Another one in the books
Surgery, that is. I did some adding, and by my calculations, this was family surgery #12. That doesn't include all the surgeries my children have had before they joined our family. That adds at least another 6, if not more.
K. is doing as well as can be expected after his bone graft surgery this morning. His hip is really hurting, but the next dose of pain medication is starting to help that, and he is not thrilled about the limited diet he has to endure for the moment. But it is over, he is fine, and I am very happy to be on this side of things.
As well as this being our 12th surgery, this was also our chance to experience a fourth hospital for surgery. (And compared to some of my friends, this number is small potatoes.) I think I was almost as nervous about a new hospital as I was about the procedure itself. There is something reassuring about knowing where things are, how things are done, and at one point, we were even recognizing some of the pre- and post-op staff. This was going to be all new, except for the surgeon.
We did not start out auspiciously. Google lied, and the 50 minute estimated trip to the hospital turned into a 100 minute slog through rush hour. (Even though we left at 5:15 am. Crazy.) So we were already a little bit late arriving. Then we realized that the instructions as to arrival we were given when the hospital called before the surgery were less than helpful. We ended up driving around a little bit trying to figure out which parking garage we were supposed to park in. I even tried calling the hospital concierge for clarification, but no one ever picked up the phone. Finally, we got up to check-in, a little more stressed than was quite necessary. One thing about arriving late, there is not a lot of waiting around. We were whisked back, and all the pre-op procedures happened quite rapidly.
At this point I wasn't too sure about this hospital. There wasn't a dedicated peds unit, and I was quite relieved that I wasn't there with one of my children who suffers from medical trauma. While people were friendly and informative enough, there wasn't the same level of attention that I had been used to. There was also a lot of assumptions made without the parents being consulted. This also set my teeth on edge a bit. For instance, the nurse added Versed to K.'s IV without even asking if this is something we wanted for him. In this case it was, so I didn't go completely berserk, but I have another child who reacts extremely badly to Versed, and I always turn it down in her case. K. was a trooper and was quite calm through the whole thing, so I kept my temper in check for his sake.
I was not a terribly contented mother as we headed towards the waiting room.
We settled in to wait. I tend to do handwork when waiting in surgery waiting rooms, so that is what I did. (Reading takes a little too much concentration.) I was able to finish one of a pair of mittens I've been working on, and to start the other. Surgery lasted the two hours which was expected and we were called to the consulting room. Things were fine, the surgery went well, and we were taken to post-op, where K. was still extremely dozy. Unlike others in my family, K. comes out of anesthetic rather quickly and in fairly good spirits. He also doesn't seem to be bothered by the anesthesia, and doesn't experience nausea. All of this makes for a fairly short time in recovery.
It was as we sat in recovery that my opinion of the hospital changed. I've decided that every recovery room looks alike. At least in the four very different hospitals I've now experienced they do. It doesn't matter the size or luxury of the hospital itself, the recovery rooms are pretty standard. Our nurse was great, and because of the lay out of the room, I could also amuse myself by paying attention to what was going on around us. All the nursing staff seemed to be extremely caring and pleasant. This is as it should be, but this group of nurses had an even more challenging job. While we were there, I heard Farsi, English, Spanish, and Polish being spoken, and that was just in our little corner. The nurse next to us was doing her darndest to use her phone to translate into Farsi for her patient, as they awaited the relative's arrival. It impressed me as these nurses not only worked to care for their patients, but had to overcome the language barrier as well, both for immediate care and for all of the take-home instructions. I left a much more contented mother.
This also went a long way to explaining the little pop quiz I had to take and pass after our general surgical instructions were given over the phone before the surgery. I thought it was odd, as I have never had to do that before. Listening to the different languages swirl around me in the recovery room, I realized that many of the people who have surgery at this hospital use English as a second language. It made sense that the hospital would have put safe guards into place to be sure the instructions were understood. It's all about context, isn't it?
