By Ed Antonio
Special to the Herald

 

Dr. Wayman comes over to me as I am lying on the rollaway gurney bed getting ready for my operation. I am in the second level basement of the Strong Hospital Pre Operating room. He is wearing a blue plastic cap over his luxuriant gray hair making him look different. “How are you doing? He asks. “I’m OK,” I replied. A nurse comes over and introduces herself as Peggy and says that she will be my nurse. She asks me if I had just been back from Florida because I am tanned.  I look over at Dr. Wayman and we both smile. Somehow the people in Rochester always think that I have just come from Florida because I look tanned. I had already explained to Dr. Wayman that this is my natural color and in the army the guys all thought that I was always lying out in the sun because I had a tan all over.  Madeleine is also smiling at this remark as she had heard it from other people before.  She stands next to the foot of my bed as I am waiting for the pre-operation procedures. Dr. Wayman says; “Well, everything is ready for you and let me just make a mark on your left ear”. He then lifts up my head and makes a mark over my left ear. He continues; “The anesthesiologist will be here shortly and they will go over the procedures.”

As Dr. Wayman leaves another man comes over and introduces himself as Dr. Ashwani Chibber. I think he is either from India or from somewhere in the Middle East. He has a small gray mustache, pointed nose and a thin face. He is constantly being interrupted on his cell phone as he is talking to us. He apologizes.  He is smiling as he explains that he will be putting me to sleep and then he would be inserting a tube down my throat. I feel aghast. “A tube, I might gag.” I reply.  “No, No, he reassures me you will be under and we will remove it before you wake up. You will not even know that it is there. It is for the oxygen.” He also mentions that Dr. Girato had asked that every consideration be given to my operation. Dr. Girato is the lead Cosmetic Surgeon also at the Strong Hospital and his nurse practitioner is the beautiful, slim petite and vivacious Christine Emerson who is Madeleine’s daughter. She wanted assurances that Dr. Ashwani keep a close eye on my condition. Dr. Ashwani is laughing as he says all this and again reassures me that this is a regular ear surgery procedure and everything should be all right. He also mentions that Dr. Girato did not want his nurse screaming at him because something was overlooked. Dr. Ashwani smiles as he says this and pats my shoulder and tells me that I am in good hands.

I am now starting to feel a little bit apprehensive with all this concern. I thought, this is just a normal procedure performed on the ear every day. “No problem.” Dr. Ashwani reassures Madeleine and me again. Why do I not feel reassured?

I tell Dr. Ashwani that I also play tennis at Midtown with Dr. Vince Reale who is a well-known surgeon. Vince had told me that Dr. Wayman is the best Ear and Nose Specialist in Rochester.  Dr. Ashwani tells me that he knows Vince very well and asks me to tell Vince the next time I see him that he sends his regards. I feel a little bit easier now that everyone now knows everybody. Maybe it will help with my operation. Somehow, I doubt it.

It is now a quarter to 1 p.m. and we have been in there since 11 a.m. I have not had food since last night and all I could drink was black coffee. It wasn’t too bad. Madeleine is asking about what happens when they open up the ear and find something; “Do they take it out?” She asks? Dr. Chibber answers; “They will take it to the pathologist and make that determination. If it is just dead cells caused by an infection then the dead cells would be taken out.” After answering two or three more questions from Madeleine he leaves.

Another doctor comes over. He introduces himself as Dr. Greene and he is a young good looking Caucasian with dark hair and regular features. He will assist Dr. Wayman. A short and stocky male nurse comes over and introduces himself as Sam Park. He is Korean. He will be assisting Dr. Chibber. I already have my IV bag attached to my left arm as the nurse Peggy checks for my blood pressure and temperature. Madeleine bends over for one little kiss. “Good luck,” she whispers and she leaves.

The Korean Sam Park comes back with a smile and a small vial that he injects into my IV “This is something that will make you feel good.” I am still awake as he leaves. A large tall female black nurse aide then comes over and starts wheeling the gurney to the operating room.    The sign says “Red Operating Rooms.” I am calm. I am ready. As they wheel me inside I fall into the deep void the chasm of unconsciousness they pull me into the recesses of memories and my thoughts go back to an incident in Vietnam 44 years ago.

