Peter Jason
I was contacted by the cardiologist's (Dr Faraday) office
the day before and told to arrive at the hospital 12 hours
early because my procedure had been "brought forward".
I was on time (indeed, early) and reported to the check in
counter for the usual formalities, after which I was told to
report to the head nurse on the eighth floor.
There I was told that my procedure had been "put back" (to
the original time) and I was offered a breakfast since I had
been fasting unnecessarily early for the new time, and then
I was escorted to the ward.
On the way I was asked to step on to a set of electronic
scales which registered 3 Kg over my normal weight.
The ward contained one bed only and this was occupied by an
elderly patient just recovering from a "triple-bypass"
operation. The attendant with me explained that there was a
shortage of beds and that I was to sit in a chair next to
the empty space and wait for it. This I did for 1hr,
sustained by the book (a Lucrezia Borgia bio) and magazines
I had with me.
The bed then arrived pushed by a hairy muscled fellow
closely followed by Filipino attendants who busied
themselves making it. A male nurse appeared (an Ethiopian
with a poor command of English) with a sheaf of forms which
he started filling out to my prompts. I realized that this
form was identical to the one I had sent to the hospital by
mail one week before, and I had a photocopy with me which I
produced, and the nurse then filled out the fields from the
old form to the new.
I got into the bed which was quite comfortable and started
on the magazines. The bed was next to a large glass external
wall which seeped cold air in my direction (it being winter
here) and I was obliged to request two more blankets. Then
the head nurse appeared, a sort of manic woman with the
appearance and demeanour of the actress Anne Benning in her
role of the Marquise de Merteuil in the movie "Valmont", and
she kindly and expertly gave me the low-down and timing of
my "procedure" and then left me to a student nurse who took
a blood sample from my arm, and then she wheeled in an
electronic contraption which took one's blood pressure by
automatically inflating an arm cuff to uncomfortable levels,
and one's temperature by means of an ear probe with a throw-
away tip, and a 12-lead ECG.
About two hours later the male nurse reappeared with two
pills to swallow, explaining that my potassium was "rather
low". And all afternoon the occupant in the next bed coughed
and wheezed and answered phone calls. And there was nothing
worth watching on the TV supplied.
Anyway, 4.30pm arrived and the male nurse entered carrying
a "hospital garment" open at the back into which I
climbed, and then I was shaved in a certain spot, and told
that the operating theatre was ready. Right on cue the
hairy muscled fellow appeared who detached the
encumbrances from the bed and then with the help of
someone else pushed it out the door and into the corridor
and into an elevator for a trip to the floor below where
the operating theatres were situated.
I was pushed into a small operating theatre bristling with
electronic gadgets, including TV screens with ECG traces
and X-rays monitors still displaying the previous patients
procedure which was probably the insertion of a stent (or
whatever). The very narrow operating table stood in the
centre of the room just under a large object which turned
out to be the x-ray machine, and my hospital bed was
pushed up against this table which was being given a
change of covering. The room was very cold and I was told
to shimmy over onto the table after which I had some
blankets thrown over
me.
There were two or three male attendants (theatre nurses?)
who were bald and sporting small goatees, and they pushed
me this way and that while attaching two large rubber
pads at the base of my spine and another above my right
nipple and numerous ECG tags besides and I was told to
lie down and shut up. Then another person appeared and
confirmed I had stopped taking b-blockers for the
prescribed time, and I added that I had experienced two
4-hr episodes of arrhythmia, one the previous Saturday
and one the evening before.
Then I asked the nearest person where the anaesthetist was
and he said he was it, and then we did the mutual
introduction thing, and then I asked if all the rubber
pads were some sort of new fancy trans-dermal anaesthesia
device and he answered to the effect that they were just
more ECG contacts. Feeling rather foolish I answered the
rest of his questions about gastric reflux, allergies,
previous anaesthetic experiences etc, and I launched into
details of my mouth restoration procedure of two years
before, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Dr
Faraday dressed in a long white gown with a fetching white
belt, though lacking a chef's hat which would have set off
the ensemble to perfection. We greeted each other and I
inquired if he was feeling lucky that evening and he said
he was always (yeah - right). The anaesthetist then told a
dirty joke about a coconut and an avocado which was rather
amusing and at the same time securing my left arm to a
board projecting from the table - like the ones used for
lethally injecting convicts, and then started injecting
material into a vein. The anaesthetic crawled up my arm
coldly and I guess that was it.
