Context is important, so…
Jim’s Surgery Lexicon
- Invasive vs Non-invasive surgery – Invasive requires breaking through the skin while non-invasive does not.
- Major vs Minor surgery – Any surgery you may have is minor. Anything that happens to me, from removing a splinter to… well, everything else, is major.
- Recovery Period – The time required, following surgery, for the patient’s mind and body to heal sufficiently to resume a normal lifestyle and stop needing the pity, sympathy, and compassion of others. In my case, look in a theological dictionary under “rapture”.
The Epic Story
Short summary:
On January 24, 2022, I underwent major, invasive surgery. Please, it is okay. I survived… so far. You can breathe easy again. It was the most rapid progression from walking into the doctor’s office, receiving his diagnosis, and going under the knife that I have ever experienced. That includes the emergency exploratory surgery when I lost my spleen and appendix in the 7th grade. I am mostly recovered from that trauma, though. Thanks for your concern.
Detailed account (not for the faint of heart):
Since the Spring of 2021, I had been experiencing an increasing stiffness and pain in my right pollux, particularly the palmar side of the metacarpophalangeal joint and it was even more painful than it sounds. The dolor finally reached a point where I knew a consultation with my primary physician was in order. After examination, he suggested three options, one which had been unsuccessful in the past and another which would have involved even greater pain. The third option involved being referred to a specialist. So, the appointment was made.
Upon entering the examination room, I was quite pleased to learn that I could remain in full attire. When the surgeon entered, he examined the impaired area, instructing me to move this way and that. Then he shared two avenues of treatment, both mentioned by my G.P. and, fortunately, omitting the one which would have involved greater pain on the uncertain path to possible wholeness. We both agreed that the previously unproductive method was still not preferable. That left major invasive surgery which we both felt was the best option.
Then, to my surprise, he interrupted himself and said, “We can do that, which would mean having the procedure done downstairs in one of the operating rooms, or…” (This kind of pause always makes me a little nervous and I think he was counting on that, just for dramatic effect.) “I can try sticking a needle in there and blindly probing around until I think I’ve located it and then try to blindly cut through it with the tip of the needle.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“Great! You sit right here in this chair and we’ll go get what we need.”
He and the assistant quickly left the room.
That was when I realized there would be no future appointment for this procedure but that I would be placing my life into his hands within minutes.
The surgeon and assistant returned with an array of needles, ranging in size from, literally, thinner than a straight pin to a considerably bulkier one that could sheathe several of the smaller ones inside its shaft. The smaller ones were used to inject me with local anesthesia. While we waited for the numbing to materialize, he sent the assistant back for another large needle, “The dark green one,” and we shared about our faith in God and things the Bible teaches us. It was the best conversation I have had with a Seventh-Day Adventist in years and we both enjoyed it.
Now, it was time to begin the gruesome but necessary overhaul. Still chatting, the surgeon inserted the big needle through my delicate skin, but stopped abruptly when I “gently” informed him, “I feel that!” Before beginning, I had shared—and his assistant confirmed the reality of the condition—that I needed extra (double?) anesthesia. (Something about an Irish red gene.) The little needle when back to work and minutes later the big needle continued without further interruptions on my part.
Do you know how you can feel something without feeling it? I mean, like when a child sitting behind you in the car kicks the back of your car seat. You do not feel that child’s foot but you do feel and hear the impact. The “blind probing” was like that. It was even more pronounced when the very sharp tip of the big needle began to cut what we both hoped was the intended target. I remembered that he had used the word “blindly”.
About the time I had experienced enough of the sound and second-hand feeling of that needle, the good surgeon had finished this dangerous life-threatening operation.
Having not expected all of this when coming for what I believed was just the first visit, I had come alone. Now, I had to find a way to get from Lakewood to Port Orchard while still under the dangerous influence of the anesthesia.
They say “necessity is the mother of invention” and that proved true. After a brief stop at the credit union, I drove home. (I am, after all, the product of a rugged and self-reliant generation.)
Epilogue:
During the procedure, the surgeon stated, “No pity. This is a ‘no sympathy procedure.’” He explained that when there are no stitches and there is no big scar, no one cares, so I should not expect anyone to care. But I am counting on you, my dear reader, to care. (Chocolate is a good indication of concern, and not the cheap kind, either.)
Oh, lest you worry too much, my right thumb seems to be working just fine, again.
