Adventures in Knee Surgery

(Disclaimer:  As God is my witness, I did not make any of this up.)

The old people decline in our household has begun.  Not so much with me, of course, because I am much younger, but with the Husband, bless his heart.  Among other ailments, he has within the past few months developed a tear in his meniscus.  No skiing accident, basketball accident or even falling on ice.  The doctor's professional diagnosis: "You're getting old."  Next up is surgery.  OK, we can do this.  And by we, I mean Him.

Artist's rendering of my healthy knee, left, and husband's knee, right

Fortunately, he goes to pre-admission before the surgery so he can get all of the medical questions and preliminaries (including jaw-dropping prepayment) out of the way. Name.  Birthdate.  What are you having done?  Are you diabetic?  Do you have any metal implants? Do you wear dentures?  Contacts?  Please pay now. This will save us a lot of time on the day of the surgery.  Plus, we get to pay up front!  Yay!

Day of surgery arrives.  Husband says I can just drop him off.  No, I insist on accompanying him.  You're going under anesthesia, I say.  I'm not taking any chances of something happening when I'm not there. Turns out anesthesia was the one thing I probably didn't have to worry about.

No one is available to check us in, but eventually Husband chases someone down, and only an hour after our scheduled check-in time, we are allowed back to pre-op.

Nurse 1 comes in with computer.  Name? Birthdate?  What are you having done? Are you diabetic?  Any dentures, contacts, metal implants, jewelry?  (So much for pre-admission.)  Husband indicates his wedding ring.

N1:  That's gonna have to come off.

H:  I can't get it off.

N1:  Well I can try to wrap something around it in between the finger and ring.

H:  Can't you just wrap sterile tape around it?

N1:  No, there has to be something between the ring and finger because if you start bleeding and they have to cauterize, the sparks will go straight to the metal and burn your finger.  (She turns back to computer.)  But I've only seen it happen a couple of times.

At this point Nurse 2 comes in to insert an IV.  She is on the generous size and has to MOVE THE BED in order to have room to sit down and do the IV.  What are you having done? Are you diabetic?  She then begins to narrate the procedure, sort of to herself, but loud enough for us to hear. 

N2:  Hmmmm, when I push it up further, it stops dripping.  But when I pull it down a little, it drips again.  Push it up, it stops.  I pull it down, it drips.  (Yes, she is pushing and pulling as she says this.)  Well, I guess this will have to do. I'd like it to go a little faster but I guess it will be fine.

Meanwhile, across the way, behind the soundproof curtains, we hear FOUR nurses trying SEVEN times to get an IV in another patient.  How do we know this?  Because they are narrating their procedure too!  Were they all trained to do this?  I'm surprised I haven't passed out by now.  The only thing keeping me from doing so is the thought that if I faint, they might try to put an IV in.

Handy chart I will be taking with me next time.  Except there will be no next time.

I begin monitoring the drip myself.

Nurse 3 now enters and introduces herself as husband's nurse for the procedure. She opens her clipboard and begins:  Name? Birthdate?  What are you having done? Are you diabetic? Implants, dentures, contacts, jewelry?

Husband indicates wedding ring.

N3:  Well, that's gonna have to come off.

H:  I can't get it off.

N3:  Dr. Surgeon is a real stickler for jewelry.  We need to get it off. You could start swelling after surgery, and it's really not worth losing your finger over.

H:  It won't come off.

N3: Ok, well we have a little trick we use that sometimes works.  We'll try that.

I've seen this Youtube video that shows an elaborate wrapping of elastic or ribbon to compress your finger and then reverse the wrapping so the ring gradually comes off.  So I'm thinking this is the trick they're gonna use, and I really want to see this in real life.

But this is not their trick.  You know what their trick is?  LOTION.  That's the trick.  N2 hands Husband the lotion and says just rub that around on your finger and see if the ring comes off.  Like that hasn't been tried before.  However, I say, if it works, pass it over.  I'd like to get my wedding ring off too.

Since this wasn't magic lotion, trick fails.  Who could see that coming?  Not N1, N2 or N3 apparently.  So N1 cuts a finger off a latex glove and begins to tediously wrap it around the ring to cushion the finger.  This takes about three weeks.  Then she says, "Maybe that will work."  She turns back to the computer.  "And maybe it won't happen."

Husband and I can no longer make eye contact.  But I do lean over to him and whisper, "Sweetheart, if I don't see you again, I want you to know that I love you and you have always been the only one for me."

