TheBanyanTree: The leg on the cutting room floor

[Jim Miller]

Peter,

Loved it. Sorry , but I couldn't resist my own story.

I've had much experience with the medical establishment. Most problems come
from the God attitude of many doctors, but I've found most nursing staff to
be remarkable. I've gained many long term friends among them.

Tomorrow marks one year since I left my vocal cords, half my trachea and
the cancer tumors in a surgical waste bucket. I'm doing well, thank you,
however there are many tales between then and now. I was told to expect a
10 day stay following surgery. A large flap of chest muscle was removed
to rebuild my esophagus, after separation from the trachea, and to close it
off from the chest cavity. The time was required to guard against
unexpected failure while healing. I wasn't allowed any food or liquids
orally until a leak test was to be performed following a reasonable delay.
Food and meds pumped through a small tube down my nose.

Whether after effects from a long surgery, and the anesthesia, or simply
discomfort in the environment, that was one of my most miserable hospital
stays. I kept pleading with the doctor to let me recover at home. With my
history, he should have known that I would be fine, and appropriately
responsible in an emergency. He continued to refuse. On Wednesday, one week
following surgery, the doctor told me that I wouldn't be tested until
Monday. Six more days of misery. I was ready to walk out, feeding tube and
all.

Twice a day, my meds were crushed and fed through the feeding tube. Later
that morning, the shift nurse brought my meds, crushed them and began the
feed. The tube plugged. No amount of effort would unplug it. She got the
'kit; and tried to dissolve and dislodge the stubborn materials, with
similar success. She excused herself to consult by phone with the doctor.

I chose to solve the problem myself. I pulled the tube out, unplugged it
and coiled it on the counter. When the nurse returned, she saw the coiled
tube and her countenance turned to one of horror. (I don't know what the
doctor said. but he obviously instilled fear.) She asked if it fell out,
which was an absurd assumption. She told me that the doctor wanted her to
continue attempting to clear the tube as he felt the state of healing would
be too delicate to place a new one. (He should have known that I heal
fast.) With a tremor in her voice, she said that she would call the doctor
again to find out what he wanted to do. I told her to take the heat off
herself; tell him that I did it. The doctor scheduled the drink test for
Friday morning and I didn't get any food or fluids for the next 18 hours.
Yes, I passed, and was discharged.

Within 15 minutes of the nurse discovering my deed, I heard from my
transplant coordinator, who was off campus at the time, that I had been a
bad boy. We lol-ed by text. She knows me well. As I strolled down the hall,
the staff all turned to smile and anyone close gave me a high five. Not
every day does someone challenge the gods. I waited for the doctor or his
partner to bring it up again. No one ever did.

About seven months ago, I was in for a day surgery. Linda was going to pick
me up after she finished a meeting.  I got into surgery early and was out.
The recovery nurse wanted to know if I had a care giver there to pick me
up. I said that she was coming later, but I wanted discharged to wait in
more comfort. She assured me that because I had been under anesthesia,
someone else had to sign me out. I told her, no problem, I would just get
dressed an leave. Finally, after enough harassment, she agreed to discharge
me if I would wait in the family waiting area. I lied and agreed. I walked
out the door, and another five miles to meet Linda.

I think that you should know your limits. I haven't reached mine yet. At
69, I have too much life to live. Another doctor, who hadn't met me before,
started in on his petty; 'How Are You' questions. When he got to "How far
can you walk", I ask him how far he wanted to go. He repeated the question
thinking I didn't understand, and I repeated, "How far do you want to go".
He had no sense of humor. I assured him that I could walk further than he
could and again asked him where he wanted to go.

I know they have their rules. I also know that most of the ruled are
to pacify their insurers, and in house attorneys - the patient doesn't
count. I still believe in taking charge of my own destiny, and will
continue to do so as long as I have a voice. Linda and the boys have my
instructions when I lose it. And I've learned that the nurses, with a
few insignificant exceptions, love me for it.

Jim


On Wed, Mar 13, 2013 at 10:12 PM, Peter Macinnis <
petermacinnis at ozemail.com.au> wrote:

> I have just written to a medical practitioner friend with whom we do a lot
> of bush walking: he and his wife, also a medico, say we are alone among
> friends of their age in keeping up and not groaning.  Last Sunday, we
> walked 10 km that involved about 500 metres of ascent and 300 metres of
> descent (vertically) over rough ground.  We have known them since 1974.
>
> For Christmas, he sent me anonymously, and only identified himself later
> as the donor, a book called 'The 100-year-old man who climbed out the
> window and disappeared".
>
>