How much Anesthesia can Dance on the Head of A Pin? Mad Medic: Thursdays

December 28, 2006 at 4:03 PM (Mad Medic Thursdays)

I was on my stomach on a hospital bed having been told that a bone marrow sample would need to be taken. No exam room, or surgical suite…just a curtain for privacy. They would anesthetize each of my hip points with [drug I forgot, I assume a numbing agent of some sort] and then give me Demerol. Because the necessary equipment to extract the bone marrow simply could not do the job unless I had been anesthetized.

Ok…Young unknown doctor. Not my resident or Presiding Oncologist. Made A Collossal Error.

Did not numb both hip points first. Only numbed one, and did not numb both…also the Demerol was not in evidence. I think maybe there should have been an anesthesia toad to numb both hips and jack me up on Demerol first before the person set to do the actual procedure arrived

When the un-numbed hip got invaded, I jerked and shrieked. And continued to do so while the doctor yelled “What are you DOING?” at me.

Should be obvious, earnest young doctor. I’m in a level of pain heretofore undiscovered and it’s so huge that I could give a shit about the perpetually open hospital door and the grey haired old visitor ladies fleeing down the hall to get away from my exposed backside and/or banshee sonics as soon as was prudent.

It seemed like we had three presidential administrations and two world wars before the second hip got numbed and the Demerol arrived. Demerol is not like being stoned at all. You can view your physical pain perfectly as it shrieks and twists and jiggles off Thirty Feet To The Left of You. You can hear it and sense it but you feel it as if it’s attached by small optic fiber cables that are mostly filled up with fog, so that the pain itself really cannot get to you.

For future recipients of Bone Marrow Biopsies: Make freaking sure you see

1. The two separate doses of numbing medication.

2. Clear instructions for administering same.

3. The Demerol

The biopsy was clean.

When I asked, at the end of my course of chemo if they were going to harvest some of my own bone marrow in case the Hodgkin’s came back, my normally excellent resident joked that he did not need a Porsche that year, so no.

It could be my life and not a freakin car, Mr. Hotshot Resident.

I’m putting this on record in case it comes back and gets to the bone marrow before it is rediscovered so my heirs have a clear picture of the chain of events.

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