Dr. Surgeon comes in and thankfully, knows what procedure is being done and what knee it is being performed on, which he initials, in case he gets flustered in the OR and can't remember.  Dr. Surgeon reminds the nurses to do a full body shave. HAHAHA.  He is just joking!  What a cut-up Dr. Surgeon is, pun intended.  Just the knee shave, N1.

N1 proceeds to shave the knee, and we wonder if we could have saved any money by doing this part at home. Actually, we are now wondering if we could have saved a lot of money by skipping the procedure all together. 

 Dr. Anesthesia comes in.  We love Dr. A.  He knows his stuff and is funny without being annoying.  I'm pretty sure Husband will wake up from the procedure, with or without his ring finger. 

 Because Dr. A seems so knowledgeable, I ask him how long until show time. He assures me they are just about ready, and he will have Husband back to me within the hour.

And he's right!  I knew I could trust Dr. A.  Unfortunately, Dr. A has nothing to do with release procedures.  We are back to N1 and N3. When we can find them.  Believe it or not, Husband is finding the IV very painful. N3 says she can't remove it until she is sure he is drinking properly.  He reminds her he just finished a can of Sprite. Not enough evidence.  

Finally, N3 comes in with post-op procedures and release paperwork. This takes approximately another two days to explain. But, now we are free.

I am happy to report that Husband is recovering nicely, despite all efforts of the hospital staff to make sure that did not happen.  He is now back to his normal grumpy self, which I love and complement with my unending stream of smiling sunshine. Hahaha, no, we are both back to our normal grumpy selves.

We now return to our regularly scheduled lives.

Butter, Brooklyn and Broadway -- Day Three

Day 3 Summary - Son walks very fast, intentionally trying to lose parents

Y'all better brace yourselves, because today is the most New York day of all the days we have spent in New York.  Let's start with breakfast.  I mention that we should really have authentic bagels while we're in New York.  The boy approves bagels from Murray's, and my dear sweet husband, love of my life, he with the injured knee, walks six blocks, in the snow, uphill both ways, to bring us back delicious bagel breakfast sandwiches.  We are off to a good start.  [After this was originally posted, an important correction was requested by the husband, and I quote: Love the blog post dear heart- but just to set the record straight the bagel delivery racked up 20 blocks round trip. Next time your wife says "it's just down the street" ask to see the map.]

First on the agenda today is the Frick Collection, one of the boy's favorite museums.  On Sunday, it's pay what you wish from 11:00 to 1:00, so we have time to walk through a different part of Central Park on the way.  The boy knows where he's going, so we meander along behind him.  Music is everywhere -- some are organized, planned performances but there are a lot of itinerant musicians out there.  My favorite is the woman on accordion.  My favorite WAS going to be this group that sounded fantastic when I thought they were all acapella, but then I realized they were singing with a track.  

Before crossing over to the museum, we end up in the center of the park at Bethesda Fountain and Terrace.  Photo op! The boy hates being photographed, but we love it!  We think we still look young and hip and in love. Hahahahahaha.  Please don't miss the perfect positioning of the pigeon on top of the angel.

Reaching the Frick, we realize that the artwork inside is only part of the museum.  The house itself is a work of art.  Built during the Gilded Age by Henry Clay Frick, the house was designed to actually be a museum after his death, so it is almost unchanged since the time Frick lived here.  

In the center of the home is a beautiful courtyard, where on selected Sunday afternoons materials are provided for sketching.  Today is such a day.

Are you following here?  Bagels, Central Park, museum, sketching in the museum courtyard.  We are so New York today.

Lunch!  I mean brunch!  Tavern on the Green!  Well, here's the deal.  The thought and experience of eating at Tavern on the Green was far better than actually eating at Tavern on the Green.  They were out of our first choice, and there were definitely issues with some of our order.  If I were to go back for brunch, and I probably wouldn't, I would not go with the prix fixe menu.  Just not worth it.  And I would definitely select a different entree.  But the most likely scenario, should I ever return, would be to try dinner.  But all was not in vain, as I did leave with a cool Tavern on the Green mug and apron. 

Back to the hotel to rest because tonight we are going to be oh so touristy and go to the Empire State Building to watch the sun set.  

The Empire State Building is about three blocks from our hotel, and we set off about 7:00.  We have express tickets to bypass the line, but here's a little tip for you if you decide to do that. Stop at the information desk and ask how it works, and then EVERY EMPLOYEE you see show them you have an express pass.  There are NO signs or directions and if you don't ask, you will end up in line with the unwashed masses.  It took us a bit to figure this out, but we basically had escorted service once we asked someone.