I am standing on the dike, my rifle held at my side and the butt resting on my ammo pouch the barrel pointing at the sky. We are ready to go inside the sugar cane field. I had been leading the recon platoon eastwards for over an hour and we were waiting. Sugar cane fields are on my left and on my right. Their long leaves gently soughing as a faint breeze rustles through them. The sky is pale blue and it is warm and humid on this February day. We had been told that there are some VC or Viet Cong hiding inside the sugar cane fields and we were to find them, engage them and kill them.

I am filled with apprehension as my heart is beating wildly and the blood is roaring in my ears. I calm myself with controlled breathing. I am telling myself that I must be quick. If I see even a little piece of cloth or blur of a person inside the field, I must be ready to start firing and dodge to the left. I turn the safety off and set the rifle to fire at semi-automatic. Three or four rounds will come out each time the trigger is pulled. I am ready. To my left the rest of the platoon is lined up on the dike ready to go in. Their eyes look towards me, their faces taut with apprehension. Everyone is quiet.  We are all ready, tensed and alert.

My rifle is gripped by my right hand the stock pressed against my side with my finger loosely on the trigger. The sugar stalks are seven to eight feet high, the leaves gently rustling now and again as a light breeze comes by. I look again at my Sergeant. He motions me in and I start stepping into the field brushing the leaves aside as I step over roots and tangled stalks. The other soldiers go in on my left and on my right.    The stalks are tall and the leaves make a crunching noise as I step over and around them. I can barely see in front of me. I am making so much noise that anyone inside has a much better shot of me than me of him.  I am concentrating. I am looking as far inside as I can. I walk slowly, cautiously but not too slowly. The stalks and leaves are all over my face and around me. I cannot stop. I must go on. Inside deeper and deeper into the field. Is there someone there? Will I see him? Will I have time to fire? The field draws me deeper and deeper inside. Beads of sweat start dripping into my face. It is hot. I feel hot. I am hot.

“Antonio, wake up, Antonio wake up! The words drive me out of my fog as I barely feel the rest of my body. I try to open my eyes. All I can see is a blur. “We are finished. The operation is over. You are going home.” Someone is telling me this as I lay there on the operating table. The first thing I notice is that I don’t have any pain. Maybe a few pinpricks that are not worth noticing.

I have a feeling of lost sensations. All I can feel is this lassitude all over my body. It is hard to move. Barely able to move. I feel my bladder ache. It is full, more than full. I scrabble. “I have to pee” I say, “I need to pee. Feebly I try to lower my clothing from my shoulders.    The nurse stops me from doing that as she says. “You don’t have to do that we will get you a urinal.” She readjusts my gown back over my shoulder. Somewhere down in my body they attach a urinal to my penis, but I find that I have a hard time to get it going. My muscles are not responding. “Let me give you some ice and that may help you.” I gratefully suck on the four or five small ice cubes that she gives me in a plastic cup. The nurse says;”Just hold on to the urinal tube and it will happen. OK?”

They take off the three pillows that are under my knees lowering my legs. “Is this better?” I stretch my legs down. After what seems to be hours but must have been only ten minutes I am finally able to pee. What a relief. My body does not seem to respond to me. It is slow. I can hardly lift my arms. Is it over? Is the operation over? I wonder?

I seem to be in this fog and everything seems like a blur in slow motion. My brain is slow to function. I can hardly hear anything. I lay my head down and close my eyes. I feel faint. It is a foreign feeling and I do not like it. I feel helpless. I am being wheeled back to the post-operation room. The wheels trundle down the corridor for a while. I keep my eyes closed. I am not dizzy but feel queasy. The aide helps me move from the bed to a large barbershop kind of chair. The legs of the chair and the back can go up, out or down. I am still feeling that I need to pee some more.

An older nondescript nurse comes over and says her name is Peggy. What happened? Where are all the pretty ones? This is a different nurse with the same name. My mind starts to wander.  This Peggy’s attitude is indifferent. She asks how I am doing. I tell her “I need to pee again.” I tell her that it seems hard for me to pee. She says; “If you can’t pee then we can put a catheter in to help you.” The words send a shiver of apprehension through me. Alarmed at the thought of what I consider an excruciating procedure. I answer; “No, no, no, I can pee.” To myself, I thought; I have to pee. She tells me to stand up as it may be easier for me to do it from that position. Groggily I stand up. She hands me the urinal tube and gingerly holds my sleeve up as support with one hand while I search for my penis. It seems to have shrunk from the anesthesia. It takes a few more minutes before I can get it started. I feel better. I must have discharged a whole quart.

