DICK’S SURGERY
Instalment Six, Success and Checkout
10:00. “I’ll lie
here and wait for the urge. I’d better not sleep in case my bladder relaxes
then spasms; that would be a disaster. I’ll just think of pleasant things: Mrs. Dick in the garden pruning her roses;
better yet, nurse Sarah in the garden.”
10:30. “Nothing yet.
I suppose I shouldn’t get so uptight; the nurses have been very kind and
supportive.”
10:45. “I may as
well get up and see what happens. It’s pretty dark in here; I’d better ring for
Nurse Fannie.”
“What’s up Dick?”
she chimed out in her usual friendly way.
“Let’s do it,” I
said. Fanny led the way to the bathroom, turned on the light, ran water in the
sink and slid the door closed behind her. I sat there, the plastic sombrero
situated expectantly in the front of the toilet. I was more relaxed now. “And
here we go: 100 ... 200 ... 300 mL,” I
counted as the plastic hat filled.
From there the
night went well. Not much sleep, but more peeing and even some pooping. I had
succeeded!
One last physio
session, dressed in the hospital gown over my pyjama bottoms. “Drop your pants so I can check your wound,”
said Nurse Gillian. The wound looked good.
Next was X-ray: “Drop your pants so I have a clear shot at
that hip.”
Then to ultrasound: “Drop your pants so I can check your leg for
blood clots.”
Time to be
discharged and here’s Nurse Gillian with the checkout sheet. “Physio, check. BM,
check. 200 mL of pee, check. X-ray, check. Ultrasound, check. Fragmin self administration
...” Before that dedicated nurse could
continue, my heroic Mrs. Dick threw her entire five feet nothing, 100 pound
frame on the unsuspecting nurse and sent her flying into a nearby laundry cart.
I grabbed the sheet, checked off that final item, signed the sheet, grabbed my
copy and hobbled away as quickly as I could, dragging my walker behind me, through
the front doors to the old truck, hand in hand with my very own Mrs. Dick.
Mrs. Dick, ready to turn the compost.
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