End of part I
the day before and told to arrive at the hospital 12 hours
early because my procedure had been "brought forward".
I was on time (indeed, early) and reported to the check in
counter for the usual formalities, after which I was told to
report to the head nurse on the eighth floor.
There I was told that my procedure had been "put back" (to
the original time) and I was offered a breakfast since I had
been fasting unnecessarily early for the new time, and then
I was escorted to the ward.
On the way I was asked to step on to a set of electronic
scales which registered 3 Kg over my normal weight.
The ward contained one bed only and this was occupied by an
elderly patient just recovering from a "triple-bypass"
operation. The attendant with me explained that there was a
shortage of beds and that I was to sit in a chair next to
the empty space and wait for it. This I did for 1hr,
sustained by the book (a Lucrezia Borgia bio) and magazines
I had with me.
The bed then arrived pushed by a hairy muscled fellow
closely followed by Filipino attendants who busied
themselves making it. A male nurse appeared (an Ethiopian
with a poor command of English) with a sheaf of forms which
he started filling out to my prompts. I realized that this
form was identical to the one I had sent to the hospital by
mail one week before, and I had a photocopy with me which I
produced, and the nurse then filled out the fields from the
old form to the new.
I got into the bed which was quite comfortable and started
on the magazines. The bed was next to a large glass external
wall which seeped cold air in my direction (it being winter
here) and I was obliged to request two more blankets. Then
the head nurse appeared, a sort of manic woman with the
appearance and demeanour of the actress Anne Benning in her
role of the Marquise de Merteuil in the movie "Valmont", and
she kindly and expertly gave me the low-down and timing of
my "procedure" and then left me to a student nurse who took
a blood sample from my arm, and then she wheeled in an
electronic contraption which took one's blood pressure by
automatically inflating an arm cuff to uncomfortable levels,
and one's temperature by means of an ear probe with a throw-
away tip, and a 12-lead ECG.
About two hours later the male nurse reappeared with two
pills to swallow, explaining that my potassium was "rather
low". And all afternoon the occupant in the next bed coughed
and wheezed and answered phone calls. And there was nothing
worth watching on the TV supplied.
Anyway, 4.30pm arrived and the male nurse entered carrying
a "hospital garment" open at the back into which I
climbed, and then I was shaved in a certain spot, and told
that the operating theatre was ready. Right on cue the
hairy muscled fellow appeared who detached the
encumbrances from the bed and then with the help of
someone else pushed it out the door and into the corridor
and into an elevator for a trip to the floor below where
the operating theatres were situated.
I was pushed into a small operating theatre bristling with
electronic gadgets, including TV screens with ECG traces
and X-rays monitors still displaying the previous patients
procedure which was probably the insertion of a stent (or
whatever). The very narrow operating table stood in the
centre of the room just under a large object which turned
out to be the x-ray machine, and my hospital bed was
pushed up against this table which was being given a
change of covering. The room was very cold and I was told
to shimmy over onto the table after which I had some
blankets thrown over
me.
There were two or three male attendants (theatre nurses?)
who were bald and sporting small goatees, and they pushed
me this way and that while attaching two large rubber
pads at the base of my spine and another above my right
nipple and numerous ECG tags besides and I was told to
lie down and shut up. Then another person appeared and
confirmed I had stopped taking b-blockers for the
prescribed time, and I added that I had experienced two
4-hr episodes of arrhythmia, one the previous Saturday
and one the evening before.
Then I asked the nearest person where the anaesthetist was
and he said he was it, and then we did the mutual
introduction thing, and then I asked if all the rubber
pads were some sort of new fancy trans-dermal anaesthesia
device and he answered to the effect that they were just
more ECG contacts. Feeling rather foolish I answered the
rest of his questions about gastric reflux, allergies,
previous anaesthetic experiences etc, and I launched into
details of my mouth restoration procedure of two years
before, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Dr
Faraday dressed in a long white gown with a fetching white
belt, though lacking a chef's hat which would have set off
the ensemble to perfection. We greeted each other and I
inquired if he was feeling lucky that evening and he said
he was always (yeah - right). The anaesthetist then told a
dirty joke about a coconut and an avocado which was rather
amusing and at the same time securing my left arm to a
board projecting from the table - like the ones used for
lethally injecting convicts, and then started injecting
material into a vein. The anaesthetic crawled up my arm
coldly and I guess that was it.
End of part I
