HEELCATCHER

Heel Before Surgery

Having surgery late in the day makes for an interesting morning. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I also had a lot of time to think about it. This would be my first surgery. I had my wisdom teeth out about nine years earlier but it didn’t seem like a surgery…and even then I didn’t handle the iv very well. They had to use smelling salts to keep me from passing out before the anesthesia knocked me out.

I don’t like needles, especially ones that stay in your arm. I also don’t like the thought or sight of blood. Hospitals are not my favorite either. In short, I wasn’t looking forward to the whole affair and I couldn’t wait to get it over with.

I have a Bible reading schedule and the assigned verses for the day were Colossians 3:15-17. They were perfect for my situation. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts… Liz and I prayed for peace for myself and wisdom for our doctor. Several others in the church were praying for me as well. I felt at peace most of the day.

At noontime, the hospital called to see if I could come up early. This was an answer to prayer to me. I was ready to get going. The anticipation seemed worse than the actual event.

I got up to the hospital before 1pm and started the process of getting ready for surgery. By 1:30pm, I was ready to go. My vitals had been taken, my left leg had been shaved up to my calf, and the iv had been inserted. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. I just had to keep from looking at it or thinking about it. The TV helped…even if the only thing on was soap operas.

Just when it looked like I was headed to surgery, the nurse informed me that I had to wait. The other person whose surgery spot I was apparently taking was now also ready to go. He was going before me and his surgery was more involved. My surgery time was now closer to 4:30pm.

The extra time was not bad. Liz turned the channel to ESPN and we watched some meaningless college basketball game between Vanderbilt and Chaminade. We also talked for awhile about surgery, the recovery, Christmas, and a host of other things. I read a little of Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners by John Bunyan. Bunyan, the author of Pilgrim’s Progress, was a man who struggled with his thoughts and his faith as well. I was encouraged reading his testimony.

At about 3:30pm, a lady was placed in the holding area next to me. Though the curtain was drawn, her conversation with the nurse was clearly audible. She sounded like a hypochondriac who went from one surgery and procedure to the next. Her life sounded like an ongoing combination of real pain and perceived pain. She talked constantly with the nurse and whined to her husband, who at times seemed too eager to leave and run errands. At first, I found her pathetic but then began to pray for her. Her pain and dire depression, whether real or not, made my own situation seem less important.

At 4:30pm, I was taken up to the surgery waiting room. Here I would meet the anesthesiologist and my surgeon. Next to me in this room was the same lady who had been taken up a few minutes before me. She was still moaning, crying, and complaining of her pain, begging her husband to get her some pills out of her purse. Since I knew her name, I started a conversation with her through the curtain. It seemed to take her mind off her situation (and mine off my own). I eventually asked if I could pray for her. She said, “Of course!” I prayed for God’s peace for her. She prayed the same for me.

Soon I was meeting with the anesthesiologist. Short and sweet. I have learned that generally anesthesiologists are not much for conversation or personality. Next came Dr. C. He seemed to be in a good mood and ready to go. Always comforting when you are his next patient. We joked about a few things. He filled out a notebook full of papers. He then marked my foot with a long pen mark. I asked him if the surgery was arthroscopic. He said, “No. It is open surgery with an incision about 3-4 inches up the back of your heel.” First time I realized that. I guess I should have asked sooner though it wouldn’t have made much difference. “Whatever it takes to do it right,” I thought.

Surgery really is a step of faith. For an hour or so, you are putting your body and life at the complete disposal of another person. You are totally yielded to them. In theory, they could do whatever they want to you. You have to completely trust them. You put your life and well being in their hands. Interestingly, you also go in the operating room with nothing…except a cheap hospital gown. I couldn’t help but make the connection to coming to Jesus Christ for salvation. I come with nothing and trust Him for everything. He alone is qualified to heal my heart.

The last person to come in was the nurse who would be assisting the surgeon. He noted that I was about the 20^th Achilles injury case he had done…though the first with taekwondo. “Most of the Achilles injuries are from 40 year olds playing basketball like they are 20 year olds. Weekend warriors who don’t stretch very much.” I wasn’t much different. A 40 year old acting like a 20 year old in taekwondo, also not stretching and exercising like I should.

