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As I suggested in a friends-only post a couple of days ago, there really isn't a whole heck of a lot to elaborate on regarding my hospitalization, earlier this week, to remove a cancerous prostate. There are some points worth mentioning, however,
Just before the "how to take care of yourself" class that was set up for us newly "de-prostatized" patients—four of us, and I may well have been the oldest guy there, which gave me pause, considering why it was we were there—we were engaged in small talk, which included telling each other who our doctor was, and when I mentioned that Dr. C was my surgeon, the fellow sitting immediately to my right looked me right in the eye and asked, "Is your birthday December 12?"
I was a little taken aback by the question, as he had hit the date right on the nose, though I supposed it might have been possible for him to have overheard me during any of the seemingly myriad times I was asked for my name, birth date, and medical record number (to which I would invariably add, jokingly, "and that is all I am required to disclose to you under the terms of the Geneva Convention," which pretty much always got a laugh from whoever was asking). I answered the fellow in the affirmative and asked my own question: "Why do you ask?"
"Well," said my interlocutor, "I was Dr. C's afternoon patient, and the medical staff that was prepping me for surgery was amused that both you and I share the same birthday, although ten years apart."
What are the chances? (Having asked, I would expect the probability of picking two people at random and finding that they share the same birth month and day to be 1/366.)
* * * Deep-vein thrombosis countermeasures are quite aggressive, compared to my stay at St. Luke's in January. In addition to compression stockings, I slept with "sequential compression devices," which are designed to continuously massage different areas of the lower leg, and I was sent home with a prescription for a seven-week long series of injections.
As a postscript on the SCDs, as I fell asleep the first night after the operation, I could not help but dream that I was in some kind of strange version of Jurassic Park, and the raptors were gumming my calves—playing with their food, if you will, which made it a little harder to fall asleep. But I did eventually, and slept quite well, all things considered.
* * * I feel better today than yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before. I look forward to continuing this trend, to as complete a recovery as I can muster.
Cheers...
Just before the "how to take care of yourself" class that was set up for us newly "de-prostatized" patients—four of us, and I may well have been the oldest guy there, which gave me pause, considering why it was we were there—we were engaged in small talk, which included telling each other who our doctor was, and when I mentioned that Dr. C was my surgeon, the fellow sitting immediately to my right looked me right in the eye and asked, "Is your birthday December 12?"
I was a little taken aback by the question, as he had hit the date right on the nose, though I supposed it might have been possible for him to have overheard me during any of the seemingly myriad times I was asked for my name, birth date, and medical record number (to which I would invariably add, jokingly, "and that is all I am required to disclose to you under the terms of the Geneva Convention," which pretty much always got a laugh from whoever was asking). I answered the fellow in the affirmative and asked my own question: "Why do you ask?"
"Well," said my interlocutor, "I was Dr. C's afternoon patient, and the medical staff that was prepping me for surgery was amused that both you and I share the same birthday, although ten years apart."
What are the chances? (Having asked, I would expect the probability of picking two people at random and finding that they share the same birth month and day to be 1/366.)
As a postscript on the SCDs, as I fell asleep the first night after the operation, I could not help but dream that I was in some kind of strange version of Jurassic Park, and the raptors were gumming my calves—playing with their food, if you will, which made it a little harder to fall asleep. But I did eventually, and slept quite well, all things considered.
Cheers...