Still, better instructions about where to park would have been appreciated, and I will probably be sure to never take my medically traumatized children to this hospital.
K. is doing as well as can be expected after his bone graft surgery this morning. His hip is really hurting, but the next dose of pain medication is starting to help that, and he is not thrilled about the limited diet he has to endure for the moment. But it is over, he is fine, and I am very happy to be on this side of things.
As well as this being our 12th surgery, this was also our chance to experience a fourth hospital for surgery. (And compared to some of my friends, this number is small potatoes.) I think I was almost as nervous about a new hospital as I was about the procedure itself. There is something reassuring about knowing where things are, how things are done, and at one point, we were even recognizing some of the pre- and post-op staff. This was going to be all new, except for the surgeon.
We did not start out auspiciously. Google lied, and the 50 minute estimated trip to the hospital turned into a 100 minute slog through rush hour. (Even though we left at 5:15 am. Crazy.) So we were already a little bit late arriving. Then we realized that the instructions as to arrival we were given when the hospital called before the surgery were less than helpful. We ended up driving around a little bit trying to figure out which parking garage we were supposed to park in. I even tried calling the hospital concierge for clarification, but no one ever picked up the phone. Finally, we got up to check-in, a little more stressed than was quite necessary. One thing about arriving late, there is not a lot of waiting around. We were whisked back, and all the pre-op procedures happened quite rapidly.
At this point I wasn't too sure about this hospital. There wasn't a dedicated peds unit, and I was quite relieved that I wasn't there with one of my children who suffers from medical trauma. While people were friendly and informative enough, there wasn't the same level of attention that I had been used to. There was also a lot of assumptions made without the parents being consulted. This also set my teeth on edge a bit. For instance, the nurse added Versed to K.'s IV without even asking if this is something we wanted for him. In this case it was, so I didn't go completely berserk, but I have another child who reacts extremely badly to Versed, and I always turn it down in her case. K. was a trooper and was quite calm through the whole thing, so I kept my temper in check for his sake.
I was not a terribly contented mother as we headed towards the waiting room.
We settled in to wait. I tend to do handwork when waiting in surgery waiting rooms, so that is what I did. (Reading takes a little too much concentration.) I was able to finish one of a pair of mittens I've been working on, and to start the other. Surgery lasted the two hours which was expected and we were called to the consulting room. Things were fine, the surgery went well, and we were taken to post-op, where K. was still extremely dozy. Unlike others in my family, K. comes out of anesthetic rather quickly and in fairly good spirits. He also doesn't seem to be bothered by the anesthesia, and doesn't experience nausea. All of this makes for a fairly short time in recovery.
It was as we sat in recovery that my opinion of the hospital changed. I've decided that every recovery room looks alike. At least in the four very different hospitals I've now experienced they do. It doesn't matter the size or luxury of the hospital itself, the recovery rooms are pretty standard. Our nurse was great, and because of the lay out of the room, I could also amuse myself by paying attention to what was going on around us. All the nursing staff seemed to be extremely caring and pleasant. This is as it should be, but this group of nurses had an even more challenging job. While we were there, I heard Farsi, English, Spanish, and Polish being spoken, and that was just in our little corner. The nurse next to us was doing her darndest to use her phone to translate into Farsi for her patient, as they awaited the relative's arrival. It impressed me as these nurses not only worked to care for their patients, but had to overcome the language barrier as well, both for immediate care and for all of the take-home instructions. I left a much more contented mother.
This also went a long way to explaining the little pop quiz I had to take and pass after our general surgical instructions were given over the phone before the surgery. I thought it was odd, as I have never had to do that before. Listening to the different languages swirl around me in the recovery room, I realized that many of the people who have surgery at this hospital use English as a second language. It made sense that the hospital would have put safe guards into place to be sure the instructions were understood. It's all about context, isn't it?
Still, better instructions about where to park would have been appreciated, and I will probably be sure to never take my medically traumatized children to this hospital.
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