Friday, June 18, 2004
Light at the End of the Tunnel
On June 16 I went back to see my surgeon after six weeks off physiotherapy. I was prepared with a list of questions and comments on my non-recovery. I was also ready to figuratively bash in the head of the student who would interview me before the doctor came in.
Nothing went as I had expected.
When I arrived at the hospital, I immediately starting trembling. Waiting for my husband outside the door to the Orthopedic Surgery Department, I couldn't read or relax. Even seeing the words "orthopedic surgery" brought tears of fear to my eyes. When my husband arrived, we went into the OS waiting room. The man who took my hospital card looked at my name and then said that someone had just been talking about me. He went into the back and came out to say that they were wondering when I would arrive. I burst into tears. A few minutes later, I was ushered into the examining room and the "fellow" (junior surgeon) du jour, a young Australian, came in to ask me the usual "student" questions. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind before he even said a word. He started by asking how I was feeling and whether there had been any improvement over the past six weeks. I was shocked, but pleasantly so. He had actually looked at my file before coming in! What a change!
My surgeon came in shortly thereafter. I started crying as soon as I began to talk about my situation. We talked briefly and he asked me how I was doing. As soon as he heard my comments, he said that he would operate again to fix the problem. This time, he said that he took entire responsibility for what had happened to me. Many of those to whom I have told this story, have pooh-poohed his apologies. I, on the other hand, feel incredibly gratified to have heard him say that. He came down off his pedestal to meet me in my space. He treated me humanely and with concern. Yes, I'm sure he's thinking about his reputation and the possibility of a lawsuit, but both my husband and I felt that his words contained true, human concern for someone who is suffering and a genuine desire to make things better.
When he said more surgery, I again began to cry--not out of fear (which is there, nevertheless) but rather because I was afraid I would have to wait until the winter. His response was immediate: surgery will take place in August.
Nothing went as I had expected.
When I arrived at the hospital, I immediately starting trembling. Waiting for my husband outside the door to the Orthopedic Surgery Department, I couldn't read or relax. Even seeing the words "orthopedic surgery" brought tears of fear to my eyes. When my husband arrived, we went into the OS waiting room. The man who took my hospital card looked at my name and then said that someone had just been talking about me. He went into the back and came out to say that they were wondering when I would arrive. I burst into tears. A few minutes later, I was ushered into the examining room and the "fellow" (junior surgeon) du jour, a young Australian, came in to ask me the usual "student" questions. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind before he even said a word. He started by asking how I was feeling and whether there had been any improvement over the past six weeks. I was shocked, but pleasantly so. He had actually looked at my file before coming in! What a change!
My surgeon came in shortly thereafter. I started crying as soon as I began to talk about my situation. We talked briefly and he asked me how I was doing. As soon as he heard my comments, he said that he would operate again to fix the problem. This time, he said that he took entire responsibility for what had happened to me. Many of those to whom I have told this story, have pooh-poohed his apologies. I, on the other hand, feel incredibly gratified to have heard him say that. He came down off his pedestal to meet me in my space. He treated me humanely and with concern. Yes, I'm sure he's thinking about his reputation and the possibility of a lawsuit, but both my husband and I felt that his words contained true, human concern for someone who is suffering and a genuine desire to make things better.
When he said more surgery, I again began to cry--not out of fear (which is there, nevertheless) but rather because I was afraid I would have to wait until the winter. His response was immediate: surgery will take place in August.
