I’ve never had this happen to me before. —Not for a procedure, that is.
In the ’80s and ’90s, in a movie or T.V. show, when something “Off the wall” with a character happened, you would hear the sound of a record on a Record Player scratching, and the scene would “Freeze Frame.” The record would sound something like this: “Errrr.” Everyone would look at the main character, and it was usually something funny happening.
So, to clarify, you would hear, “Errrrr,” and then the Frame would freeze on the Character’s Face. That’s it. The Ol’ “Freeze Frame.”
I arrived at 9:50 a.m. for my Colonoscopy Procedure Scheduled today for 11:30 a.m.
It was an “Outpatient” setting and not the hospital’s O.R. —Unbeknownst to Papa and me, that was pretty important.
The procedure would take place in the “Endo Center” in the Physicians Professional Plaza.
I had no problem checking in since I had completed all my paperwork online.
All that was left was for me to pay my deductible, which I did.
Once I got to the back, the nurses began Prepping me.
One began hooking me up to the “Vitals Machine.” I don’t know what it’s called, but it takes your Blood Pressure, Heart Rate, Oxygen Levels, etc.
Another nurse is getting ready to hook me up to the I.V.
I asked her not to use my hand because getting an I.V. in the hand hurts like the dickens.
Unfortunately, she was supposed to hook the I.V. up in, you guessed it, my hand.
Another nurse is asking me pertinent questions.
She explained that I would be “Put Under,” not using local anesthesia but something that would make me sleep.
She said, “You won’t know any difference. It’ll still put you to sleep.”
Years ago, I had a simple 45-minute surgery turn into a Nine and a Half Hour Surgery.
My Doctor said, “You damn near died on me, and I’ll never open you up again. Not unless it’s life or death.”
During that event, the Anesthesiologist visited me in my room. —This was after I got out of I.C.U.
He told me a few things that happened during the procedure, but the main thing I took away was this: From that day forward, I was to tell anyone putting me to sleep that I was a “Difficult Intubator.” Meaning it was difficult to intubate me.
So, ever since then, before any procedure, I’ve always said, “Also, I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a difficult Intubator.”
Back to today:
The nurses are prepping me.
I’m about to get an I.V. stuck into my hand.
I’m hooked up to the machine that gives my Vital Signs.
The main nurse has finished asking me all of her pertinent questions.
I say, “Also, I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a difficult Intubator.”
“Errrr.” {Freeze Frame}
Everyone stops and looks at me, the “Character” in this “Scene.”
The nurse, about to put the I.V. into my hand, moves the I.V. needle away.
The nurses then look at the Nurse in Charge.
“What did you say?” The Nurse in Charge asks me.
I felt like I had said something wrong.
Actually, I felt like I had told a joke that flopped—An awful joke that flopped.
“I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a difficult Intubator. I’m always to tell that when I have a procedure done.”
I open my mouth wide for them to see. “See—small mouth. Very small,” I mumble for them all to hear.
I’m supposed to tell the Anesthesiologist, so he’ll know. It’s never been an issue. He’s just supposed to be aware of it.
All the nurses look at each other.
I see the look in their eyes. I take their look in. I interpret it.
“I’m not getting this procedure done today, am I?” I say, shaking my head negatively.
“Let me get with the Doctor,” The Nurse in Charge says.
While she left to talk to the Doctor, the other nurses questioned me, and I questioned them.
“Do you have most of your procedures done in the O.R.?” One nurse asks.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I do,” I tell her.
“What’s the problem, though? I don’t think it’s ever been a problem before.”
“We are an ‘Outpatient’ facility and not equipped the same as the O.R.” She continued, “If something were to happen, we’d rather you be in the O.R.”
“Oh,” I say.
“You understand? We have to be safe.”
“Yeah. I understand. I’m not going to have the procedure today. And that’s fine. I understand.”
“Let’s hear what the Doctor Says.”
“Okay.”
Very shortly, the Doctor comes in.
He explained that he was trying to move me to the O.R. and have the procedure done today in the O.R.
He is, above and beyond, apologetic.
It looked like all the nurses were preparing for me to “Pitch a Fit.” That may have happened with other patients, but not me.
The Doctor said I might not get into the O.R. until the Afternoon.
I explained to him that Papa and I had to be at the school to pick up one of the Nieces this Afternoon.
I told him it would be okay with me if we rescheduled.
“It’s nobody’s fault; it is better to be safe,” I said.
I went out of my way to be polite. I know they were being safe.
I could tell the nurses were relieved when they saw that I was not upset.
Ultimately, I shook hands with the Doctor and the Nurses, dressed, found Papa, and returned home.
It was nobody’s fault.
Yes, I have a small mouth.
Yes, I’m a hard Intubator.
I was in no way upset.
We will try again after the Holidays.
