Hi everyone. The general structure of my posting to this thread is going to be in medias res, which is to say, disjointed. It's not really that much of a diary since I'm too lazy and not self-obsessed enough to keep one, but I'll start with how my week has gone.
Monday, Feb 1
6:00 AM: I closed the door to my apartment which made a THUD in the empty hallway. I got into the cab which I had called, which took me to a clinic across town. This is the day I'd been waiting for, with equal parts anticipation and nervousness.
6:15: I arrive and am told to wait. A couple minutes later (after picking up a newspaper and seeing my boss's picture on the front, weird), I'm led into a room where there are two other patients. They get a rough awakening, and I greet them with a chipper "Guten Morgen". Soon I'm set up in my ravishing hospital fashions; an orderly gives me an 'anti-thrombosis' injection; and a few minutes later I get wheeled down into the operating room holding pen where there's one other guy. I bet we both wondered what the other was having removed/fixed; early Monday is urology day at the clinic, so who knows?
7:30: After what only seemed like a couple of minutes in the holding pen but was really more like a half hour, they wheeled me in to get prepped. Someone asked me for verification what I'm having done. I struggled with my German for a bit. "Um, um, (thinking), (light bulb goes off), Hodenentfehrnung." I smiled, knowing that I was able to make myself understood in German; I had sat at home all the previous week mouthing the word to myself knowing that I'd have to pronounce it perfectly at this moment.
They anesthetized my right forearm, jammed in an IV the size of a garden hose, and told me that...
9:30: Rise and shine! I woke up pretty sharply from my anesthesia as if nothing had happened; and I felt as if nothing had happened. I actually had to ask if anything had been done and what time it was. They wheeled me upstairs where I'd be for another two days.
The pain wasn't too bad but just to be on the safe side when the pain began to come I asked for a painkiller. Nausea city! I couldn't eat a proper lunch, and I kept dozing off and waking up when a hyperactive orderly would come in and ask, yell really, if we wanted tea or something, and not listen for our answers. Older patients (hard of hearing and a bit human-interaction-deprived) seem to take well to this kind of behavior, while it just annoys the heck out of me, since I would have preferred some rest.
At about 4 or 4:30 I became more coherent and was able to put down serious amounts of tea and water. Dinner was a couple of slices of cheese and a couple of slices of processed meat (and some bread which I didn't eat) so it's a good thing that a friend of mine visited me. I sent her out for a quart of Linguica-tomato soup at a Portuguese restaurant next door; never has tomato soup tasted so good.
Sleep that night? Near zero. The guy in the bed next to me was a bit pensive and calm after his prostate surgery (it could always be worse, right?), but the guy next to him was an industrial worker (driver actually) who made more noise and commotion than a boiler explosion. He had some sort of internal bleeding problem which he was operated on for, and he grunted and tossed and turned and opened up and closed the loudest velcro vest EVER and would crash into the nearby closet doors somehow as he tossed and turned. Oh, and he was a heavy smoker with a serious cough and boy did he SNORE. He'd take smoke breaks over in the bathroom and then open the window right above my head to get some fresh air. We don't really have a word for this kind of guy in American English since we really don't have industrial workers anymore to speak of. Thankfully he left in the morning.
The guy next to me was much more sedate. He had a prostate operation a couple of hours after my operation, and the big issue with him was the whole catheter thing, plus the fact that he's basically being flushed with enough water to fill the Baltic. Every two hours or so an orderly would have to take a pitcher of what looked like pink lemonade and go dump it into the toilet. In a night without much rest. And my second least favorite orderly, a hyperactive Polish guy, was giving me crap about why I wasn't sleeping on my side. After my groin had been cut into, twice. With two drains still in there, which ain't so comfy.
I was too tired to start an argument and he wouldn't listen to my groggy broken German anyway, but I was going to say, "Well, let's give YOU an inguinal castration, mister, with scary-looking tubes sticking out, with a bed that reclines like an airplane seat, and see how much YOU roll over, mister!"
Ugh, where do they find these people?
