Yesterday was my knee replacement surgery; it was originally scheduled for a 9:00 am start time, then it changed to 3:00pm. And then “Murphy’s Law” reared its ugly head, and the time was changed to 4:00, then 5:00, then 6:45!
“Hungry? Me? Nah… No worries, I ate 12 hours ago!”
I had a spinal and on a scale of 1-10, I was told I was sedated at level “2.” 👏🏼 I listened to Pink Floyd and watched the whole thing on a TV monitor…. It was a bit surreal, kind of like watching a special knee, episode of “Hospital.”
Between the anathesiologist’s drugs and my music… It was a rather pleasant experience, if I dare say that!
Now step back in time a few hours…. The admissions nurse was pleasant enough, but insistent on making long, detailed, informative comments (which stopped the whole admissions process!) on pretty much every answer I gave her. She had something to say about the surgery, about the spinal I would be getting; she even explained my Mitral Valve Prolapse to me, even though, I told her I have lived with this condition, since I was 22.
I was polite and listened intently to a lot of “stuff” I already knew, UNTIL she began to “lecture” me on PMR/GCA.
(Me, talking to myself) “Ohhhh and do YOU have PMR/GCA? OH, no, you don’t… Hmmm. Okay than can you please, shut your gob!
She carried on and on while I smiled and nodded my head, at the appropriate pauses. It wasn’t until she changed tact and started “schooling” me on my Prednisilone intake, that I pretty much lost it.
Her: “How much are you on now?”
Her: “Oh, that’s nothing! That’s not a high dose at all!”
Me: “Yes, but I’ve been on it, at varying doses, continuously, for 15 months.”
Me: “I stared at 80mg and I have tapered down”
Her: “How long were you on 80mg?”
Me: ” I think 6-8 weeks.”
Her: “Oh, that’s nothing! I’ve had patients on 80 mg for 6-8 months!”
Me: “Ok, but then I tapered by 5 mg,so another 6-8 weeks at 75, 70, etc.
Me: “And I’ve had a few flares, when’re I had to increase, back to 60mg.”
Her: “Well, blah, blah, blah, and blah, blah!” I’ve had patients….
After an hour and a half of this, my Siciliano, Irish, American temper “flared” (no pun intended) and I started pacing the room, looking out the window, desperately trying to hold my tongue. My OH “knew”what was coming, and tried to get her back on track. …but to no avail.
Her: “Blah, blah Prednisilone this, blah, blah, blah Prednisilone that,”
Me: “Thanks very much for the lessen about Prednisilone. Do you think we could please get back to the admissions questions? said in a frustrated tone
Her: “Oh…. yes, of course. What do you prefer to be called?”
Me: (out loud) “Melissa.”
Me, in my head: “Melissa, the person who has actually had and lived with PMR/GCA for 15 months … and has swallowed maybe a thousand plus freakin Prednisilone tablets; the person who knows first hand the benifits of the drug, and has also experienced EVERY single side effect that they have to offer!”
…but you can call me Melissa.