That is where the magic ended.  Once on the observation deck, you're on your own.  With the unwashed masses. Hundreds, nay, thousands of people!  Is there no limit to what the deck can hold?  Apparently not, because more and more people are crowding in.  It is impossible to move, let alone take in the view or take pictures.  You have to be very alert in order to grab a place next to the rail when someone vacates it.  

Here's another thing.  It is not romantic at all.  Maybe if we were there at midnight?  Is that when it's romantic?  We are too old to find out.  We are glad we went, and glad we got an obligatory tourist picture.  But we are one and done for the Empire State Building.  

And that, folks, is our three perfect days in New York.  We will return.  Once the boy has recovered sufficiently from this visit.

Butter, Brooklyn & Broadway -- Day Two

Day 2 Summary -- Son walks very fast, occasionally stops to wait for parents, who are older than they were yesterday

Day 2 promises to be especially exciting as we are gonna see the REAL New York.  That's right, it is subway time!  We have seen all those Youtube videos of subway entertainment and can't wait to see what unexpected exhibition may be in store for us.  However, our ride on the subway is so civilized that I fear we have gotten on a London train by mistake.

Our destination this morning is the 9/11 Memorial Museum.  The Memorial is two pools set in the footprints of the original Twin Towers.  Waterfalls cascade down the sides into a pool and then into a seemingly endless hole in the middle.  The number of names inscribed on the sides of the pools is sobering. It's a thoughtful, beautiful remembrance.  I'm relieved to see that no one is dangling their feet in the water, as I saw people do at the WWII Memorial in DC.

Our ticketed entrance is 9:30am, so I check with the husband for the time.  He looks at his phone and says "9:11."  The boy and I both look at him, a little startled.  He shrugs.  "That's what it says."  We decide we better get in line.

The museum is basically underground, and parts of the original foundation and columns are visible at certain locations.  The main rooms are immense, with high ceilings and lots of open space.  The largeness of the space appropriately matches the enormity of the 9/11 attack.  People are almost completely silent.  That's how well this museum is doing its job.

The individual exhibits are smaller and feel more closed in, and seem to mirror the entrapment of those caught in the Towers that day.  Throughout the museum, audio can be heard of family and friends of victims reading their names at the memorial service, as well as 911 calls and eyewitness accounts.  Minute by minute on the various timelines, the attacks and aftermath happened so fast and yet in slow motion.  Your eyes and ears are filled with the horror and sadness and anger of the day, translating into your own emotions.

I was not prepared for how emotional this experience would be for me, although I have felt the same intensity of sadness when visiting the Sixth Floor Museum in Dallas and the Oklahoma City Memorial.  All these unspeakable tragedies brought the country together in grief, if only briefly.  Reliving each one of them is a poignant reminder of how fragile and uncertain life is. 

Eventually, you arrive at a room that is brightly lit.  An architectural model of the Twin Towers is in a glass case in the center of the room.  On the walls surrounding it are tributes to New York before 9/11 -- showing what a visible presence the towers were in movies, press photos, and souvenirs.  It appears New York will always be divided into two time frames -- before 9/11 and after.  The placement of this room is a relief from the heaviness you have just experienced.  It even has benches as if the museum designers knew you would be ready for a break. 

Exit through the gift shop.

Back in the bright sunlight, we head back to the subway.  It's time to see where the boy lives in Brooklyn, and as concerned parents, of course we want to see what kind of nasty hell-hole this apartment is.  The walk from the subway to his apartment is pleasant, through a nice, quiet neighborhood.  Yay!  The apartment, which he shares with two roommates, is small, but neat and clean.  Everything has a place -- and there's a place for everything!  Let me tell you something, people who think the tiny house is a new trend.  New Yorkers have been living like this for years!  We love the apartment, his homemade chicken salad and the life he is building for himself.  

As much as we've enjoyed our subway experiences, we have also been sorely disappointed, and take a cab back to the hotel.  Our driver is normal and speaks perfect English.  New York, is there nothing about you in the movies that is real?

Dinner and a rest (presumably for the old people, but might I mention that the boy also takes a snooze?  Presumably from the emotional draining of being with the old people).  It's getting dark, and the boy and I decide to head out for a walk.  Husband's old man knee is giving out and he passes on the outing, but offers helpful advice as we leave.  "Be careful!  Guard your purse!"  We step into the hallway, the boy rolls his eyes and says, "It's not like that, Mom."  Yet another in a long line of New York disappointments.

The hotel is only a few blocks from Times Square, so we must go there to see all the lights.  And it is gloriously lit.  And terribly crowded. You guys. We are in Times Square on Saturday night.  The boy confesses, "This isn't my favorite part of New York."  So now we're on 44th Avenue, also known as Rodgers & Hammerstein Way.  I love this!  Broadway shows one right after the other!  Even though we've elected not to attend a show this weekend, it makes me happy just being in their presence.  

