I was going to title today's post "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" but I didn't think it had that wow factor! I was hoping that I was coining a term but I Googled the word buttectomy and there were loads of medical descriptions so that set me back down on my chair...gently. I know I am being a bit descriptive in my wording but I felt "Buttectomy" got right down to the seat of the matter. We are all adults here and I thought you would be ok without my explaining that I had an owie on my tushy but that's exactly what happened.
OK, I'm done. Just by writing today's post I risk alienating myself from my family as they already roll their eyes and walk the other direction whenever someone comes to tell me they think I am funny. I wish I got paid by the number of times someone in my immediate family said, "Don't tell him that! It only encourages him!" Actually, I wish I got paid period...but that's another story.
OK, now I'm really done. Here's what happened.
I have been walking around with (and sitting on) a problem for months. Yes, months. I am a guy...sue me. I had been in and out of the doctor for a few tests when I finally mentioned it to my doctor. See the hierarchy? Months to tell the doctor, my readers get to hear it the next day. The least indelicate way I can describe it is that my body tried to help me out by creating a shelf for my wallet to rest on. I didn't want a wallet shelf. I'm pretty sure I didn't need a wallet shelf. I didn't even ask for a wallet shelf for my birthday...but I got one. The trouble is when you are not designed for a wallet shelf and one is installed, it isn't the most comfortable thing in the world. Imagine the feeling of sitting on a wallet in your back pocket for a long time. Now imagine sitting on that wallet 24 hours a day! Even when you are standing up! The doc didn't like that description either...hello surgery!
Surgery is bad enough. To think of a scalpel is bad enough but the thought of needles is just unbearable. I was "lucky" enough to have the doctor announce, "We're taking care of that tomorrow!" so I didn't have to stew over it for a long time. Also, being a teacher I am still without a class for a week or so. (Some people are thinking that I am without class for simply writing this particular post...I'm gonna save that for another day.) The surgery department called me to let me know what I needed to do. I was secretly hoping for, "don't eat or drink after 10 PM" all I got was, "show up 15 minutes early" which meant one thing to me...I'm going to be awake. Why is the room spinning all of a sudden.
My lovely bride took me to the appointment and we got called into the operating room fairly quickly. Two things: I didn't have time to plot my escape, they let Sylvia come in too. While the nurses got me all settled in they took my blood pressure. It was elevated, to say the least. They had me do some deep breathing with my eyes closed and took it again. It was elevated still, but slightly less. When I explained that I knew I was about to get a shot they said they understood. Sylvia stood up for me, "No, he really doesn't like shots! Since he was little!" I told them the whole story of when I stepped in a bee hive and my brother and I were attacked mercilessly. I don't "do" bees. Then, years later a doctor about to give me stitches said, "Just a little bee sting" as he jammed a needle into my hand. So now those two things are linked. When the doctor came in to check me out now he said, "It'll just be like a really bad bee sting." Both the nurses shouted, "No!" He kept on, "Yeah, eventually it'll feel better but to get there it'll be like a really big bee sting." The nurse commented on how I changed color and started to sweat while I wondered why in the world they would install a rotating room in a hospital. I almost called it off. I would have but for two things; He said I would need to take care of it eventually while it hurt until I did, and I kinda wanted Sylvia to think I was something other than a big chicken. "Ok, let's do it."
The nurses went to work. I got to lay down while the one nurse said, "I'm going to put this on you since the doctor is going to use cauterization and you need to be grounded." "This" turned out to be a giant sticker on my other leg that was hooked up to wires. "Need to be grounded" means, if you don't have this you could be electrocuted like that Webber kid last year. Remember him? Ooh, the smell. The entire time I was thinking, "Crap, she just plastered that on my very hairy calf. I'm going to have fun getting that off! Now at least I'll know what it's like to have my leg waxed."
There I am in a very vulnerable position, looking very much like a little boy having a splinter taken out of his tushy, while grounded, and the doctor said, "This will be a little pinch." The nurses thankfully clued him in to stopping the 'bee sting' crap. I felt a little uncomfortable coldness and a lot of pressure but I was ok. I was thinking maybe that part of the body doesn't have too many nerve endings. Maybe I am getting tougher as I get older. Maybe the doctor is like an acupuncturist and he is really good at doing things gently for his more sensitive patients. A few seconds later I learned, maybe he was describing the sterilizing scrub that he did as a 'pinch' and when he got around to using the needle he said, "The pinch is over, this next thing is going to feel like some sort of radioactive otherworldly spear!" I, of course, didn't hear anything since I was shouting, "Dear Mother of God and all things holy! Son of a blue nosed gopher!" I'm not sure but I think I heard Sylvia snickering. (I'm so embarrassed.)