Just after 5pm, they wheeled me into the operating room. I was surprisingly relaxed. Joking with the nurse kept my stress level down. Prayers from friends surrounded me with peace. The room was noticeably cold especially when all you have on is a hospital gown. “Whoa, it is cold in here,” I said. “You don’t want the surgeon sweating in your wound, do you?” was the smiling reply from the nurse.

The anesthesiologist came in to check my heart rate and blood pressure. Then I mask was placed over my face and I was told to breathe slowly and deeply. I can only remember the third breath.

At 7:30pm, I began to wake up in the recovery room. The first thing I noticed was the clock on the wall and the intense pain in my foot. The recovery room nurse welcomed me to consciousness and asked me how my pain level was. I said, “About a six.” He gave me a shot of pain medicine and checked on me a few minutes later. “How is it now?” “About a four.” He gave me another one.

Thirty minutes later, I was back in the original holding room in the hospital. Groggy. Slightly nauseous. Semi-conscious. Ready to go home. Liz greeted me and kissed me. Oh, what a blessing of a great wife!

I drank some ginger ale and ate one graham cracker. It was after 8pm. The same day surgery room closed at 10:30pm. I had two and half hours to come out of anesthesia, urinate, and be discharged from the hospital. It was the middle item that would become a problem.

I continued to drink water from 8pm to 10pm with no real urge to urinate. Finally they decided to get me up to the bathroom. I took a few steps, felt incredibly nauseous and threw up the ginger ale and graham cracker. Next, they wheeled me into the bathroom. Everyone else in the same day unit was gone except myself, my wife, and two nurses. A few janitors also came in to clean up and mop. The lights were out, Dancing with the Stars was on one lone TV, and the nurses were standing outside the bathroom stall waiting for me to pee. Talk about pressure! I sat on the toilet drinking water and trying my hardest to go. Nothing came. Instead of going into the toilet, all the water I drank eventually came out of my mouth. I threw up three more times.

At 10:30pm, the nurse told me that they ordered a catheter. It was not the news I wanted to hear. I tried even harder to pee. I didn’t know much about catheters but I knew enough to know it was not going to be pleasant.

At 11:00pm, I was back in the bed, getting prepped for a catheter. I was told to relax but I was as tense as I had ever been. I cried out in pain as the catheter was inserted. It hurt more than anything I can remember. Liz held me and cried with me. Ten minutes later it was removed which hurt just as much. After that, getting the iv removed (one of my earlier fears) was a piece of cake. I couldn’t wait to leave.

I arrived home shortly after midnight. I had a few hallucinogenic dreams before finally getting a few hours of peaceful sleep. I was ready for the night to be over and a new day to come.

Monday started off roughly. Once 8:30am rolled around, I started making phone calls trying to figure out what the next steps would be. I only had two things from St. Peter’s—the name of a doctor (Dr. L) and the phone number to St. Peter’s orthopedic clinic. Neither proved to be helpful.

First, I called the orthopedic clinic. They had no record of a Dr. L and really no idea why I was calling them. They were only open for appointments on Thursdays and were obviously going to be closed the Thursday of that week, Thanksgiving Day. They told me to call an orthopedic group across the street from the hospital which supposedly had a Dr. L.

I called this clinic but they had no doctor by that name. They also did not take my insurance so that avenue was a dead end.

Starting to get frustrated, my wife told me to call St. Peter’s emergency room. I did. The nurse who answered was very helpful and at least gave me the first name of Dr. L. Lou. She also gave me his office number.

I called the doctor and got his receptionist. I was hoping that his office already had my information and were expecting to see me that day. After all, it was an orthopedic resident associated with him that gave me the impression that I was going to be seen on Monday and operated on Tuesday. The receptionist had no record of me and could not believe that a resident would tell me that I could have surgery so quickly.

“Have you had a blood test?”

“Yes. They took my blood at St. Peter’s to get me ready for a potential surgery,” I replied.

“Well, have you had an electrocardiogram?”

“No.”

“Well, all that would have to be done before surgery.”

I was becoming increasingly aware that getting surgery before Thanksgiving was not a high probability and more and more frustrated at the information given to me at the hospital (or rather the lack thereof).