And Day 2 is a wrap.  But we still have Day 3 to come!

  

Butter, Brooklyn & Broadway -- Day One

Day 1 Summary -- Son walks very fast, tries to walk slower to accommodate dawdling, aging, gawking parents
Our son, an architecture student, has been living in New York for three years, and this is our first trip to see him, but our adventure really begins with the flight to LaGuardia. We are frequent fliers, but work circumstances for my husband have kept him on road travel for the past year and a half. He is astounded to find out we no longer have to shut off our cellphones and ipads. I patiently and sweetly instruct him in putting them in airplane mode, because I love helping people. Some people call it bossy. He then asks if anything else has changed. Can he smoke? No, but he can still drink, I assure him.

Quick, uneventful flight and we are there! LaGuardia! It's big! And noisy! But we find our bags and our airport shuttle and we are off to midtown Manhattan. Our hotel is the Wyndham New Yorker. Art Deco, very nice. Love historic hotels. Hubs road travel points paid for this one. I love him so much.



We meet the boy outside the hotel and drop off our bags since it's too early to check in. We head to Fifth Avenue (!) and begin walking.  

And walk...and more walking...walking...still walking.


Now, here is how well the boy knows his parents. Our first stop is the New York Public Library. Because we are HUGE Ghostbusters fans! I kid. We ARE huge Ghostbuster fans, but we truly love all things books. This library to end all libraries is amazing -- beautiful -- marble everywhere. The boy points out a smaller location across the street where you actually check books out. This one's just for research. And show. It's a beautiful public space as well, adjacent to Bryant Park. Lovely, cool and green, this is the boy's favorite spot to hang out. I love him so much.

We leave the coolness of Bryant Park and continue to walk to one of the boy's favorite meditative spots. On the way we stop in at St. Patrick's Cathedral, which is heavily under construction and filled with tourists. It's noisy, busy and decidedly not meditative. But a few blocks away, just as I am beginning to wilt from the heat and my inappropriate choice of long sleeves, we reach our destination of St. Thomas, an Episcopal Church that is truly beautiful, quiet and blessedly cool. We sit, meditatively, and take in our sacred surroundings, discussing later how there are so few truly sacred spaces left. (I'm looking at you, St. Patrick's.)

St. Thomas Church, Fifth Avenue

Our next immediate destination is Butter, Chef Alex Guarneschelli's restaurant in midtown. It is elegant and lovely. And, it's restaurant week! (Restaurant week this year is July 21 to August 15. Weeks are longer here. That's just the way it is in the big city.) Select restaurants provide a prix fixe menu at $25 for lunch. We are delighted. The meal is delicious, exactly what I would expect from Iron Chef Guarneschelli. And the waiter is so nice and friendly! He treats us just like we belong there. I love New York so much.

Other stops today included the boy's favorite architectural spots:

The Dakota, via Strawberry Fields in Central Park

The Ansonia

Dinner at this place:

Arte Cafe: Lovely setting and lovely Italian food.  And wine.

You've noticed my commentary has decreased . . . this parallels our energy level as we moved through the day . . . more to come.  For now, we sleep. 

View from our hotel window

Ghosts of School Years Past

In all the years I fought with the masses in Target at 3:30 pm on the first day of school, I never thought I would be saying this: I miss shopping for school supplies. (Of course, if you're REALLY serious about school supplies, you go to Staples or Office Depot -- which we have also been known to frequent on back-to-school shopping trips.)  In spite of the crowds, the expense, the arguments with the kids ("Why can't you use last year's scissors?  They already have your name on them!") and the repeated trip two days later when the teacher hands out the REAL school supply list -- I miss shopping for school supplies.

Of course, there are so many other emotions tied up in this memory.  School years gone, children gone, regrets over missed opportunities.  It seems odd that this one event can embody so many feelings and thoughts.  There is also this:  the beginning of the school year -- with its puchase of new packages of notebook paper (college-ruled), pens (blue or black only, please),  markers (washable), and unopened (and hence undried-out) glue sticks -- has the excitement of a fresh beginning, a new start, the chance to do better this year, stay on top of assignments from the very beginning, forge new friendships and strengthen old ones.

It's sort of another chance for all the resolutions you didn't keep after the first of the calendar year, with its excitement of a fresh beginning, a new start, the chance to do better this year, stay on top of assignments from the very beginning . . . well, you get the idea.

