Yesterday I had my third surgery in this particular breast cancer sojourn. All in all, things went smoothly. The results are far from dazzling but, as a friend reminded me when I launched into my litany of complaints about what my body looks like, it's only been a few hours.
My report:
Why does the hospital want to send you into pre-op alone? The receptionist put up no fight at all when I indicated my wish for The Lovely Daughter to accompany me (although she did ask how old 24-year-old LD is, since she looks, apparently, a decade younger) and the nurses and doctors were gracious to both of us. I would not want to spent that particular hour of preparation alone, but most people do ~ because they are told that it's a requirement.
Best moment of the day: the pair of Bernese mountain dogs visiting the lobby: big, fluffy, beautiful friends.
It seemed to both me and LD, a more impartial observer, that the afternoon nursing staff was far more friendly and accommodating than the early morning group. Perhaps the hospital should re-think its idea of trying to get most surgeries done early in the day, and spread them out a bit so the staff is less stressed? My pre-op nurse actually opened her computer and used it to acquire the answers that I've had to answer prior to my past two surgeries, rather than running through them yet again with me. The staff quickly and kindly acceded to a couple of requests that I made over the course of the afternoon, requests to which I have previously received the following response: "No, we don't do it that way."
I don't want Versed, that pre-op drug that makes one loopy. Most people do; more power to them. I attribute to Versed the deep funk of a depression that I have experienced for days after other surgeries. Why do I have to explain this repeatedly? The anesthesiologist accepted it calmly; the nurse anesthesiologist was a little hostile. "Have you ever had surgery without Versed?" she demanded. "The last two times," I responded. "And it's made all the difference in the succeeding days." It occurred to me that it probably makes her life easier to deal with a slightly-out-of-it patient to whom the people in the OR do not have to explain every action before she goes to sleep.
If you want patients to relax, bring in the Bernese mountain dogs!
Image: Here.
Hospitals become more and more like "chop shops" every day. It's no longer a matter of "sometimes" they forget that they are dealing with human beings. It's a matter of "sometimes" (rarely) they remember.
ReplyDeleteHere here!!! Bring on the dogs! I've thought, time and again, about working with Keenan to get him certified for AAT. I need more hours in my day to get that accomplished at this point. I believe SO strongly in the calming and healing properties that only our beloved furry beasts can offer. I've seen it first hand in this house... sweet sweet puppy:) I LOVE that picture in your post.
ReplyDeletexo to you, Robin
This reminds me once again that we are our best advocates and that the people in positions of responsibility in hospitals and medical institutions would do well to put themselves on the other side of their services on occasion. It would truly give them a different perspective and in turn, change much of what takes place in those institutions.
ReplyDeleteThe more questions you ask, the more THEY (the staff) will learn. The more you speak up, the better your care will be. Having an advocate/witness/companion with you (LD) is a brilliant, simple way to ensure better care. I can see that you will be a fantastic pastoral caregiver to your parishioners in the hospital. I pray that your recovery will be "smooth sailing" this time!
ReplyDelete