The Hernia (part three)

The Pain Isn't Over 'Til It's Over

I was very happy to be lazing around in bed, after my minor (major) surgery. The insidious bump had been cut away. All that was left was a one-inch scar which hopefully would not be visible, once my pubic hair grew back in.

The warm quilt gently grabbed my side and helped me to sleep through the afternoon. My wife took the evening shift, watching over my recovery and my dear mother-in-law made certain that I was comfortable through the daytime. But as the days of my one-week convalescence rolled by, there began to be a problem. I was feeling better and I wanted to get up and move around. Peeing sideways into a bowl was getting old and I was beginning to feel helpless. I craved for the adventure of fully using the bathroom on my own.

It was about the fourth day and my mother-in-law was away in the kitchen making me lunch. I had made the decision that I was going to take my first baby steps. I removed the blanket from my left side and slowly slid my leg towards the edge of the bed. Everything went well until my left leg was hovering off the side of the bed. The pain began at the point of the bandaged incision and then hit me like forked lightning, making a path throughout my torso. I used my left arm to push my leg back to the mattress and I finally had relief. It was now obvious. I could not do this by myself. I decided to wait for the evening shift so my wife could lift my leg, lower it to the floor and then assist me in hobbling to the warm, awaiting bowl, which actually, was only a few steps down the hall.

About two weeks later, I felt totally healed and things seemed to be returning to normal. I was finally able to get around the apartment on my own. I had learned to be cautious with my movements because slight pangs of pain would bring me back to reality. I had come to terms with not moving my mid-section more than I had to. The thought of going back to doing my regular exercise routine, which included sit-ups, made me nervous, so at this point, slow was good for now.

My brother was having a birthday party and we all piled into the car that glorious Sunday morning. Getting in and out of the passenger seat was still a chore for me but as long as I balanced my weight away from the delicate area, it seemed workable. Once we reached our destination, my wife got out and was unbuckling our one-year old from the car seat. I had just opened my door to get out, when the unspeakable happened.

The cool air that rushed in as the door opened had tickled the hairs of my nose. I gave a hard sneeze and suddenly my world felt like it was coming to an end. The only way I can describe it was that the doctor was again making the first cut and he was ripping his way up to my brain.  Another sneeze was coming which I was trying desperately to muffle. My feigned attempt to stop this action, only caused a second jolt of pain. As I sat there seeing stars, I cried out loud:

"I've done it now! I've busted the stitches wide open! I've got to go back to the hospital!"

My wife walked over to my side of the car with our sleeping daughter in hand and leaned into the open door. Strangely enough, she had more perspective in these matters than I did. She had spent the past few weeks listening to me trying not to complain about my condition.

"Want me to call your brother out here to give you a hand?" she patiently asked.

The thought of my brother and who knows how many curious onlookers coming to the car, helped to calm me a bit. I realized that I was sore but the pain was going away. I guess my post-hernial incision had reacted to the sneeze, the same as if I had tried to do a sit-up.  It was too soon for that type of pressure. Apparently, the muscles down there wanted to work together but they weren't finished healing yet.

It's been many years since that day and I've learned my lesson in terms of not straining myself. I love to exercise and I've know how to pace myself. Even Superman has his limits.

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The Hernia (part two)

October 1984 - Surviving Embarrassment

I arrived at the doctor's office in pain but with an ever-increasing hope that soon I'd be on the course to feeling better. Little did I know, I'd have to first face some primal embarrassments.

The nurse soon led me to Doctor Urologist's examination room and this is when I saw it. I truly believed that only the female gender used those spread-em-wide stirrups that were connected to the foot of the table. As I changed into a hospital gown, I slowly realized this not to be so. Dr. U instructed me to lie down and put my legs up in the holsters. I understood that this is necessary so that a thorough examination could be performed but I was also pretty sure it was also to convenience the doctor. As he worked, the Doc let me know that there were many different types of hernias and that they could also occur in newborns or the elderly, be they male or female. I zoned out on the details of other kinds of hernia. I just wanted to know what was next in store for me and not a baby (I wonder if the mention of baby hernia was some kind of snide joke on his part, ? Naa. Couldn't be).

After the doctor was finished (thank God), I finally sat in his other office. Dr. U confirmed that I had an inguinal hernia and that a simple surgery would be necessary in order to repair it. Then, with a smile, he said that the bowel that was pushing through the membrane was reducible (or could be pushed back in place). In any case, with surgery it would be required. But if the hernia had been irreducible and can't be pushed back in place, then say a prayer. This could have turned into a medical emergency since the blood supply would have been choked off to that area. The development of dead (gangrenous) bowel is possible in as little as six hours. In other words, there was the possibility that had I waited a much longer time, before getting it taken care of, it might have killed me. That would have made for a bad day, so I agreed to the procedure.

