We don't want to drag Annabelle out of bed that early, so that evening I call Pleasantville Taxi and arrange a cab to pull up at 6:15.
Next thing I know I've had too little sleep and I'm ducking into the back of the black car. At the last minute we realized neither myself or Leslie has cash in our wallets to pay the 23.00 cab fare to Mount Kisco, but by the time I've pulled my coat and bag together, Leslie is handing me two plastic baggies, one that she has managed to fill with 23.00 in bills and coins, and the other containing a 4.00 tip, all in coins. The cabbie will later remark, "Hey, its money."
One thing about having an ACL injury is you suddenly discover a whole hidden universe of people who have had orthopedic injuries, my cabbie being one. He used to be a construction worker, and tore his ACL for the second time pouring concrete. He also tells me stories of waking up in the middle of his surgeries and scaring the bejesus out of his doctors. Friendly guy, especially for 6:30 in the morning, but I think he'd be happier on a construction site, or riding a Harley, rather than driving this creaky Town Car.
Once at the surgery center, its an assembly line, although the nurses put you at ease. This is ambulatory surgery, so the room feels like a quiet, organized ER, and waiting your turn means instead of a hospital room, you get a cubby with a privacy curtain so you may change into your robe, socks, and of course, hair net.
I'm sitting on the gurney, giving info to Kathy, one of the nurses. Once she hears I work at Blue Sky she's excited to share she knows someone there--Cindy Slattery, a production coordinator. How does she know Cindy? Her husband and Cindy's Dad ride Harleys together. I should put her in touch with the cab driver.
Next comes the appearance of the anesthesiologist, who cheerfully inserts a nerve block for my left leg just above the groin area. I have not yet been moved from the cubby. Raff, or Raphe, I think his name was, then must have added the knockout drug to my IV, because I have just one more dream-like memory after that, that of the surgeon, Dr. Karas eerily appearing from behind the cubby curtain, followed by--nothing.
Then I hear sounds of the room again, and in a minute my eyes open as I groggily register I'm still in the gurney but on the other side of the room. I am confused about what is happening until I'm able to direct some words at a nearby nurse and then she is telling me its all over! One short black out and 2 hours of God-Knows-What has transpired. I wasn't even allowed to retain memories of being wheeled to the operating room. Call me paranoid, but its like Karas wants to be completely invisible to his surgery patients, like that Tom Lee Jones character in MEN IN BLACK wontonly "nueralyzing" anyone who might have a memory of the crazy sh*t that went down.
So here I am at home, about six hours after the surgery. I believe the Percoset is making me look inappropriately cheerful. The blue tubes are sending ice water to a cuff around the knee, and the leg is in a continuous passive motion machine which is slowly flexing it while I eat lunch.
Next installment I'll tell you a story about reckless behavior you should avoid on your first day of surgery.
