Recently, I had my 2nd knee replaced. Considering I’d done this once before, I thought I knew what to expect. Nope.
- The first night in the hospital, I’m given a dinner menu. I’m surprised to even have an appetite and attribute my complete lack of pain to a masterful anesthesiologist. Since I don’t have my glasses, I peruse the colorful pictures with deep intent. I finally settle on a lovely, triangular concoction with a fan of white at the plates’ edge. I pick up the phone, dial room service and calmly ask for, “One, white swan, please.” She asks me to repeat myself. “One, white swan,” I repeat louder, thinking she must be deaf. “Um what number might that be?” she asks sweetly. Turns out it was a club sandwich with a white, folded napkin perched next to it.
- The next morning I decide to call a friend. I pick up the TV remote, press the center button and patiently wait for a dial tone, which never comes. Instead, the TV magically goes on! Confused, I push the button again and hold it closer to my ear. The TV goes off and still no dial tone! It slowly dawns on me that perhaps I should use an actual phone.
- An hour later, my nurse informs me that they, “need my bed and (I’m) well enough to go home.” “I’m not budging,” I say. Several minutes later, another enters and says, “It is hospital policy to discharge a patient if the doctor says it’s OK.” (That’s what I get for pretending to feel better than I do.) “No, I am staying right here,” I say firmly. Finally, a third person enters. Before he can speak, I burst into tears and scream, “I am NOT LEAVING THIS BED! IF YOU DARE SEND ONE, MORE PERSON IN HERE, I AM CALLING THE NEWSPAPER TO TELL THEM YOU’RE THROWING AN OLD LADY OUT OF THE HOSPITAL LESS THAN 24 HOURS AFTER MAJOR SURGERY!” “Um, I’m just here to get your vitals,” he says meekly.
- Midway through my first week home, I develop debilitating nerve pain so intense it leaves me screaming, sweating and breathless. I up my meds. I am now binge watching a bizarrely, imbecilic TV show, which I find utterly compelling.
- At 2 AM, I actually thank God for, “not having a third knee because I could never go through this again.” Then it occurs to me that no one has a third knee.
I toss my meds.
P. S. Above is my Physical Terrorist. There is a reason he has a black eye.