Sometimes even the most careful of us will overlook the obvious.
Stuff happens as we age and, eventually, most of us will require surgery of one sort or another. I have had my share. I've had enough that I pretty well know the drill.
And that's where the problem lies. Hiding in that drill.
You go in, take off your clothes, put on their silly gown and lie down on the bed.
Eventually someone will come in with a bunch of forms for you to sign. This one says that things sometimes don't go the way we hoped. Sign here. This one says that sometimes some pretty ugly things can happen. Sign here. Terrible things could conceivably happen. Sign. Awful, terrible things will almost certainly happen and you will probably die on the table. Sign here.
Thank you, have a lovely day.
A nurse sticks his or her head around the curtain. "Doctor Bumfuzzle will be here in just a few minutes."
Three hours later you will be told that the good doctor has been held up but will be along as soon as his blood alcohol level comes down.
Finally he shows up, bustles in through the curtains, picks up the chart, looks at it, says, "Hmmm. Hmm. Uhm-Hmm." He puts it down, looks at you. BIG smile. "Well, are we about ready? We probably won't see each other again until it's over. Do you have any questions? Good. You just lie back and be comfortable. Piece of cake."
Exit the doctor.
You wait for about an hour or two and the curtain parts again. A very handsome gentleman with a big smile and an air of confidence steps in. "Hi. I'm Doctor Hugglewump. I'll be your anesthesiologist today. Do you have any questions? Is there anything I need to know? Good. Now I'm going to give you a little something to make you sleepy. You just start counting backwards from one-hundred."
He injects stuff into your IV. You start to count. "One-hun... Snork."
Later you wake up — if nothing really bad happens. And you go from there. You feel all warm and fuzzy and comfy and in about four hours you will begin to cry and scream and beg for another pill.
Remember how you got here? Your family doc said, "We better have this looked at." You went to Doctor Bumfuzzle and he said, "Oh my, I don't think I've ever seen one this bad before. I'm afraid we're going to have to go in. I can do it Wednesday. Show up at the hospital at 4:00 a.m. Don't eat or drink anything after 8:00 p.m. Just come in the front door and they'll show you where to go. Any questions? Good. Wednesday."
You went home, got on the internet and Googled Doctor Bumfuzzle. You learned everything about him from his first pet's name to what size briefs he wears. You know his win/loss stats and all kinds of other stuff. Nothing really bad. Okay. But, just in case, you talk to some of his patients. They tell you he's great. You feel more at ease. You're in good hands.
Now, let's pull back and think about this for a second. What is the worst that Bumfuzzle can do? The absolute worst?
It's your shoulder. He is going to do a simple laparoscopic repair to your rotator cuff. He could really kind of mess that shoulder up. He could damage a nerve and you would never be able to use that arm again. He could get clumsy and it would never work right. He could even work on the wrong shoulder.
That's about it.
Now… Remember that other guy? Doctor Hugglewump? The one you never heard of before? The one you met 47 seconds before he knocked your cute little pink butt slam out? What could he possibly do to you?
Well, for starters, he could turn you into a vegetable. Maybe a nice cabbage or a cauliflower? Or he could just mess your mind up a little to where you can't remember your name for 17 minutes at a time.
Or he could kill you.
Or, he could give you a drug that paralyses you, and knocks you out for the operation — but it doesn't really knock you out. You're paralysed and can't even roll your eyeballs to let somebody know that you can see and hear and FEEL everything. EVERYTHING. You can't see it because he's off to the side but you can hear the scalpel bite into the skin and fat and flesh and you can feel every single movement as it cuts. And you can feel the laparoscope as he jams it in. No problem, he doesn't have to pussyfoot around about it. Just shove it on in. I mean, after all, you can't feel anything, right?
Need I say more?
My friend, don't worry about the guy who's going to fix your hernia, or take out your gall bladder. Worry about that handsome smiling confident looking guy. The one with the syringe behind his back.
If you're going to check somebody out, start with him.
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