Ghosts of addictions past: Back to my story...
Las Vegas is not my kind of town. Although it was nice to get out of Dallas for a while, I often found myself staring down many ghosts from my past. Before the mess that is Hurricane Katrina struck, I was discussing my pending back surgery in 2001 (see entry, "Trading one pain for another".)
It was the Monday before my scheduled surgery on Thursday. I headed once again to Charity Hospital. I cannot think of any these places without Hurricane Katrina coming to mind. Anyway, I arrived at the hospital for blood work and a consultation about Social Security disability benefits. The blood work was a breeze. I met with a member of hospital staff to discuss government assistance after the surgery. I was shocked at how much the system wanted me to USE the system. I was told by my surgeon that I could return to my position at the NO/AIDS Task Force a month after the procedure. In order to qualify for Social Security benefits, I would have to be out of work a year. When I told this government employee I would be on my feet and working in a month, he immediately discouraged my fast return to the office. "Why not stay out and collect what is due to you?" were his words. I began to realize why so many are dependent on the "system." I thanked him and declined. He began to look at me like as though I was about to take my alien form. Amazing.
The day of the surgery came quickly. Greg took the day off from Tulane and we made our way to the hospital at 5:00 a.m. Once there, everything seemed to happen at an amazing pace. The next thing I knew I was in a room full of gurneys with others awaiting surgery. It was human assembly line. I was first administered an oral sedative, then an IV sedative. The nurse returned to me with a surprised look and exclaimed: "You're not out yet?" I was very quick to respond: "No, actually I'm very awake and alert." "Oh, I'll take care of that." she shot back. She returned with a syringe of Verset and put it in my IV. The injection made me loopy but I was still alert. As I was being carted to the operating room, I remember blurting out: "Hello?! I'm awake!! Once in the operating room I was flipped over, masked and the last thing I remember was the surgeon saying: "We're gonna have to shave that hairy ass." Great, exactly the words I wanted to hear before being launched to the planet "Anesthesia."
It's always a plus to have one of your many gay friends unknowingly work in recovery to witness the drooling and babble of awaking from surgery. I remember Greg and my brother David at my side as I continually asked: "What time is it?" The next thing I knew I was being wheeled into a small room with eight beds. I was number nine and with no room I was shoved into a corner by the door. I felt no pain in my left leg or back. My sister, who is a registered nurse, arrived and began to explain that I had to pee this much and eat this much before I would be allowed to go home. I began to drink water by the gallon and ate what was given to me by the hospital: baked chicken and grits....YIKES!
Painkillers and anesthesia dehydrated my body, but with all the water I had to go the bathroom. I tried to use the bed bottle, but with everyone standing around my bed waiting...well that was not an option. I wanted to get up and go to the restroom. My sister helped me get out of bed. The attending nurse hopped up and said: "Where are you going?" I told her I had to use the restroom. "But, honey, you just had back surgery." I told her I did not feel any pain and could walk. My sister walked me to the men's room. I was amazed that the pain I had lived with for months was gone. I filled the bottle and turned it into the nurse.
By this time, my surgeon showed up and asked me to get out of bed again. "Stand on your toes." he commanded. I did everything he asked. He explained the surgery went well and that the rupture was larger than he first thought. As far as my prognosis, he said it's like "voo doo and chicken blood." "There are no guarantees, the pain could return." He also advised I had to be hyper aware that I no longer had the back of a normal 38 year old. He put in the order to discharge me and started to write a prescription for Vicodin. I told him: "No more pain killers." I was on my way out the door as the nurse exclaimed: "All the good ones go home fast." I just smiled and thanked her. Greg and I headed home. The back pain was gone, but something still didn't feel right. Why was I still full of fear? This whole process had completely changed me. I was not the "old Matt" as many would later remark, including Greg. They had NO idea.
It was the Monday before my scheduled surgery on Thursday. I headed once again to Charity Hospital. I cannot think of any these places without Hurricane Katrina coming to mind. Anyway, I arrived at the hospital for blood work and a consultation about Social Security disability benefits. The blood work was a breeze. I met with a member of hospital staff to discuss government assistance after the surgery. I was shocked at how much the system wanted me to USE the system. I was told by my surgeon that I could return to my position at the NO/AIDS Task Force a month after the procedure. In order to qualify for Social Security benefits, I would have to be out of work a year. When I told this government employee I would be on my feet and working in a month, he immediately discouraged my fast return to the office. "Why not stay out and collect what is due to you?" were his words. I began to realize why so many are dependent on the "system." I thanked him and declined. He began to look at me like as though I was about to take my alien form. Amazing.
The day of the surgery came quickly. Greg took the day off from Tulane and we made our way to the hospital at 5:00 a.m. Once there, everything seemed to happen at an amazing pace. The next thing I knew I was in a room full of gurneys with others awaiting surgery. It was human assembly line. I was first administered an oral sedative, then an IV sedative. The nurse returned to me with a surprised look and exclaimed: "You're not out yet?" I was very quick to respond: "No, actually I'm very awake and alert." "Oh, I'll take care of that." she shot back. She returned with a syringe of Verset and put it in my IV. The injection made me loopy but I was still alert. As I was being carted to the operating room, I remember blurting out: "Hello?! I'm awake!! Once in the operating room I was flipped over, masked and the last thing I remember was the surgeon saying: "We're gonna have to shave that hairy ass." Great, exactly the words I wanted to hear before being launched to the planet "Anesthesia."
It's always a plus to have one of your many gay friends unknowingly work in recovery to witness the drooling and babble of awaking from surgery. I remember Greg and my brother David at my side as I continually asked: "What time is it?" The next thing I knew I was being wheeled into a small room with eight beds. I was number nine and with no room I was shoved into a corner by the door. I felt no pain in my left leg or back. My sister, who is a registered nurse, arrived and began to explain that I had to pee this much and eat this much before I would be allowed to go home. I began to drink water by the gallon and ate what was given to me by the hospital: baked chicken and grits....YIKES!
Painkillers and anesthesia dehydrated my body, but with all the water I had to go the bathroom. I tried to use the bed bottle, but with everyone standing around my bed waiting...well that was not an option. I wanted to get up and go to the restroom. My sister helped me get out of bed. The attending nurse hopped up and said: "Where are you going?" I told her I had to use the restroom. "But, honey, you just had back surgery." I told her I did not feel any pain and could walk. My sister walked me to the men's room. I was amazed that the pain I had lived with for months was gone. I filled the bottle and turned it into the nurse.
By this time, my surgeon showed up and asked me to get out of bed again. "Stand on your toes." he commanded. I did everything he asked. He explained the surgery went well and that the rupture was larger than he first thought. As far as my prognosis, he said it's like "voo doo and chicken blood." "There are no guarantees, the pain could return." He also advised I had to be hyper aware that I no longer had the back of a normal 38 year old. He put in the order to discharge me and started to write a prescription for Vicodin. I told him: "No more pain killers." I was on my way out the door as the nurse exclaimed: "All the good ones go home fast." I just smiled and thanked her. Greg and I headed home. The back pain was gone, but something still didn't feel right. Why was I still full of fear? This whole process had completely changed me. I was not the "old Matt" as many would later remark, including Greg. They had NO idea.
posted by Matthew Cortez at 9/12/2005 09:29:00 AM
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