When I drove back into Garland on March 20th, there were many an item to repair; the blown down fence, the tortoise burrow, the fallen tree limbs in that the city Code Enforcement disliked, the non-functioning air conditioning in the warming Texas spring, the non-spinning washing machine, the dead car battery and maybe my marriage. I added all of these to my scheduled personal repair set for March 30, 2023.
When I came to on the morning of March 30th, I had three holes drilled into me like a bowling ball.
I'd been wobbling around for awhile, not feeling like I was rolling straight and true. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like I wasn't always in my lane. I checked myself and determined I was rolling some gutter balls. It wasn't getting any better either.
In fact, I was getting worse, having the unpleasant sensation of having to tuck my guts back up inside me when they oozed out too far. Something had to be done.
Tired of the late winter dismal solitude to which I had assigned myself in order to get my dream house built on Pilchuck Creek, I jump to a solution. I spontaneously booked a flight in February to the warmer climes of Texas and the warmth of my wife under shared blankets. While back in Dallas I scheduled an appointment with surgeon Birdwell. I told Birdwell I had a hernia.
He checked me and said "No, mister you have two."
As some of you know, I am all about value. I and Birdwell dicker and I end up getting a 2-for-1 deal! I am excited by my bargain surgery. But -- Should I be?
Flashing my Medicare Card and Part D Supplemental Insurance for this newly certified old guy with oozing intestines, I scheduled an operation for the end of March.
I was told by the my scheduling nurse that my surgery was going to be conducted with "the robot." She informed me, "the surgeons all love to use the robot, so it is good that we are setting up your operation this far in advance so Dr. Birdwell can call dibs on the robot."
She made it sound like this was a good thing. I had images from the movie Alien, where an egg-laying insectivorous alien in outer space would deposit her eggs in the thorax of a human, only to have them gestate and explode out of the poor victim's body. What a horrifying mess. Not a good image for me to hold as I go into surgery to meet a robot.
So I move on, only to have my mind snap from visual to audio; playing in my mind, The Flaming Lips song, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.
It is not far off to sing about oozing hips battling the medical robots.
+++
We are up at 5:30 Friday. I am fasting, so getting-ready-time is quick with no breakfast. Sue drives me to North Dallas Surgery Center for my 7 AM check-in. We witness no less than three vehicles running red lights in front of us at this early hour. What? Is everybody running late for surgery?
Dr. Birdwell is a little late (should have run a red light I guess), so my OR visit will be around 8:30 instead of 8. My name, operating theater and estimated time are posted on an electronic keno board, like airport flight arrival and departure information for Sue to monitor. I sleep like a dead man thanks to the anesthesiologist's good work. But unlike Michael Jackson, I wake up.
All has gone pretty well, or so I am told. In this case the good robots won the battle and put my guts back where they belong. Now I have to be strong, discipline my body, eat lots of vitamins and not lift anything greater than ten pounds for two weeks.
When I am in my right mind and now ready to be clothed, Sue comes in around the curtain to my bed and hands me my slippers. Over the next few weeks I will be practicing my 'bunny dips' as I recover from abdominal surgery.
I have but three small holes poked into me just below my ribcage. No stiches, the holes have been filled with super glue that will wear off in a few weeks. I am to see Dr. Birdwell in two weeks to check on my healing.
Yoshimi drives me home so I can meet with the AC repairman at 1 this afternoon.
Yoshimi bakes brownies and makes a smoothie at my request. She gets busy and I shuffle into the kitchen to make dinner for the both of us, a simple shrimp boil supper with a remoulade dipping sauce enjoyed under newly repaired air conditioned dining and newly repaired intestines.
I am tender, but thankful for the robots and only three tiny holes, rather than a scalpel and a groin incision and lots of stiches.
I heal up pretty good listening to the Flaming Lips and watching Sigourney Weaver battle aliens with robots.
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