story…
I arrived at the In and Out surgery department at a hospital in Washington, DC to repair my nose after undergoing a seizure at work two weeks ago (see Walk.Live.Learn). After filling out some paperwork and praying that my insurance would pay up for yet another procedure… because seizures are expensive… I settled in to wait for my name to be called. My father is a physician at that hospital, so I figure I’d at least get some preferential treatment. No such luck. I knew I was doomed when the nurse assigned to my pre-op kept repeating the same questions to me over and over, as if I couldn’t comprehend a question unless it was repeated multiple times. Then, when I was handed the “pee cup” as I affectionately call it, and was told to fill it up after being formerly instructed to withhold liquids for at least 8 hours, I knew she had to be joking. How was I suppose to fill up a cup when my body wasn’t producing any urine? I sat on the toilet contemplating how I was going to explain to her…yet again..that I couldn’t relieve myself. I got up, washed my hands and exited the bathroom. With a shake of my head I signaled “no.”
“That’s ok, we get it next time,” she promises. “Let me finish paperwork and then we go try again.”
Not likely, I’m thinking.
After answering more mundane questions, she goes in for the IV. Now, whenever I’ve had an IV put in my arm, there have been complications. My veins are too small and I don’t drink enough water, so I was prepared for the worse, as she tied my arm. Finding no available vein she stuck me, then kept wiggling it in my arm, just under my skin, moving butcher-like along with my wails of pain, to which she was impervious. After a feeble attempt, she taped it up multiple times to keep it from coming out, but I could still feel it sliding under my arm. In obvious pain, she insisted that I go to the bathroom a second time. I knew this would be another failed attempt, but I went anyway, protesting that the same would happen. On my way to the bathroom, a nosey nurse in the hallway proceeds to give me a stat about my kidneys producing urine every 30 minutes, or something like that, and how cold the bathroom is, so I “should have no problem going to the bathroom.”
This time, I sat on the toilet for 10 minutes and only came out when the nurse proceeded to bang on the door.
“That’s fine, I guess we can do without it,” she sighs.
“Good, cause I’m obviously not an IV drug user, as you can see from my veins, and I’m not pregnant.”
“Ok.”
I’d won the battle of the bathroom, but the IV one was just getting started. At this point, the IV had started to slip, so she removed it and re-stuck an IV into the back of my hand. Ouch! Thank goodness I would be put to sleep soon. At least I had the anesthesiologists to keep entertained with my laundry list of allergies and predisposed conditions that I discovered after submitting my saliva for genetic testing. Explaining to a doctor why I was allergic to a blood thinning drug that I’ve never taken in my life, because it said so in my genes, even I have to admit was pretty comical.
Surgery done, I slept through the whole thing. All of that drama for a 25-minute procedure. It took longer to wake up after the surgery then for the actual surgery. Still, I was relieved that the postoperative vomiting that was also listed in my genetic review was replaced by a half hour of crying for no reason. Oh well! I just hope my nose comes out ok.
To read more about my life and about eco travel, health and more, follow me on twitter @niatravelwriter
Like this:
Like Loading...
Read Full Post »
