The Back Surgery…again!

Well it’s been awhile since my last post.  I hope Thanksgiving was wonderful for everyone.  The family and I ate like little piggies as usual.   I worked at 911 Thanksgiving through Sunday.  Being a 911 dispatcher you learn to fit in your holiday meals around your work schedule. 

The first Monday of Deer Season, I had my annual back surgery.  I say annual because every year I seem to go in for back surgery.  While my husband and son were in the woods looking to kill Bambi, I was in the hospital getting the back sliced open again.  Even routine back surgery turned into a fiasco.  Can’t anything in my life be simple?

The morning started out with barn chores.  I went down to feed the ladies and give them lots of loving since I won’t be able to see them for awhile.  Of course, I notice that one goat appears to have ringworm, another has pinkeye, and a third needs to be treated for coccidi.  So I have to teach my daughter how to take care of everything since I will be in the hospital.  Why is it that your goats seem to get sick when you are either away or it is a holiday and the vet is unavailable?  I came back to the house and wrote all the specifics down for Katie even though she kept saying “I know Mom!!!”  I knew she really didn’t and wasn’t even listening to me.  Freaking Kids!!!  I then showered and packed a bag for my stay at the hospital. 

I had my girlfriend drive me into the hospital that morning because I knew that my loving husband and son wouldn’t want to miss opening day of deer season.  I walked into the hospital and gave my name.  She asked the usual questions…who is my doctor, what surgery am I having, birth date, etc.  Then she asks “who is with you today?”  I tell her no one.  She looks perplexed and says, “You’re all alone?”  My reply…”Yep, they are all in the woods hunting”.  She looks at me with pitty and sympathy and directs me to the waiting room. I am sitting in the waiting room for what seems like an eternity when the nurse finally comes and takes me back to be prepped for my surgery. 

She asks me all the same questions and then “who is here with you today?”  I again tell her no one, I am by myself.  She looks over her glasses at me with that same look of pitty and sympathy.  Then she asks, “Are they coming later?”  My reply, “Nope they are hunting”.  She just shakes her head.  I now pretty much feel like a freak because I seem to be the only person in the history of Robert Packer Hospital to have surgery done without anyone in the waiting room to see if I am alive or not. 

They begin the usual stuff, blood pressure, pulse, test my sugar level (I am a diabetic), etc.  Last of all, she gets everything ready for an IV.  I forewarn her that I am not an easy stick and most people have trouble getting an IV or drawing blood.  I have been known to make even the most God-fearing nurse use profanity when trying to start an IV.  This nurse looked at me like I am full of it.  She proceeds to stick me 3 times before she gives up.  I wanted to say…”I told you so” but I opted to keep my mouth shut. 

Now comes the flow of doctors, nurses, and lab techs to try and get an IV in me.  After being stuck 9 times they decided to put the IV in my NECK.  You’ve got to be kidding me…in my neck!!!  After they get it into my neck I beg them for good drugs.  My theory is that they owe it to me.  My doctor agrees and pumps me full of the good stuff.  I am now nice and relaxed, forcing myself to stay awake and enjoy the “legal high”. 

I am allergic to penicillin so they give me vancomycin instead.   So there I am stoned and enjoying it.  The vancomycin is being pumped into the IV in my neck.  All of a sudden I feel hot and itchy all over.  Something from my 911 career tells me that things are going south.  Now it is getting hard to breathe.  I hit the call button for the nurse frantically.  She comes stomping in the room like I was bothering her.  She takes one look at me, calls for help, and shuts down the vancomycin.  I was covered with hives, itchy, and having trouble breathing.  I guess the good Lord got me back for enjoying my high.  There seemed to be thirty people in my room now, pumping the IV with shots of this and shots of that.   Finally they get me straightened out and I head off to surgery. 

The surgeon says, “Hello Amy, who is in the waiting room for you today?”  I now really hate this question.  I give him the reply…”no one, why? Because no one loves me more than they love killing bambi”.  By the way, while you are working on my back, feel free to do a little lypo.  You know like a little Christmas gift for one of your regular patients.”   He just chuckles and says, “Same ol’ Amy”. 

I wake up from my surgery and all is well.  No problems and the Doc tells me they got it fixed.  Vince brings the kids into see me.  Katie looks like she hasn’t brushed her hair in a month and her clothes don’t match.  Mikey is still in his hunting attire.  I just lay there; saying to myself…my God doesn’t this man see how these kids look?  Did it ever occur to him that maybe he should force them to dress in clothes that match and are clean.  Maybe make Katie run a brush through her hair.  I might have morphine in my system but I am of sound mind enough to know that these kids look like they were just picked up off the street. 

They are talking about doing the Christmas decorating while I am in the hospital.  My heart sinks…what will they do?  I got to get out of here as soon as possible!  I beg the doctor to let me go home the next day.  I promised him that I would be a good girl and not over do it.  He lets me go home…Thank God, I saved the house from looking like the Pimp and his Hoes stopped by to decorate!  By the way, Katie wasn’t listening to my instructions and didn’t bother to read them either.  She nearly overdosed one of my doelings.  I guess if she would shut up instead of saying “I know Mom, I know Mom”, she might have gotten it right.  Again I say…Freaking Kids!!! 

The husband is taking care of the cooking, cleaning, laundry, caring for the animals, and running the kids to the 900 appointments that they have in a week’s time.  He is complaining, complaining, complaining!  I want to kill him.  You have got to be kidding me.  You only have to do it for one week…I do it every day of my life!  Not only that…he makes sure that everyone and I mean everyone knows that he is playing Mr. Mom.  Vince tells everyone how easy my job is and how he is able to get everything done, and he is sooo much better at this than I am.  I remind him that he has to sleep sometime.  Freaking Husband!!!  In private, he tells me that he has no idea how I get everything done.  “I never realized how hard you work”.  He will forget in a couple of weeks…why?  Because he is a typical man!!!   

Pray for me that my back heals quickly so that my kids don’t look like ragamuffins, the house is cleaned, the laundry gets done without every stitch of clothing turning orange, and the goats are taken care of like they are supposed to.  Pray that they are able to find all their belongings without having to wake me up and ask where the missing item might be (my uterus must be a homing device because only I seem to know where everything is…even though it isn’t mine).  Pray that they can decorate for Christmas without the house looking like Santa’s reigndeer took a dump on it.  Finally, pray that I recover before they can ruin one more frying pan.   

Until next time….enjoying the season!


About asciotti

Please keep in mind that I never grew up on a farm, lived in the city or its suburbs all my life. Many farmers out there will find this blog a hoot as I stumble through the every day life of running a farm (most of the time...all by myself).
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One Response to The Back Surgery…again!

  1. Bambi says:

    Oh Amy! Your stories always make me laugh.

    About 10 years ago I had emergency kidney stone removal. Since my kids were toddlers at that time, my husband just dropped me off at the hospital and went home to tend to the kids until time for me to be discharged. I too got the sympathetic looks because there was no one there with me. Then to top it off, when I called hubby to come and pick me up he had the nerve to ask me what was for dinner that night. Medicated to the nth degree but still in pain, feeling like I’d been run over by an 18-wheeler, I dumbly repeated “What’s for dinner?” “What’s for DINNER?” The nurse standing at my bedside said “Oh … my … God … You’ve GOT to be kidding me!!!” I think she advised him to buy a pizza for dinner because I wouldn’t be able to cook.

    Sometimes you’ve just got to laugh.

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