Madeleine shows up smiling and I finally notice the time. I still feel woozy. It is 5 p.m. I must have been in the operating room for four hours. I must have been out since that time. Wow! My stomach feels uneasy and unsettled. I feel queasy again. Peggy comes heavily over as she steps on my foot and asks me if there is something that I need. I tell her that maybe a cookie and some water. She comes back and I quickly tuck my toes away from her as she brings graham crackers and some saltine cookies. I find that the taste is not there. I can barely chew on one. I sip the water. I have soreness in my throat that must have come from the oxygen tube that they stuck in my throat. I doze again. The water is giving me gas and I feel tired. I feel nauseous. Every effort to move my arms seems heavy. I feel weak and dehydrated. I tell myself, focus your mind, and be strong.

Dr. Greene comes over and asks me how I’m feeling and I say a little better but still woozy. He tells Madeleine that they took 80 percent of gray matter from my ear and that it seems to be something like a benign tumor. It must have been in there for quite some time and hopefully did not do too much damage. I asked him if my hearing would improve and he said that he doubted it. Dr. Greene leaves.

Madeleine asks me how I feel and I tell her that I still feel weak. Where is my strength my toughness? Probably overpowered by the effects of anesthesia. Madeleine has a book, my winter jacket and is sitting on a chair. I thank her for being so patient. She had been in the waiting room all day.  It is now 6:30 p.m. Peggy comes over with a couple of pages of instructions for checkout. She lays them on the sliding table and tells us that her shift is over at 7 and someone else will be taking over. I ask her for something hot to drink and she gives me a choice of coffee tea or broth of chicken. I ask for the broth.

My tongue feels thick, my taste buds are numb. My throat is sore. I can hardly drink the broth. I try to persuade myself. I have to eat, try to eat something. Nothing tastes good. I should be starving. I must be starving. That’s why I am so weak. Madeleine is also hungry so I tell her to eat the crackers. She had been in the hospital the whole day. I marveled at her patience. What consideration. I thanked her again and again for being there for me.

The nurse taking over for Peggy is a tall skinny pretty blonde named Sandra. She comes over at 6:35 and tells Madeleine that the pharmacy will close at 7 p.m. and that Madeleine should get the prescribed pain pills and antibiotics medicine before they close. Madeleine leaves to do this. I tell Sandra that I am still feeling nauseous and she asks if I would like to take a pill named Sophrin that would help me feel better. I say yes. After 10 minutes Madeleine comes back with the prescribed medications. Sandra comes back, gives me the Sophrin pill and in 10 minutes, I feel a little better. I ask her if she can help me go to the rest room. I am unsteady but not dizzy. She holds my IV and my arm as she steers me to the room. I get in and get rid of my gas. I also pee’d again. I am feeling much better now; so I get up unhook my IV bag and start walking back.

I call the nurse on the way back to the cubicle that I think I am ready to leave. Madeleine asks if they validate the parking, and the nurse says that she will give Madeleine a stub and there will be no parking charge. When the nurse leaves the cubicle I start putting on my clothes. Madeleine has to walk all the way to the L parking level, which is on the upper fifth level, and she will drive all the way down and meet me at the lobby. I struggle into my shoes, clothes and winter jacket.   Outside, the temperature has gone down to 30 degrees. It is cold. A transportation aide comes with a wheelchair and I get in. I wave to Sandra and thank her. It has been a wonderful surgical experience but I wouldn’t want to come back for a repeat performance.

The aide is a tall 210-pound white guy with a fuzzy face. He smiles as he wheels me to the lobby. I ask him how long it takes to recover from anesthesia and he tell me that he has had three operations on his back and on the first operation it took him 14 hours to get on his feet. He said he had a large cyst on his back and they had to go in twice to remove it.

Silently, I thank God that I did not have that problem.  He will be going back to school but he still has a long way to go before he could be a nurse’ aide or a technician. Outside Madeleine had driven up. I get into the car. I thanked him and was glad the operation was over. We got home at 9 p.m. Madeleine then scrambled some eggs while I put my bag items away. We thought that I was going to stay overnight at the hospital. It was good that I was able to just go home.