The receptionist did tell me that I could see Dr. L that day. But when I told her my insurance, she said that he did not take it. Another dead end.

Since Lou was out, I decided to try Stu since he seemed to be a more experienced and more acclaimed orthopedic doctor any way. I called his offices but they also did not take my insurance and couldn’t see me for awhile.

Now I was irritated. What seemed like a fairly definite plan—doctor on Monday, surgery on Tuesday—was looking more and more like doctor in a few weeks and surgery who knows when. I was mad at the hospital, my insurance, and my kids. No real reason to be mad at my kids except that I was frustrated and they kept running around the house. Thankfully my wife kept me sane and gave me another avenue to try. She suggested the orthopedic doctor who did her knee surgery a year and a half earlier, Dr. C. At least I knew he took our insurance. And if he couldn’t see me or do Achilles surgery, perhaps someone in his group could.

I called his office and relayed my story. At first, the receptionist did not seem too optimistic but she put me on hold and went and talked to the doctor. In a few moments, she came back and asked if I could be up there at 2pm. I said, “Definitely.”

Before I could see Dr. C., I had to get approval from my primary doctor. Oh, the joys of HMO’s! I called them and thankfully they were accommodating. Thank You, God.

I saw Dr. C at 2pm. He remembered my wife and her surgery and that helped break the ice. He unwrapped my leg and examined my heel. It was the first time I had seen it since the injury. It was swollen now and slightly purple. He performed the Thompson test and felt the back of my heel. “It is completely ruptured.”

Dr. C told me my options and suggested surgery as the best long-term solution. I had already determined this so now the question was when.

“I could do surgery next Tuesday. My schedule is fairly open then. But if you want to get it done quickly, I could add you at the end of the day tomorrow around 5pm.”

I jokingly asked. “You won’t be too tired then, will you?”

“No, I can handle it,” he replied.

“Thank you. I’ll do the surgery tomorrow.”

I was so impressed with the doctor’s willingness to see me and add me to a busy surgery schedule. Though I wasn’t looking forward to the surgery, I was glad it was sooner rather than later. The recovery time is so long for an Achilles injury that I didn’t want to wait too long to get started. Thank You, God, for guiding my steps.

The rest of the day was fairly relaxed. I was nervous about the surgery but I was even more grateful that everything worked out so well. Having my foot unwrapped also felt good. We went out to eat that night at Friendlys. It was where we had planned to go after Jonah’s black belt graduation. I wanted to enjoy this treat with him. The meal was decent; the ice cream was good.

That night I took a good hot shower on my butt which was different but manageable. I could put a little weight on my foot but I didn’t trust it to hold me up so it felt better to sit.

I slept well that night.

I slept fairly well on the couch though I certainly felt groggy in the morning. The crutches and the lame foot were an instant reminder that I was in for a long day. Even a simple trip to the bathroom was a chore. Thankfully I had no real responsibilities for the day and there was plenty of football on TV to occupy my time.

I still had no pain which I was thankful for. An Achilles rupture is only initially painful. After that, it really doesn’t hurt at all (until surgery).

I was also thankful for the timing of it all. Though I certainly wouldn’t have ordered an Achilles rupture for myself, I had to thank God that it happened when it did. The two months prior had been non-stop activity and responsibility. A Senior Saints trip, an apologetics conference, a five-week sermon series, and a men’s retreat were all on my plate. Now the plate was fairly empty. Plus the Thanksgiving holiday time presented a shortened week and some days off.

My only real desire was to get the surgery done before Thanksgiving. I knew this could be a challenge. The only information I had from St. Peter’s was the last name of the doctor, Dr. L.. An internet search revealed a slew of doctors with that last name in New Jersey. Only two in the area were orthopedic surgeons, Lou and Stu. Looking at their profiles online, I was hoping it was Stu. Unfortunately, no place that I called on Saturday was open so I simply had to hope that I could figure it all out quickly on Monday morning.

A day of no responsibility and football on TV was nice, though I felt like a lazy bum when the day was over. My taekwondo instructor came over later in the evening to bring some fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and see how I was doing. That was the best part of the day.