On Friday, December 7th, I underwent outpatient surgery, per the suggestion of my urologist.
I’m only 42. Those parts really shouldn’t be failing on me already. But, I figured, the inconvenience of surgery would be worth avoiding the future inconvenience of dealing with urological issues indefinitely.
As surgeries go, the day was pretty routine and went as well as could be expected. Aaron, along as my designated driver, was running on some three hours of sleep, but he dealt with it well. We arrived right on time and I was promptly checked in and whisked back to pre-op, after which I somehow managed to produce a urine sample after not drinking any fluids for the previous 12 hours. The admitting nurse did a pretty awesome job, including getting my IV going — remember, I hadn’t had anything to drink since bedtime the night before.
Once I was IV’ed up on the gurney and getting rehydrated, the nurse went out to fetch Aaron from the waiting room. Aaron and I hung out for the next 45 minutes or so, talking about random crap and occasionally being visited by the anesthesiologist or his nurse anesthetist.
Finally, 11:00 struck, and there was my urologist, standing at the foot of the bed and asking if I had any questions before the procedure. She went through all the restrictions yet again: no lifting more than ten pounds for a month, no pushing or pulling, vacuuming or grocery shopping or laundry, no intercourse for six weeks, etc.
Anyone who’s been under general anesthesia knows the drill for what came next. I handed my glasses off to Aaron, was whisked through a few doors and down a few hallways — the nurse anesthetist (I assume) noting that they had started dripping The Good Stuff into my IV, so I’d start to feel a little woozy — and finally arrived in the Operating Room. They had me crab-walk myself over to the operating table, then put the seemingly-giant oxygen mask over my nose and mouth.
One deep breath, two deep breaths… and I was out.
…
As with the last time I was under general anesthesia, I dreamed while I was out. Also just as last time, I made mention of it to the nurses as I was waking up, and I don’t remember what I dreamed.
The procedure took an hour, and I apparently spent about an hour still out in recovery, because it was 1:00-ish when I was rolled into post-op and allowed to see Aaron again (and get my glasses back).
Over the next while, I was fighting to stay awake and to get my head properly back on my shoulders. Once I felt OK enough, my new nurse brought me some water, an oatmeal cookie, and some coffee, to try to get my bladder full enough to void. See, that was the ticket to going home: going pee and fully emptying my bladder. No big deal: I finally got up to pee in the hat (OH SHIT I forgot there was an incision in that general region and WAS NOT EXPECTING to see the color I saw). The nurse measured the amount, ultrasounded my bladder to see how fully I had emptied it, then he gave that info to the doc and she gave her OK to release me.
Once I was unhooked from everything and had my civvies back on, a nurse arrived to wheel me out (“Did somebody call an Uber?”), Aaron pulled the car around, and that was that.
We were home by about 2:30pm, at which point I went upstairs and laid down for an hour (my FitBit says I actually slept for about a third of that time).
That weekend was seriously chill — we didn’t really leave the house — and I had already scheduled Monday and Tuesday off as sick days. By Wednesday, I was OK with working from home as planned, which I did for the remainder of the week.
I’m now one week through my four to six weeks of restrictions. The most annoying thing is that I can’t lift anything even remotely heavy, and I can’t do any exercise apart from walking. I’m just glad the restriction on driving only lasted one week, and that I was able to work from home for a few days, instead of either going on leave for the week or eating a few vacation days.
You know, I’ll take that back. The activity restrictions are the second most annoying thing.
The most annoying thing?
They had to prep the area of the incisions. THAT area.
#TMI