Alright so, I had my foot surgery (the “Kidner Procedure” in case anybody wants to look up a really tedious medical article about it later) in mid-August.
It’s been about a month (although some days it feels like years…) but I feel that I should really share more information on that, you know, week of recovery. Aka, the week of elevation, ice, Percocet, whining, the entire series of House of Cards, and more naps combined than I have ever taken in my life.
Crazy Things Drugs Make Me Say
On the day of the surgery, I had absolutely no concerns whatsoever. My mom drove me to the doctor’s office, she asked me if I was nervous, I said no, and we continued to talk about the latest episode of This American Life.
When I got there, I signed in and luckily didn’t have to wait very long before the very nice, yet slightly patronizing, nurse called me back.
I filled out all the waivers, put on the hospital gown, and received the rundown from my pre-op nurse. Once I had gotten the sedative, they let my mom come in to take my belongings and say a final farewell.
Once the sedative kicked in, I had apparently become distressed over the cost of the surgery, and had started scheming ways to make a little extra money on the side.
I assume that by now everyone has thoroughly researched the “Kidner Procedure” and you understand the logistics of the surgery that I underwent. However, for those of you that for some reason didn’t take the time, this procedure consists of removing an extra bone on the inside of my foot, called an accessory navicular, which had been dislocated due to an injury I sustained back in February.
Once my mom sat down, I asked her, if I put my removed bone under my pillow that night, how much money she thought the Tooth Fairy would leave? Because didn’t she think that bones were worth more than teeth?
She told me that she didn’t think the Tooth Fairy worked that way, and that anyway, the doctor had to send the bone to the medical lab and wouldn’t allow us to take it home.
Back to the drawing board.
Once I got into the operating room, I watched all of the medical staff preparing everything. I then introduced myself and requested that everyone else do the same; since we were going to be spending the next hour or so together, we might as well get to know each other. They obliged, and then one of the nurses told me there would be a quiz after the surgery.
I’m certainly glad they forgot about the quiz, because I don’t have the slightest idea what anyone’s name was.
I awoke once the surgery was over and felt them wheeling me out of the operating room. Allegedly, during my anaesthesia-induced coma, I had dreamt that one of the staff members, a 50-something-year-old male nurse, and I had spent the day at the beach together. Once I woke up, I immediately pointed to him and told him about my dream, and how much fun we had had. He then went on to tell me that that must have been a great dream, because he’s scuba certified and loves going to the beach.
I then asked him if he would like to go scuba diving with me sometime because 1) I too am scuba certified, 2) I haven’t been diving in a long time since I’ve had a very hard time finding a dive buddy and 3) we had such a great time at the beach that morning, it only seemed logical. He seemed flattered, but told me it had been at least twenty years since he last dived.
I just couldn’t cut a break.
Then the post-op nurse came in and started preparing everything so that I could leave. In an attempt to make friendly small talk, I asked her if she had any other surgeries that day. She said yes, one more. A few minutes later, I asked her the same thing, and she gave me the same answer. Realizing that our conversation sounded familiar, I asked if I had just said that. She smiled and said yes, but it’s okay.
This exact conversation happened three more times before I left.
The Week of Recovery
My mother, the saint of my life, so graciously assisted me during the week of the recovery process. She made sure that my ice pack was always cold, my pillows were always fluffed, and she let me eat as many saltines as I wanted without judgment.
However, it was likely the most stir-crazy I have ever felt in my life.
My week of doing nothing, except letting my stupid useless foot heal, in Snapchat form:
^ This is also the story of how I lost all of my friends.