Today was my pre-op day. They like to do it a month before, in case it turns out there is something else wrong with you. This is how my day went:
- arrive and be met by an adorable volunteer with blue hair who asked for my medicare and hospital cards, gave me a number, (#22) and sent me to the waiting room, where I waited about 45 min
- Adorable Blue Hair Lady called numbers 20-23 and made us sit closer to the secretary, where I overheard her tell 20 and 21 all the same things about showering pre-surgery when she gave them the special soapy sponges. And asked them for their insurance card or credit card for private rooms
- My turn with the secretary, where she repeated the instructions on showering, asked me for both my cards and my credit card, because yes please, I would like to not share my room.
- Returned to waiting room for about another 45 min, during which I watched CNN. Couldn’t knit as we were packed in like sardines.
- #22 to the pharmacist. Medicare and hospital card. List of medications. List of previous operations. Say, without prompting, what surgery I am having and by whom. She jotted everything down on a white form. Go back to the waiting room for 30 min.
- #22 to the nurse’s office. Medicare and hospital card please. Can you list your medications and previous surgeries? What surgery are you having and why and who is doing it? Geez, I would think YOU would know that, but ok. She jotted everything down on a white form with a yellow copy and sent me back for another 15 min in the waiting room.
- #22 to the blood-taking station. Medicare and hospital cards. I only care which arm you prefer and what is your doctor’s name. Now go back and wait again.
- #22 to Treatment Room E. Take off your clothes and put on a gown. oh and keep that Medicare and hospital card handy! Where, no pockets in the gown, oh well. 20 min later, in walks in a GP who now must go through my entire medical history, and apparently is not allowed to use the information I gave to the others earlier today. her form is blue, with a green copy. But the information is the same: meds, history, why/who/what surgery.
At least after that one, I got to go home. Meanwhile, while they were all busy running my cards through those ancient tchick-tchick machines and sticking labels on multi-copy colored forms, I answered emails, posted on FB and fixed something in the store database from my cell phone.
Chances that any of these conversations will uncover anything preventing me from surgery are slim to none. Chances that I will have to answer all of those questions again on the day of surgery: 100%