Neverending Story

Surgery last week was not as eventful as I expected, which is a good thing in my book. I can thank God for watching over me in that regard. Few surprises, although I did bump into a long, lost Stanford friend who was assigned to be my anesthesiologist. I knew him when he was studying for his EE PhD. Uh, yea, a slight change in career since last we conversed. So he pops up just before I get wheeled into the OR. Okay, so that part was an added precipitance. Anyhow, Matt opted not to participate in my surgery, because he knows me, but we did get a chance to chat a little in recovery, where I was, of course, in the proper condition for friendly, catching up discourse. Ha.

The other anesthesiologist discussed my options of being put under or being mildly sedated, while one of the orthopedic surgeons tossed out the choices of numbing my entire right arm or locally anesthesizing my finger. After deciding to wait on nerve repair this surgery, we all agreed on a sedative with a digital block. Excellent choice, the consensus was (did I mention my nickname was Yoda in college? I'm sure you see the resemblance). For those of you who have had surgery, you might be able to relate to an impending sense of healing coupled with a twinge of doom. It is a paradox that is not easily reconcilable; trust me, I've tried. I didn't have to worry about it for long, though, as consciousness ended just after they parked my gurney in the OR.

I awoke to Matt's voice inquiring about how the surgery went. Considering I was in no pain, good, I guess. It wasn't until late that night that I realized the extent of what the doctors had done in the "more challenging than we had thought" pinning of my middle phalanx. Let's just say the previous dosage of Vicadin that had knocked me out did nothing to ease the excrutiating pain. They must have given me a placebo by mistake, at least that night. Since then, the pain flares up when it feels like it, but not with enough intensity that I need to dive into the motor skill impairing candy. All for the good of the local driving community. Who said I'm selfish all the time?

So now I await patiently, amidst vein inflammations, milder pain killers, and bouts of dizziness for the bone and the wound to heal. And I must vicariously live through my golf and tennis buddies' stories of down the line winners and impossible birdie shots from bunkers to get my sports fix for the summer. I'm not sure what's more painful - being a spectator or getting my finger busted.

Anyone want to see the pin?