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| A therapeutic burger at Webers on the way home |
Thursday night, Shauna, Jasper, and I drove down to Barrie to stay in a
hotel, because I was scheduled for shoulder (day) surgery at Royal Victoria
Hospital very early Friday morning. While I have not spent much time discussing
this in my report, I was apprehensive about this surgery. Over thirty years
ago, I had had an operation on the same shoulder, for a recurring separation problem.
The aftermath was extremely painful, and the recovery took a long, long time. No
one could really tell me what to expect with this one; the surgeon knew there
was damage which had severely compromised the arm, but would not be able to determine
the extent until he went in with a scope. While the procedure was arthroscopic,
and therefore not as invasive as my previous surgery, there was no way of
knowing what the recovery time might be. Frankly, I would have lived with the
impairment had it not become almost impossible to play the guitar. Last summer,
I played seven or eight live performances, including one on the radio, and I
never knew when the arm was going to give out. As well, up to a few weeks ago, I
had recorded 21 or more songs with Juan Barbosa. At times the pain was so
distracting that I’d frequently go off tempo, or blow a lyric, and was then forced
to re-do the track. Eventually, those songs will be released, and with Juan’s
patience and studio wizardry, they will likely be presentable to the general
public.
We arrived at the hospital at 6AM, and after all the paperwork, and
assessments, and the oft-repeated questions, I found myself sitting in a
waiting room, wearing nothing but a skimpy hospital gown and flimsy blue paper
slippers. I sat there, attached to an IV pole, with my very nervous, loving
wife Shauna by my side, waiting along with about ten other patients for our sessions
in the OR. Finally, around 8AM, all the surgical patients were herded into
another waiting room and taken, one by one, to our respective operating rooms.
I spoke to a few of the other patients to pass the time and distract myself
from my trepidation. There were young children in the group, some of them about
to have more invasive surgery that I was to undergo. Here I was, a 59 year old
man, nervous about relatively minor shoulder surgery, and there across from me
was an eight year old kid who had already endured heart surgery. I guess we’re
never too old to be afraid, but what a whiney bitch I am.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was led into my operating
room, and I met my surgeon. It was cold, and I was asked to lie down on a very
narrow table. “So which arm is it we’re operating on?” he asked. Hah freakin’
hah. He wrote something on my shoulder in black magic marker, the nurses
repositioned me, threw some warm blankets over me, and the next thing I knew I
was done and waking up in the recovery room. I’d forgotten what waking up from
general anesthesia felt like. At first it was kind of cool, like waking up
after a strange dream, but then, almost immediately, it felt as if there was an
anvil on my right shoulder. Just as it was beginning to hurt, there was a nurse
there to administer that glorious shot of hydromorphone. From there, it was
another couple of hours of recovery, then back to the hotel to spend the night
before heading home Saturday.
I fear I will not be a very good patient for Shauna, as I am used to being
the caregiver, but the good news is that, at least so far, the pain has been
far less severe than I had anticipated. I’m going to give it a couple of days
before I get too optimistic, but after 24 hours I had weaned myself off the strong
painkillers and seem to be alright with just Tylenol. I’m not one to quietly endure
pain and would do what I need to do to avoid it. Recovery and physiotherapy are
likely to take longer than I’d like but I am eager to get back to my normal
life. That brief visit to a hospital for a relatively minor elective surgery
was a reminder to me of how lucky I have been thus far to avoid any real health
problems. Once again my perspective has been “clarified” and I hope my good luck
continues.
Jack Bruce died last week. Cream was one of my all-time favorite rock
bands. R.I.P.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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