On yesterday's operation

 Oh, the life of a neurotic accident victim.

On Tuesday, I got a phone call from the Montreal General saying my operation was scheduled for the next day. It was a little less than a week after the "two to three weeks" the doctor had said it would be. The woman said that she would phone back with exact time and place I was to be in the hospital. I started preparations including social media ones.

An hour or so later, the woman phoned back to tell me to be at the hospital at 6 AM and at room such-and-such. Also, I should have someone to take me home.

At that point, my mental train jumped off the rails. Going home the same day? That seemed to imply that it would not be "The Operation" which would reconstruct my tibia. I asked for details but all she had was mumbo-jumbo about my Taylor Spatial Frame, a.k.a., the shackle around my left leg. My best theory was the surgeon was going to take off the frame to let my skin heal a bit before doing "The Big Operation". The disappointment and anxiety had me crying for much of the day. However, Mummy heroically volunteer to bring me back from the hospital. I prepped a short stay backpack and a long stay duffle. I left the latter at home just in case.

I failed to sleep on Tuesday night, so I got up early enough to make the hospital before 6. After waiting a certain amount of time, the preoperative preparations began. Eventually, a junior orthopedic surgeon identified himself. I asked him if he knew what exactly my surgery was going to be. He said: "Oh, yes." 

I replied: "Good, I'm glad that one of use does, because I don't! But I would really like to know!" 

He demurred at that point as he didn't want to give me incorrect information, but he did summon the senior surgeon. The latter explained that he would reconstruct my tibia with bone grafts from my pelvis but without putting "a nail" inside my tibia. This would be The Final Operation. *touch wood* There would be a few of relatively minor procedures including the removal of the Taylor Spatial Frame somewhere down the road. But with luck, I shouldn't have to undergo another big operation.

This put me in such a good mood that when the surgeon pointed out that I hadn't signed the line on the form for allowing anesthesia, I quipped: "How do you know I'm not a masochist?"

Anyway, several hours later I awoke in the recovery room in the company of a friendly nurse who watched over me for several hours as I regained sensation in and usage of my legs (I'd had something like an epidural.). I also had come to terms with an intermittent and intense pain in my lower left side caused by the extraction of bone from my pelvis. The pain was not helped by the presence of a drain at the site of the extraction. One of the worrying bits was the pain could be triggered by using the muscles near the site. This made most types movement as something to be avoided if possible.

Mummy came in and out as requested by the nurse. I was eventually deemed fit enough to be released. Mummy drove me home. I had a snooze followed by a supper of leftover stir-fry and rice. I went back to bed and slept uneasily for a long time.

Today, I awoke relatively late and sent Mummy to get some breakfast sandwiches at a nearby restaurant. We then went to the Alexis Nihon Plaza for some medications and groceries. I was startled that the increased dosage of the pain killer came with an antidote kit. Thankfully, the pain from the drain has dropped off. 

Tomorrow, the drain will be removed which will reduce the mental load.