No Denying It

~A Day in the Life of a Hernia Patient~

April 20, 2023 – Calgary, Alberta

Next time I encounter a science denier, I am going to invite him/her to The Peter Lougheed Hospital to see their display of instruments from the good old days of surgery.  I dare anyone to deny that scientific progress in medicine is anything but a good thing, after viewing the items on display here.

Dozens of other odd-shaped instruments used in days-gone-by, are on display.  I don’t care to imagine the purpose of each.

I am grateful that advancements continue to be made in the field of medicine.  Those who don’t embrace scientific progress might want to consider a world where we revert to outdated potions and practices.

How about the instrument (second from the right, below), used to extract bullets from flesh.  The surgical tool was used at a time when flesh could actually stop a bullet. 

In the “modern” world, where guns carried openly in Walmart can discharge projectiles capable of piercing steel at 60 rounds per minute, this little shrapnel remover isn’t of much use anymore. 

God Bless America!

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One of my favourite artists, Don Begg of Cochrane, Alberta has donated a bronze sculpture to the hospital museum, entitled “Horse and Buggy Medicine”. 

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The day started at 5:00am with a 6:00am departure for Peter Lougheed Hospital in northeast Calgary.  Bear drove, and I got to observe Calgarians waking up to a dreary spring morning.  A few snowflakes never slowed a Bear down, we made it to Admitting half an hour early. 

There wasn’t a tractor parked in Dr. Heine’s stall, so I felt comfortable going in – If you haven’t read the previous piece on tractors and ether as an anesthetic, click here for details: Bite the Bullet

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Admitting was a wonder of efficiency. I was given a stylish wrist band and proudly wore the plastic identification strap the entire day. 

The admitting staff were far too busy for chitchat, so I never had an opportunity to ask why it mattered when they posed the question, “Have you been detained in a correctional facility in the past six months?”.  I was happy to respond “No” to that, and most of the other questions on the form.

A combination of an early arrival and a delayed surgery schedule resulted in a four-hour wait for my turn.  I spent the time in relative comfort on a bed with an elevated back, with warmed blankets periodically provided by ever-attentive attendants.  Bear spent the time on a hard plastic chair with a broken backrest.  Privilege has its rewards.

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Many years ago, after we made the decision that four kids was enough, I arranged to have a vasectomy.  The surgeon for that procedure had the unfortunate name of “Dr. Hanslip”. Today my heinie is being attended to by Dr. Heine.  Where do they find these people?

In both cases, the level of professionalism of the doctors far exceeded their labels.  Dr. Hanslip stopped the baby factory without changing my pronouns, and Dr. Heine is a top-rated Proctologist, so I am in good hands.

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If I don’t tell you this embarrassing story, Bear will.  So here goes:

When I donned my stylish hospital gown, the kind that goes on front-to-back to protect embarrassment from only one direction, the nurse suggested that I leave my socks and gotch (gitch, or gonch, depending what part of Canada you are from) on, for now.  When they informed me that the doctor was on his way to mark the incision location, I decided it was time to take them off.  I wiggled out of my knickers (if you are from the UK) under the sheets and was still holding them in my left hand when a very pretty lady entered the room.  She extended her right hand and introduced herself as the operating room coordinator.  I assumed the extended hand was an invitation, so I gave her a fist bump with my free right hand.  She obliged but said that what she wanted was to have a look at my wrist band, which was in the hand clutching my boxers (American for gotch).  More than a little flustered, I dropped the offending underpants on the floor beside Bear and showed the coordinator my ID bracelet.

I can’t tell you how hilarious Bear thought this was!  She giggled until the tears stained through her blue hospital mask.

With that bit of hilarity over with, it was time to get down to business.  The anesthesiologist came by, wheeled me into the operating room, and put me under.  The knockout experience today was a walk in the park compared to the ether torture I endured as a kid when I had my tonsils out. 

I won’t go into gory details about my surgery and recovery, other than to say all is well. I won’t be doing sit-ups for a while, but I never did anyway.

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“Passing gas is to be encouraged, it is a sign that the bowels are returning to a healthy state” – said, no other woman in the history of farts.

~ Nurse Harwant

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On the whole, getting a hernia fixed was a positive experience:

• I came to the realization that I should probably not lift a generator into the back of my truck, just because I can.
• I got my first (and hopefully last) ride in a wheelchair, from the recovery room to the exit door.
• The medical care people I encountered are as good at the care part as they are the medical.
• Pre-op is a communal part of the hospital, where consultations take place behind thin curtains. The visual aspect is private, but the doctor/patient verbal exchange is public.  Based upon the discussions I overheard, my little issue is nothing compared to what others are suffering.

I am happy to live in the 21^st century, where medicine has evolved to a point that doctors can cure almost anything, and ether is confined to starting tractors.

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If you look hard enough, even a hospital can be a fun place.  I got a history lesson at the antique surgical instrument display in the lobby, and Bear experienced an underwear comedy routine.  Both right up our alley.  

Modern medicine is wonderful, there is …

…no denying it.