‘Let the games begin!’

Rick Wimer

Local writer Rick Wimer underwent surgery for a knee replacement last month, and all went well. But before going under the knife, he shared this:

Today is the 23rd of January; now 24th, now 25th, now 26th now, Jan. 27th, my 81st birthday, and at 8 a.m. I will check into Buena Vista Regional Medical Center and get the gift of having my left knee replaced. My right knee will be potentially replaced on May 15, my wife Kapae’s birthday, another gift.

Reflecting back over those 81 years, among many other things, my history of medical surgeries and procedures is somewhat amazing. I’ve had body parts replaced, both hips; all teeth, toe straightening (bunionectomy); back surgery; removal of gall blander, prostate, skin cancer and cataracts; heart repair; a triple by-pass, heart stoppage (I still hold the record at Barstow Hospital for the longest stoppage in their history), two pacemakers; cardioversions; radiology, skin grafts, hearing aids and chemo injections.

The ritual of getting ready

I sometimes have been referred to as the Bionic Man. However, Lee Majors would shudder hearing that. Dr. Harrar is performing my surgery. Everything I have heard about his expertise makes me smile that I waited until I moved to Storm Lake to have them done. I will say that without exception the medical care I have received over the years has been awesome, from Walter Reed, Cedars-Sinai, June E. Nylen and BVRMC and many in between, none of which would have been possible the year I was born, 1945.

However, the Harrar/BVRMC preparation detail is superior. Not only that, the level of smiling and courtesy is second to none. First of all, I’ve never encountered at every hospital entrance, on every visit a smiling, courteous greeter who gets you pointed, and ofttimes escorts you to your destination. And at no time when checking in, have I ever had to wait in line or not greeted by a smiling, professional face behind the protective glass.  

Additionally, the preparation for surgery in writing, in person, on follow up calls and even a class explaining what drugs and when to stop taking them, sanitizing your body, when to stop eating, how to prepare physically, equipment to use before and after surgery and the do and don’t list throughout is amazing.

In addition to our Lord Jesus, I can’t think of a better doctor and organization to “have my back.” I’ve been through the drill of checking into hospitals so many times that I can itemize each step from start to finish. You can’t do the check-in day unless you do a lot of it the day before, possibly the week before.

During the week, at some point you stop taking most of your drugs, especially blood thinners (of course).  Then gather up all your personal items to get you through whatever days of hospitalization you may have. My goal has always been to get home earlier than forecasted.

I did that once, only to end up back in the hospital two days later (another story to be told). An excerpt: I staggered into the men’s room at a local mall clutching my chest, feeling like I would pass out any second. The only guy there was standing with his back to me at the urinal.  Imagine this; I reached up and pulled on his shoulder... the rest I’ll leave to your imagination, but I can assure that he will always be checking his back in future urinal endeavors.

A thorough shower the night before and the morning of is always a requirement.  This time they have given me two special pads to use on each one.  No food after midnight. Since my check in time is 8 a.m., I’ll have to get up early, shower, check my stuff that I laid out on the table the night before, pack it all into a bag and off we go. BVRMC is at best seven minutes from my front door.  

Once there after checking in clerically, they will put me into a room to dress in one of those open-back hospital gowns that I always worry that my butt cheeks are showing. This time they will weigh me with only the gown on to get an exact and precise poundage. Then comes the gauntlet of tests, blood pressure, body temperature, heart rate and assuredly the insertion of the IV.  Oh, the dreaded IV.  

At a Conroe, Texas, hospital years earlier, with a heart issue I was checked into their emergency room. There was a hubbub of activity going on all around me. Additionally attempts to get an IV in my arm seemed fruitless. It seemed that there was an endless line of hospital staff who tried and tried, but to no avail. I’ve always contended that, one of the janitorial staff finally got me IV’d.

It’s been somewhat the same each time I have been hospitalized since. I’m hoping for better this time around. Today, upon completion of the gauntlet I will be placed in a hospital bed. Typically, during this time, I’ll be visited by Dr. Harrar, a phlebotomist and an anesthesiologist who I understand will administer some numbing treatment and explain his/her process for my surgery that is not scheduled until 12:30 p.m.

Slide and corridor crawl

Then, I will do my slide and corridor crawl routine to the operating room. It starts with the “first slide” to get you from the hospital bed on to the gurney. Next, the required trip down the hospital corridors to the operating room.

Over time, each hospital has differed. It could be a short straight shot or a long winding lonely, quiet, ride through hallways, up elevators and through large swinging doors. Depending on the type of surgery it can be a mindless journey where all you do is count light fixtures and/or ceiling tiles.  While on some of the more serious events, it can be a prayerfully, worrisome, thought-provoking blur of “why did I do this or why did I do that?” Ya never know.

Finally, there’s the burst through two swinging doors into a vast brightly lit room filled with equipment and masked operating room technicians busily preparing for your arrival. You’re rolled up next to the operating table to do the “second slide” onto it. I’ve always weighed over 200 lbs. for each of my procedures and marveled how easily these folks got me moved from the gurney to the operating table.

Next, the obligatory pause; a few moments where nothing happens. You lay there, staring up at the lights as the operating personnel scurry about making final preparations. Finally, the nurse resets the IV. Next, the anesthetist appears to get you set up to put you out. Most times, but not always, the doctor approaches and speaks a few comforting words to you.

Next, you close your eyes awaiting the anesthesia to take effect. Then, instantaneously, you groggily wake up in the recovery room having gone unconsciously through another corridor crawl and two more “slides.”  I have always looked forward to that precise moment and time. I made it!

Singing a song in surgery

My previous right hip replacement was quite a memorable experience. In past surgeries, I was always fully anesthetized, put out fully only to wake up extremely groggy in a recovery room hours later.  The onset of anesthesia referred to as “Twilight” corresponded with my upcoming procedure and was used to put me under.  The concept of Twilight basically allowed for a quicker, less obtrusive, recovery.  

I learned later that one of its effects was that you could actually gain semiconsciousness during surgery. Not to be left out of all of it, during my surgery I awoke in a fog to the pounding of what I deduced was somehow the method used to insert my new hip into my hip bone, or something like that. Nevertheless, while it was off in the distance going on, I decided that I was going to sing the surgical team a song.

So, I did. I don’t recall the song, but feel it might have been a worship tune or something patriotic. After ending my tune, I heard someone in the operating room state “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that sung that way.” Bam, the next thing I knew I woke up fully conscious in the recovery room.

The ultimate birthday experience

On this occasion I’m trying to encourage my surgical team to sing “Happy Birthday” to me before lights out and possible even have a piece of double chocolate cake, complete with thick chocolate frosting and sprinkles with one candle in my recovery room.  I packed my personal belongings last night. If all goes as planned, I should only be there overnight and return home tomorrow.  

My wife Kapae is allowed to stay in my room overnight. After my surgery, she will be my constant companion, not that she isn’t already. She will have to assist me and drive everywhere I may need to go until I can do it myself. I could possibly milk this for everything I could get, but I won’t.  

She does enough for me as it is.  She’s my true partner and friend in life and I love her much… I’ve prepared well. I’ve done the required exercises. I’ve lost almost 15 pounds and since December when all this was set up, I’ve ridden over 500 miles on my indoor recumbent exercise bike. And I’ve been practicing “Amazing Grace” just in case. “I’m ready.”

My alarm just when off. It’s now 6:15 a.m. on Jan. 27, my 81st birthday. Happy birthday, Rick. “Let the games begin!”