I’ve been a little scarce. There’s a reason for that.
I’ve had this sneaking suspicion that I had a hernia for a while. A good while. A couple of years. But it was small. Since I didn’t think it was life-threatening I just let it go.
Over the New Year’s holiday I undertook a little project and noticed that the longer I was on my feet that little lump became a large bulge. Not good. And it was tender. But I could still put it back.
I did decide that maybe I might outta go to the doctor about it. First of all to make sure that my self-diagnoses was accurate seeing how I got my P.H.D. from a Cracker Jack box. Second of all to make sure that it wasn’t serious.
When I made the appointment the receptionist wanted to know the purpose of the visit. “Well, I think I have a hernia. I’ve got a bulge where there shouldn’t be one.” When I get there for the appointment I have to repeat it for the doctor. Then I have to show him. He touched it and said, “Hmm…yeah, that’s a hernia. Get dressed and I’ll be back.”
A few minutes later he returned to the room. A wry smile comes over his face and he says, “That’s, um, impressive. Can you put it back in?”
“Yes, I can put it back in. I do it all the time.”
“It’s an inguinal hernia. You need to have surgery. You need to do it before it becomes incarcerated. If that happens it’ll be an emergency surgery.”
He refers me to a surgeon.
I’ve never had surgery before. The surgeon asks me over and over again if I’ve had surgery. He says this kind of hernia usually happens when someone has had a previous surgery, like an appendectomy or a hysterectomy, and the tissue covering the organs is weakened.
Nope. All my parts are present and accounted for. I’ve still got everything I came here with.
Long story short, last Wednesday I had a robot putting a patch over the hole in my peritoneum. More specifically there was a surgeon using a joystick to put a patch over the hole in my peritoneum so my guts wouldn’t spill out. Nice, huh?
I don’t remember much about the whole thing. When I checked in they started a sleepy-time IV pronto. Thirty minutes later they wheeled me to the o.r. I moved from the bed to the operating table and the last thing I remember was the anesthesiologist saying, “Now I’m going to give you some medicine…” I was out. I didn’t even get to count backwards.
After the surgery I woke up in recovery and an hour or so later I was headed home. The nurse told me I should take my time getting up for a few days. “Don’t just spring up, you might get dizzy and fall.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t think I’ll be springing anywhere for a day or two.”
Since I’ve never had any kind of surgery I had no idea what to expect for recovery. I thought I’d be back to normal by Friday. Did. Not. Happen. But I’m pretty much there now. This is such a minor thing. It is minor, isn’t it?
Anyway, I did go back to work on Monday which I may get into a little trouble with the surgeon over. I have a desk job. I can sit at a desk as well as I can sit on a couch. Do you know what it’s like to sit on a couch? For days? B – o – r – i – n – g! Ain’t nobody got time for that!