tympanoplasty fun
Always ask, and always expect the very worst.
Okay, maybe those aren't good rules in general. Somehow I'd gotten the idea that I could have my right eardrum patched with a bit of scalp fascia under a local anesthetic, via the ear canal. Ha, ha, bloody ha.
First blow: $1800 facility fee, partly because of the general anesthesia, not covered by insurance. I should have asked: maybe cash in advance would have procured a discount. Second blow: learning that for certain I'd be put under... leading to the third blow, the knowledge that I'd have to cancel going to the Scrabble tournament in Ft. Lauderdale the next day.
Anyway, the beautiful and charming woman who did the operation seems to have practically severed my right pinna from my head rather than going through the ear canal. It still aches around the stitches, and it's been six days. The inner ear aches. The ear canal aches and leaks bloody serum. The anesthesiologist put in my post-operative packet (of instructions and such) a form letter (augmented with extensive notes in excellent draftsman-like printing) explaining the astoundingly sore throat (worse than after my tonsil and adenoid extraction in boyhood, worse in intensity for a bit than the worst strep throat I can recall) that still lingers: attempts at conventional intubation failed, and eventually he used some fiber-optic gadget to guide the tube, once various parts of my throat had been reduced apparently to hamburger. I had a look at it. Then the cat threw up on it. Thank you, Rhondda.
The operation started around ten in the morning. I was awake before three in the afternoon. By bedtime I was still vomiting up everything I ingested, pretty much, though I woke at three in the morning without a trace of nausea. I'd e-mailed the tournament director in the evening to cancel, certain that I wouldn't be able to go to the tournament; I left the house at seven for a junk-food breakfast at the nearest remaining Hardee's (in Waldo: most Hardee's franchises in the area shut down in a bunch about seven years ago) and then some grocery shopping that should perhaps have included more canned soup. I could easily have driven to Fort Lauderdale and played in the tournament... it's just like the Orlando tournament I missed for my appendectomy a few years back, something I would have had no trouble with. Tournament entry fee gone, $70 of non-refundable shatnered room gone.
If the tympanoplasty is completely successful it won't matter much to my hearing, which was barely damaged by the ruptured eardrum. If I'd known this would be such a hassle, I wouldn't have had it done. Sometimes my luck just doesn't hold. Then again, by all rights I should be dead from diabetes or one of my car crashes by now.
If I weren't a diabetic (and hence a pincushion), and if I hadn't started a collection of surgical scars, would I have the very least interest in getting a tattoo? I doubt it. I wrote a somewhat lame ballade about that, in the old talk.bizarre days on Usenet...
Okay, maybe those aren't good rules in general. Somehow I'd gotten the idea that I could have my right eardrum patched with a bit of scalp fascia under a local anesthetic, via the ear canal. Ha, ha, bloody ha.
First blow: $1800 facility fee, partly because of the general anesthesia, not covered by insurance. I should have asked: maybe cash in advance would have procured a discount. Second blow: learning that for certain I'd be put under... leading to the third blow, the knowledge that I'd have to cancel going to the Scrabble tournament in Ft. Lauderdale the next day.
Anyway, the beautiful and charming woman who did the operation seems to have practically severed my right pinna from my head rather than going through the ear canal. It still aches around the stitches, and it's been six days. The inner ear aches. The ear canal aches and leaks bloody serum. The anesthesiologist put in my post-operative packet (of instructions and such) a form letter (augmented with extensive notes in excellent draftsman-like printing) explaining the astoundingly sore throat (worse than after my tonsil and adenoid extraction in boyhood, worse in intensity for a bit than the worst strep throat I can recall) that still lingers: attempts at conventional intubation failed, and eventually he used some fiber-optic gadget to guide the tube, once various parts of my throat had been reduced apparently to hamburger. I had a look at it. Then the cat threw up on it. Thank you, Rhondda.
The operation started around ten in the morning. I was awake before three in the afternoon. By bedtime I was still vomiting up everything I ingested, pretty much, though I woke at three in the morning without a trace of nausea. I'd e-mailed the tournament director in the evening to cancel, certain that I wouldn't be able to go to the tournament; I left the house at seven for a junk-food breakfast at the nearest remaining Hardee's (in Waldo: most Hardee's franchises in the area shut down in a bunch about seven years ago) and then some grocery shopping that should perhaps have included more canned soup. I could easily have driven to Fort Lauderdale and played in the tournament... it's just like the Orlando tournament I missed for my appendectomy a few years back, something I would have had no trouble with. Tournament entry fee gone, $70 of non-refundable shatnered room gone.
If the tympanoplasty is completely successful it won't matter much to my hearing, which was barely damaged by the ruptured eardrum. If I'd known this would be such a hassle, I wouldn't have had it done. Sometimes my luck just doesn't hold. Then again, by all rights I should be dead from diabetes or one of my car crashes by now.
If I weren't a diabetic (and hence a pincushion), and if I hadn't started a collection of surgical scars, would I have the very least interest in getting a tattoo? I doubt it. I wrote a somewhat lame ballade about that, in the old talk.bizarre days on Usenet...