After a minute or so of stabbing me in different places to make sure the entire left side of my body was numb enough to be in a Tim Conway skit on the Carol Burnett show, he started removing my shelf. I could feel pushing and pulling and the occasional bit of pain but if I mentioned it I would have gotten the needle. He said, "I can give you more if you need." Yeah right, just back away from the needle Dr. DeSade. One nurse got me water since she thought I looked like I was going to lose it, the other said, "He's already cutting. It's not that bad right?" Little bit of advice dears, if one nurse is sure the patient is going to lose it even when he can't see what's going on, for obvious reasons, don't describe the operation to him. And then the shelf was gone. I couldn't tell, they told me. They asked if I wanted to see it or take a selfie. Ummmm, unless it's a little silver laser thing that shows me the secret bank account number so I can go and gather all my money and different passports out of the safety deposit box, I think I'll pass. As they were closing up one thought to ask Sylvia, "Oh, are you OK with all this?" She laughed, "Yes! I am fine! He would already be on the floor!"
I asked for the stitches to be in a lightning bolt pattern, he didn't seem to know how to do that with just four, so...it's a line. He told me to take it easy for a while and let the stitches heal. When I asked how long Sylvia was supposed to wait on my hand and foot he said, "Five years!" I am not even kidding about that! You can ask her! After the nurses felt that I had a color normally seen in humans back in my face, and they were able to unground me while leaving some of my calf hair, they had me slowly slide off the table. As I hobbled out the door I asked if I wasn't supposed to get a sticker or a lollipop or something. I guess they reserve those for brave boys and I'll just have to try to get one when I go back in to get my stitches out.
So now I am wallet shelf-less. It no longer feels like I am sitting on an extra wallet all of the time. It does, however, feel like I have been stabbed, burned, pulled, pushed, and bee-stung! In the interest of full disclosure I feel I must say that the actual operation took place, technically, on my left leg. It hurt a little further north but the actual non-lightning bolt scar will be on my leg. I just felt it was far funnier to say, butt-ectomy! For those of you who are upset that I chose to write about such a sensitive subject, and decide to be mean to me while leaving inappropriate comments, I have, obviously, only one recourse...I'm going to turn the other cheek.
OK, I'm done. Just by writing today's post I risk alienating myself from my family as they already roll their eyes and walk the other direction whenever someone comes to tell me they think I am funny. I wish I got paid by the number of times someone in my immediate family said, "Don't tell him that! It only encourages him!" Actually, I wish I got paid period...but that's another story.
OK, now I'm really done. Here's what happened.
I have been walking around with (and sitting on) a problem for months. Yes, months. I am a guy...sue me. I had been in and out of the doctor for a few tests when I finally mentioned it to my doctor. See the hierarchy? Months to tell the doctor, my readers get to hear it the next day. The least indelicate way I can describe it is that my body tried to help me out by creating a shelf for my wallet to rest on. I didn't want a wallet shelf. I'm pretty sure I didn't need a wallet shelf. I didn't even ask for a wallet shelf for my birthday...but I got one. The trouble is when you are not designed for a wallet shelf and one is installed, it isn't the most comfortable thing in the world. Imagine the feeling of sitting on a wallet in your back pocket for a long time. Now imagine sitting on that wallet 24 hours a day! Even when you are standing up! The doc didn't like that description either...hello surgery!
Surgery is bad enough. To think of a scalpel is bad enough but the thought of needles is just unbearable. I was "lucky" enough to have the doctor announce, "We're taking care of that tomorrow!" so I didn't have to stew over it for a long time. Also, being a teacher I am still without a class for a week or so. (Some people are thinking that I am without class for simply writing this particular post...I'm gonna save that for another day.) The surgery department called me to let me know what I needed to do. I was secretly hoping for, "don't eat or drink after 10 PM" all I got was, "show up 15 minutes early" which meant one thing to me...I'm going to be awake. Why is the room spinning all of a sudden.
