The Happy Little Surgery

 



There are lots of things folks complain about in this day and time.  We use so many cheap, substandard  products from China that aren’t  worth the cardboard they’re shipped in.   Fast food doesn’t even taste like food anymore.  Most of the time it isn’t even fast.  And don't get me started talking about folks who complain about something like a new Superman movie.  Some of them say things like “it wasn’t that realistic.”  I’d like to remind these people that Superman is a comic book character who comes from a planet that never existed.  Maybe the apocalypse is closer than I believed.  This is another story for another time.


However, one thing that nobody should complain about, is the medical care we have in the 21st century. We may rightfully gripe about the shortfalls of the healthcare system -  the one that can make the government look efficient, or the ridiculous profiteering that makes it unfair; however, the quality of our care is unprecedented. 


Take anesthesia.  It hasn’t been that long since doctors pretty much gave you a couple of shots of bourbon and a stick to bite on before they begin carving on you like a Thanksgiving turkey.  Now you breathe in a mask, count to ten, and wake up in a recovery room.  If that’s not sorcery, it’s something close to it.   


Eighty years ago, we didn’t even have antibiotics. So, in the early forties,  a badly infected pimple could kill you. Nowadays, we have a jillion kinds of life-saving antibiotics. That is something all of us should be thankful for.


I will not lie to any of you - I’m trying to get my head right. Very soon, a surgeon is going to cut a large pre-cancerous tumor off my thyroid, taking a  sizable hunk of the gland out as well. Most people call this minor surgery – I do not. My definition of minor surgery is surgery that’s happening when I’m not the patient. This particular surgery is close to a lot of things that I consider vital;  like nerves, arteries, and especially vocal cords. Anyone that knows me realizes how important I think those are. 


The surgeon doing my procedure has an excellent reputation, and I will be his first patient since he came off a two week vacation at the beach. I suppose there’s good and bad with that. The good side is that he should be refreshed and eager to get back to work. But what I don’t wanna hear is, “I may be a little rusty,” or “I got stung by jellyfish on my cutting hand, and it’s a kinda swollen, but I think I can get it done.” 


Thankfully, I’ve discovered a television channel that’s really helping calm me down. I would advise it for anyone who is slightly stressed out like I am now. It’s the Bob Ross channel. You know the guy, he’s the soft spoken, kinda hippie artist, who paints.” happy little trees.”  Believe it or not, there’s  a whole channel devoted to nothing but his show.  And take it from me, it’s hard to be uptight when you’re watching Bob paint a picture.  He has a peaceful, soothing demeanor. Just hearing him half-whisper something like ,”now I’m going to mix cadmium blue and yellow ochre to make a special green color for some pretty little bushes,” lowers my blood pressure by ten points.  I swear, if they would insist that both sides in the Middle East peace talks watch Bob Ross paint before they began the negotiations, we might get something done.


And getting up at 3:30 in the morning the head to the hospital is not something I’m going to whine about.  Hey,  me and almost every other guy my age are usually up that time of night - peeing.  No biggie.  I won’t even complain if I happen to be dressed before my wife.


I’ll just turn on Bob Ross for a few minutes. 


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