About two days later, I'm sitting in a hospital bed, waiting to see what happens next. I was told by a nurse that I would have to be shaved down there as a precaution against infection. That didn't bother me much until the male nurse entered the room with the foam and blade. Isn't there some kind of rule that a FEMALE nurse is supposed to be handling the equipment? I guess not. At least the guy was professional and after a few uncomfortable minutes, I was now as bald as the day I was born.

After being given some pre-op medication, I was placed on a gurney. Someone wheeled me out of my room and the lights overhead crawled along the ceiling. I was joking with the pretty nurse, hoping that I was making some kind of sense. I was told by Doc U that I would be given gas and to please count backwards from one-hundred. I think I got to ninety-eight. I soon wished that that was all I could remember. As the merry-go-round was spinning,with me on it, I felt what I could only describe as a dull tugging in the surgical area. I moaned a bit, hoping that the volunteer worker that administered the anesthesia understood that I was trying to say "Hey numb-nut, I'm awake. I can feel that!" It seemed that they understood because a needle was soon placed in my IV and suddenly my trip to the circus became happy again.

When I finally woke, I found myself bandaged up. I was curious about the incision but I was pretty sore so I decided not to move much. My hope was that after the surgery, I would be a much happier camper but I did not understand that a brand new pain was on the way.

To be continued.....

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The Hernia (part one)

October 1984 - The Price of Ego

Back at the turn of the century (the early 1980's), this young man was at the pinnacle of his physical condition. During that time, I had a job moving furniture. I looked like an ant moving five times my weight but I had a secret. I learned how to maneuver objects around (with a little help from my partner, of course) and I soon understood that even with the heaviest pieces, there was always a way to get it into the building without hurting myself

About a year later, I was asked by my supervisor if I could make certain that a container of laundry detergent was taken up to to the second floor. After all of my previous training, my ego quickly said yes and I rolled the cylindrical container to the edge of the stairway. Without assistance, the best way to get this thing upstairs would have been to flip it over from one end to the other. Not wanting to damage the cardboard container, I opted to pick the thing up and carry it up the fourteen steps. To this day, I can remember the stress and strain to my entire body, as I made the quest towards the far away landing at the top. Of all of the herculean stunts I had performed, none stands out more than the stupidity of that day. I mean, what was the problem? The container only weighed 100 lbs. It might have been the accumulation of all the past exertions but I truly feel that this was the antic that pushed me towards the dreaded consequence called the HERNIA.

By the middle of 1984, I began to feel a slight bump between the lower left side of my abdomen and my upper thigh. It would come and go and I tried to not give it much thought. Isn't it grand how the male ego works when you feel that you are indestructible? What could possibly go wrong?

What was going wrong was that the swelling became more regular and it seemed to occur mostly when I was standing. The blood would rush to that area and not recede unless I lied down or used my finger to push the little lump back into it's little home. Odd as it sounds, I became a master at doing this particular maneuver through my pants pocket. This seemed to be working fine until that dreaded day in October.

I had gotten a job as a manager of a group home and I was determined to make a good impression. I'd just gotten off the D train at 59th Street and was now standing on the subway platform to take the #7 train to Queens.  My left hand was in my pocket, pressing the little bump but it didn't seem to make a difference. There was no denying it. I was in a lot of pain. The train pulled into the station and I said a prayer. My prayers were answered and I was able to get a seat. I thought this would relieve some of the stress but as I sat there with my hand in pocket, I began to sweat. The pain was determined to follow me to my job. I now had no choice. I got off at the next stop and began the trek to take the two trains necessary to get me back home.

This was in the days before cell phones, so when my wife heard me come through the door and then I lied in a supine position on the bed, she was more than a little curious about what I was doing home. For the first time in a few hours, with my knees up, I finally felt some relief. Mr. Macho had no choice but to spill his guts about what I had been going through for the last few months. She called our family doctor and then she then got the number of a specialist.

The doc said what I described sounded like an  inguinal hernia. It was probably caused by strain on the groin. It seems that fat or a piece of small intestine pushes downward through a weakened space into the groin area. They are often painful and could become strangulated (this is when blood flow to the affected area is compromised). That could be life threatening, so whether I liked it or not, surgery was in order. So much for macho.

To be continued..........

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