So, when does this wear off?  This feeling that the beginning of the school year is a new start for all of us, regardless of whether we are in school, or have children in school, or grandchildren in school.  I don't know when it wears off -- all I know is that it hasn't happened for me yet.  So I think I will take this opportunity to make a fresh start  and try to do better -- with family, friends, tasks and opportunities.  Might even write more than one blog post this year. 

I've got to make a trip to Target anyway, so I think I'll pick up a new package of paper (in any rule I choose) and pens (in any color I choose).  Might even stick a few school supplies in a box to send to the kids, who now do their own back-to-school shopping. Just for old times' sake.

Tennessee Christmas

I've now been in Tennessee for a little over a month.  I've filled the car up once and still have almost half a tank left!  You would think I would have all the boxes unpacked by now if I'm not using up gas going anywhere . . .

On Saturday, it snowed.  It was the perfect snow -- already snowing when we woke up, we were able to just watch it all morning without going anywhere, it covered the ground and trees, and then melted off (mostly) by the end of the day.  No freezing streets.  Dog was bewildered.  Just peed on the very edge of the grass and ran back in as fast as his little legs would carry him.  Which, quite frankly, is what I would do if I were forced out to do my duty in the snow.

The first time my husband and I lived in Tennessee (almost 25 years ago!), it was right after we were married.  We weren't able to travel to for Christmas, so our first Christmas was just us.  On Christmas Eve, it snowed.  It was the first White Christmas I remember ever being a part of.  I thought it only happened in Christmas songs. It felt like a gentle blessing on our marriage and our new life together.

In a sense, we're starting a new life together now as well.  Kids are grown and basically out of the house . . . just the dog left.  The snow this year seemed like a "welcome back to Tennessee" greeting.  Merry Christmas and may all your Christmases be white.

Hoarding

There's a new show on A&E called "Hoarders."  If you haven't seen it, it's about people with a psychological disorder that causes them to collect things obsessively even if it's dangerous or worthless.  I could only watch half a show before turning it off.  I'm not sure if the fact I was eating lunch at the time had anything to do with it.

However, when I turned it off I reveled in the relative cleanness of my previously-thought-to-be-cluttered house.  I could see the floor!  It was dirty, but I could see it!  I have waaaay too many books, but they are all on shelves.  That said, I do have my own issue of hoarding.  And not just chocolate.

We're in the process of preparing for a garage sale in anticipation of a move across county.  Where did all this junk come from?  So helpful to find all the swim goggles now and not the countless 6:30 am mornings when we were late for a swim meet.  Actually, as I'm looking to my right at the completed sets of boxes that have been gone through and priced, I have no idea what's in them.  And I just worked on them this weekend!

I've heard the advice that if you can't decide whether to keep something or not, you should box it up.  If you haven't opened the box in six months, get rid of it without opening it back up.  I am unable to do that.  I must look again.  Even now, as I'm being as ruthless as I've ever been, I'm having a great deal of difficulty letting go of the little wooden mouse that was in our children's stockings just two, or ten, years ago.

My son brought out several boxes of things he thinks he no longer wants, and it breaks my heart to see how unsentimental he is. He doesn't what to keep his remote-controlled "Bart Simpson on a Skateboard" or his chia Homer.  Never even planted his chia Homer.  He could still get plenty of use out of it! 

As I look through the things he and his sister have discarded, I guess a little bit of it is personal, because so many of these things I bought for them.  I am a careful gift buyer -- it must be attached to a memory or something meaningful for the person I'm buying for.  Or it can be a joke gift, but it still has to have meaning, or it's just not funny.  I guess I must have bought more for my memory than theirs. 

Of course, I tend to the other direction of not wanting to get rid of enough.  It's not just the things that I have a sentimental attachment to or memory of.  And just because I haven't thought about it in years, doesn't mean I can't think about it now!  And I do!  I can use this jewelry to make some incredibly creative . . . creation that people will want!  These calendars have beautiful pictures -- there must be a great way to reuse them!  I just don't know what that is!  But I might someday!  I do draw the line at toilet paper tubes and plastic butter containers.  I try to throw out pens when they're used up (why is THAT so hard to do?).  

It may be genetic.  When my sisters and I spent a weekend several years ago cleaning out our stored "stuff" (there is no other word for it) from our parents' attic, it was clear that Mother had just boxed everything up "as is" and put it away.  We knew this because the gum wrapper chain had been carefully preserved.  I was glad to find some of my childhood books, projects from my first Vacation Bible School and my plagiarized report on Holland (don't tell Mr. Smith).    And honestly, I don't remember much else that was recovered.

Perhaps this is a time when I can learn to let go of things -- I'm already letting go of my most precious possessions for the past 20 years -- my children.  Everything else should really pale in comparison.