My lovely bride took me to the appointment and we got called into the operating room fairly quickly. Two things: I didn't have time to plot my escape, they let Sylvia come in too. While the nurses got me all settled in they took my blood pressure. It was elevated, to say the least. They had me do some deep breathing with my eyes closed and took it again. It was elevated still, but slightly less. When I explained that I knew I was about to get a shot they said they understood. Sylvia stood up for me, "No, he really doesn't like shots! Since he was little!" I told them the whole story of when I stepped in a bee hive and my brother and I were attacked mercilessly. I don't "do" bees. Then, years later a doctor about to give me stitches said, "Just a little bee sting" as he jammed a needle into my hand. So now those two things are linked. When the doctor came in to check me out now he said, "It'll just be like a really bad bee sting." Both the nurses shouted, "No!" He kept on, "Yeah, eventually it'll feel better but to get there it'll be like a really big bee sting." The nurse commented on how I changed color and started to sweat while I wondered why in the world they would install a rotating room in a hospital. I almost called it off. I would have but for two things; He said I would need to take care of it eventually while it hurt until I did, and I kinda wanted Sylvia to think I was something other than a big chicken. "Ok, let's do it."
The nurses went to work. I got to lay down while the one nurse said, "I'm going to put this on you since the doctor is going to use cauterization and you need to be grounded." "This" turned out to be a giant sticker on my other leg that was hooked up to wires. "Need to be grounded" means, if you don't have this you could be electrocuted like that Webber kid last year. Remember him? Ooh, the smell. The entire time I was thinking, "Crap, she just plastered that on my very hairy calf. I'm going to have fun getting that off! Now at least I'll know what it's like to have my leg waxed."
There I am in a very vulnerable position, looking very much like a little boy having a splinter taken out of his tushy, while grounded, and the doctor said, "This will be a little pinch." The nurses thankfully clued him in to stopping the 'bee sting' crap. I felt a little uncomfortable coldness and a lot of pressure but I was ok. I was thinking maybe that part of the body doesn't have too many nerve endings. Maybe I am getting tougher as I get older. Maybe the doctor is like an acupuncturist and he is really good at doing things gently for his more sensitive patients. A few seconds later I learned, maybe he was describing the sterilizing scrub that he did as a 'pinch' and when he got around to using the needle he said, "The pinch is over, this next thing is going to feel like some sort of radioactive otherworldly spear!" I, of course, didn't hear anything since I was shouting, "Dear Mother of God and all things holy! Son of a blue nosed gopher!" I'm not sure but I think I heard Sylvia snickering. (I'm so embarrassed.)
After a minute or so of stabbing me in different places to make sure the entire left side of my body was numb enough to be in a Tim Conway skit on the Carol Burnett show, he started removing my shelf. I could feel pushing and pulling and the occasional bit of pain but if I mentioned it I would have gotten the needle. He said, "I can give you more if you need." Yeah right, just back away from the needle Dr. DeSade. One nurse got me water since she thought I looked like I was going to lose it, the other said, "He's already cutting. It's not that bad right?" Little bit of advice dears, if one nurse is sure the patient is going to lose it even when he can't see what's going on, for obvious reasons, don't describe the operation to him. And then the shelf was gone. I couldn't tell, they told me. They asked if I wanted to see it or take a selfie. Ummmm, unless it's a little silver laser thing that shows me the secret bank account number so I can go and gather all my money and different passports out of the safety deposit box, I think I'll pass. As they were closing up one thought to ask Sylvia, "Oh, are you OK with all this?" She laughed, "Yes! I am fine! He would already be on the floor!"
I asked for the stitches to be in a lightning bolt pattern, he didn't seem to know how to do that with just four, so...it's a line. He told me to take it easy for a while and let the stitches heal. When I asked how long Sylvia was supposed to wait on my hand and foot he said, "Five years!" I am not even kidding about that! You can ask her! After the nurses felt that I had a color normally seen in humans back in my face, and they were able to unground me while leaving some of my calf hair, they had me slowly slide off the table. As I hobbled out the door I asked if I wasn't supposed to get a sticker or a lollipop or something. I guess they reserve those for brave boys and I'll just have to try to get one when I go back in to get my stitches out.
So now I am wallet shelf-less. It no longer feels like I am sitting on an extra wallet all of the time. It does, however, feel like I have been stabbed, burned, pulled, pushed, and bee-stung! In the interest of full disclosure I feel I must say that the actual operation took place, technically, on my left leg. It hurt a little further north but the actual non-lightning bolt scar will be on my leg. I just felt it was far funnier to say, butt-ectomy! For those of you who are upset that I chose to write about such a sensitive subject, and decide to be mean to me while leaving inappropriate comments, I have, obviously, only one recourse...I'm going to turn the other cheek.
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