Tuesday, February 2
Breakfast was not TOO eventful. Someone had amended my order to include a bunch of stuff I didn't want, namely tons of bread and margarine, but THIS orderly is one of this nicest ladies I've ever met. She took the bread back and, in addition, brought some extra vegetables for me.
The conversation with the older guy next to me kind of meandered; he mostly wanted someone to talk to. He's a German of a certain generation which was born during the onset of World War II and had to deal with rough conditions for the first decade or so of his life. Fashionwise, you can spot them on the street by the fact that they look like homeless people and NEVER throw clothes away. The conversation was mostly about the record snowfall that we've been having in northern Europe, plus his garden.
Lunch: Kohlroulade, my favorite German dish after Rinderroulade. I wish that there were more, but in general German food is good and well-made, and German hospital food is edible. The orderly was also SHOCKED that I still had my drains in (as if I knew the word 'surgical drain' in German and knew how to make the plural accusative out of it). After lunch he pulled them out. Honestly, that is the worst pain I felt through this entire process, but after about a minute I felt much better.
I tried to catch up on some rest throughout the evening, but the combinations of copious black tea (which was good but strong), the stale air (headache inducing), the orderlies yelling at the old man about his catheter and pee-bag (he tried to detach them and go into the toilet, I think, out of boredom), all combined to thwart my efforts. At least for dinner they got my order right; I ordered tons of that really good German smoked ham. mmmmmmm By this time I could eat a horse, but this eunuch loves his ham.
Tuesday night was better: No yob sounding as if he were being assaulted by an elk, fewer visits from the pee-bag fairy for my roommate, nobody smoking, and rough agreement between the two of us as to how often we'd open the window to try and clear the air. I got at least some rest.
Wednesday February 3
They really screwed up my breakfast order this time. I ordered 2 eggs (pun intended), some of that good ham, and a few other things. I got one egg, a ton of bread, and very little of that good ham, though they were nice enough to bring my cucumbers and tomatoes that I'd special-ordered since they're happy when someone cares to special-order something healthy. The one thing I have been fantasizing about all week was a good omelet, maybe with some smoked salmon on the side. You can all guess what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow. mmmmmmmmmm
The orderlies' parting joke? That I'd better go get some nuts when I went shopping. I said I'd have hard-boiled eggs instead. (As in Spanish, 'eggs' also means 'testicles' in German).
I made it home at about 10:30 in the morning; calling a cab was rough since the whole town is snowed in; but we were able to get one and I'm here now.
At this point the pain isn't so bad, though I will feel a bit if I suddenly sit down or get up. Walking is a little bit difficult but this afternoon I hope to mail a postcard, get something to eat, and stop by the pharmacy to get some bandages and send in my next testosterone prescription. This isn't as ambitious as it sounds, since all of these things are within two or three blocks. I have all afternoon.
And? Lunch! I can eat a horse.
In comparison with the alcohol injections, I have found some interesting contrasts. The injections are far more debilitating when done effectively, since in my case they swelled up to the size of oranges and hurt like hell. Now, I have no painful balls to get in the way. The incisions at this point are more like classic flesh wounds, unpleasant and on the deep side, but not debilitating. Walking is about as difficult, but the sharp debilitating pain is not there. I think I'll be OK.
And sitting in the hospital room, I thought, "It could be worse," as I looked over at the prostate surgery patient.
I will say, my enthusiasm for a sack reduction surgery right away has gone down; I might just want to bundle that in when I get my complete nullo. We'll see about that.
But yeah, I did it! I smiled a little bit yesterday thinking about this, but I don't think that the sense of accomplishment will really set in until things heal and look good. Looking down, it looks like I still have something in my sack since a little bit of fluid decided to go there. And I can't shower yet and my movement is limited. And that sack HAS to go at some point. So there is stuff to do yet.
I'll post on my motivations, my history, and my future aims, as well as my healing, as things strike me.
Meanwhile, off to the store.
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Originally Posted by graylayer02
July 27, 2005
