DR. DUKE AND THE WORST SURGERY EVER

When it comes time for couples to decide whether they are going to take permanent action, in regards to birth control, there is one thing you will hear pretty much 99.9% of the women in that equation say. “Listen, after what I went through to give birth to all these babies, it’s not going to be ME going under the knife. It’s HIS TURN! It’s the least he can do.” Once I experienced childbirth for myself, I realized that I was going to be in the .1% of women who would never be able to say that. That is because of Dr. Duke and the worst surgery ever.

Barry has suffered in the hemorrhoidal way for most of his adult life. He mentioned this before we got married and I never thought much of it.  I had never had one, (still haven’t, nosy reader) and had no idea even what they really were or how to deal with them. We had been married for a year and a half when he started complaining regularly. I felt bad for him and bought some Preparation H. He complained for a couple more weeks and one day, he said he did not think he could go to work, due to the intruder. I was incredulous. You can’t go to work? What the?!  How bad can this really be? Let me see.

Those, my friends, were three pivotal words. We were just to the point in marriage where you sometimes will pee when the other person is in the bathroom. I was asking so that I could determine if he was just a weanie and essentially, I was calling his bluff. He surely would not let me see. He was desperate. He rolled over. He was going to let me see.

I was unprepared for this level of “closeness”. Before I had a chance to recant, he had called MY bluff and I was seeing. Upon seeing- after I audibly gasped- I think what I said was, “Oh my God, how are you even alive?! How can you even walk?! It looks like a baby chicken!!!”  You know those educational farm shows where the chick emerging from a shell has to break through a membrane? Yeah, that’s what was going on there. Even as a 23 year old, I knew this was not ok. This was not the kind of situation where you just use some ointment and continue life as normal. I called in to work for him and we discussed what should be done.

I had seen the commercial for 1-800-DOCTORS so I called it. I had to ask what this kind of Doctor was even called. They connected me to a proctologist (that’s what they’re called) in my area and I made an appointment. Miraculously, we got in the very next day!  We were the only ones in the waiting room when we arrived, so we were ushered in to meet Dr. Duke (Last name withheld for legal purposes.  Not really, but it feels so good to write that). Dr. Duke was a gentlemanly sort. He was tall with white hair and a long, white lab coat.  We explained the situation to him and he motioned for Barry to get up on the upside-down v table. Upon inspection Dr. Duke announced in halting speech “well…. I don’t know….. if it’s a world  rrrrrecord, but……. it’s..……quite……..impressive.”

We were curious about his manner of speaking and he could see it on our faces. He slowly explained that he had recently suffered a stroke but had regained his faculties to the full, minus his speech. He told us that his speech was “…slow, but his hand was……………………………………………….steady”.  We told him we had no insurance and he cut (sorry, Barry) us a deal. We got the surgery on the schedule for a few days later. He told Barry that he would likely be back at work after  two or three days of rest.  We felt like for real adults. We were dealing with this. We were solving the mystery of what to do about the baby chicken. We were gonna get Barry fixed up.

A few days later, we made our way back to the again empty office and I gave Barry a smooch and sent him on his way. The nurse said it would be about an hour and a half. An hour and a half went by and still no Barry. At the two hour mark,I went up to the front desk and asked how he was doing. The receptionist looked a little flustered and said it would be just a little longer. At about the three hour mark, they called me back to a room where Barry was “recovering”. He was so fully knocked out that he looked like he was dead. Dr. Duke was sitting beside him and trying to explain after-care to me. I was too distracted by the big splatter of blood on his lab coat to pay much attention. He mentioned that there had been a few “complications” but that Barry should be just……… fine. I was given some prescriptions and instructional papers, told to stay with Barry until he woke up and left alone in the “recovery” room.  I felt weird. Why was there blood on Dr. Duke’s coat? That was a lot of blood.  Was blood just flying around the room? Why would he not have changed his coat?  Why did it take so long? I waited until his eyes opened and tried to talk to him. He was completely out of it and we had to wait almost another hour until I could get him up and at ‘em. As we shuffled out to the car, the entire office staff came outside to the parking lot to watch us get in our car and drive away. At the time, I thought it was sweet, but odd. In retrospect, I now know that they all thought we were going to sue the pants off of Dr. Duke and that their office would be shut down in a matter of days.

I got Barry home and gave him his drugs right on schedule, not wanting him to feel anything he didn’t have to. He was in literal agony. On day 2 he asked for more painkillers and I told him he had taken as many as he could take. He grabbed my shirt collar and said “IIIIIIIIII neeeeeeeeeeeed moooooorrrrre.” I called Dr. Duke who said I could double the dose. I followed the after-care instructions to the letter. By Day 3, the projected last needed day of recovery, Barry was nowhere close to even being able to roll over onto his back let alone sit up, get dressed or go to work. On Day 4 his memory of what had happened started to come back to him and we had storytime.

Barry remembers waking up in the middle of surgery and feeling as though a lightning bolt had struck the chicken. He remembers yanking his head off of the upside down v table in terror. He saw a geyser of blood and Dr. Duke standing with his hands in the air as if to say “what…….on………..earth?” He remembers the nurse slamming open the valve for the anesthetic.  And then…..nothing.

His recovery was three weeks, not three days. He took as many painkillers as you can take and still be alive. When we went to see Dr. Duke for a follow up visit during week two, the whole staff was there to greet us. They were soooooooo nice to us, but by then, we knew something was up. Dr. Duke explained that an artery had been cut during surgery, which had been… unexpected.  This would account for the additional pain, internal stitching, lengthy recovery time and blood on the lab coat. He never said a word about his… steady………… hand.

As I mentioned, once I experienced childbirth and compared it to what I knew about baby chicken birth, I knew I could never say what other girls can say.  Having a baby is a walk in the park compared to what my dear companion endured to bring that baby chicken into the world.

For all of you young couples who have yet to cross the bridge of intimacy into the “let me see” department, some words of wisdom:

• You said, “in sickness and in health”. It might end up meaning a baby chicken. It was a vow. You have to.
• 1-800-DOCTORS is a no.
• Empty medical office waiting rooms = don’t go to that Dr.
• If a Dr. is willing to “cut you a deal” or offers you a punch card of any sort, run out of that office and find a Dr. who will charge you full price.

And finally, to my brave husband, who valiantly survived a horrendous medical debacle and came through able to sit upright and go back to work, I…… salute……. you.