"YES"

It was March 17th, my long awaited surgery date and I had a list of preparations to follow to prepare myself for the big event. Both the hospital and my surgeon's assistant had called me with instructions almost all of which were contradictory but we got that settled. The instructions were things like fasting, special cleansing of the incision sight--like that does a lot of good 12 hours ahead--changes in the actual surgery schedule, etc. The 2 big things that I thought were important were not to wear polish on my toenails--I could on my hands--and to write in big letters with a permanent marker on the foot of the affected leg the word "YES." I thought that seemed perfectly reasonable and had, in fact, planned to write on the good leg "Not this one, stupid," but thought their request to be more polite. So having done all these things I make haste to the hospital at the appointed time in the afternoon and do all the Mickey Mouse paper work and sign a gazillion papers--everything to protect the hospital and make sure I pay, bottom line.

Finally I get taken to pre-op which is a little nurses station with a big chair and two women, a nurse and a clerk type person. Of course, the clerk's job is the most important one and does she ever grill me--all questions to which they already have the answers right there in black and white. I get the feeling everytime I go to the doctor that I'm getting a memory test rather than treatment for the current issue since they have everything there is to know about me right there on their computer and I see no doctors outside the clinic. Also, at this time the nursey one looks down at my feet and sees my "YES" on my foot and informs me that they are going to cover that up with a pair of socks. Go figure. Anyway, they give me gowns and hospital fuzzy socks to go into the bathroom and put on to which I try to comply but then they want me to walk across a bathroom and office floor with these socks on after which I will be put onto a gurney to go to the pre surgery holding tank. I replied that I would not walk across their dirty floor in socks which would then contaminate the bed that I would be on and asked for my shoes. Now, don't get me wrong, I was perfectly polite in this interchange but I doubt that they didn't get my drift. I later learned that patients wear these socks in and out of bed in the hospital all the time going to the bathroom and out into the hallways to walk. Not this girl. Glad I had comfortable slip on shoes with me. And they wonder how infections get spread in the hospital. In pre op holding I was finally given a ballpoint pen and asked to write on my thigh the "YES" that I had been asked to write on the foot. I don't know how they checked my nails for blood circulation. Maybe they don't anymore.

The best part is that several hours later I came out of surgery to my waiting family and the left leg--the correct one--had a new hip and I had that wonderful morphine pump to get me through the night. I don't remember much of anything until the next day--I was safely in the arms of Morpheus.