So I Broke My Kneecap, Pt. II

by Mike Hanus:

I should note that I’ve been hesitant to write part II-it’s a lot less funny, and a lot more drugs and sleep and vomiting.

Anyway, after a good bit of time waiting in the ER I was finally transferred to my room. At this point it was about 9:30pm and I hadn’t eaten since 10am. I had only until midnight to eat, because of whatever complications that come from eating too close to anesthesia. Amanda, my nurse, was a rockstar. We went over the basic stuff, and she answered all my questions, including whether I could wear contacts during surgery (no) and how to use the restroom-which involved a convenient little bottle that you clipped to the side of the bed. “Just sort of tilt over and use it, or however guys go.” It attached to the trademarked “Uri-Clip” that hung on the side of the bed. This was all very exciting. I am also buying one for my home.

The bed itself I was laying in was pretty crazy. It could do all the leg and back raises I ever needed, and came with a nice remote that turned on the TV and called the nurse. Moving a piece of the bed up or down activated the jet engine under the bed, which would rattle the windows, raise me half an inch, and then stay on for 10 extra minutes and sometimes randomly lift and lower my lower back.

I finally made my phone calls, filling in everyone that I was, in fact, in the hospital, and that I was, in fact, having surgery the next day. Surprise.

Time was winding down until I couldn’t eat, and I was getting very nervous that I would eat nothing and then die on the table the next day due to malnourishment. Luckily Emily showed up with a delicious sub, and Amanda had also ordered some hospital food.

I really feel like you have to try to make food this bad. The mystery meat turned out to be a porkchop, covered in some sort of tomato paste that offered zero flavor. And while I joked that I was having a saffron and truffle risotto, the rice blob was, in fact, risotto. That tasted like…some weird cross between a cinnamon bread pudding and decaying flesh. The smell sat in the room for hours after I opened that plate.  I wolfed down my food (thinking eating the rice was a matter of life and death), and also had my first narcotic-a double dose of Percocet. As I lay there I got the overwhelming feeling that I was going to vomit.

Amanda had come in at this point and seemed to take it very casually. It’s a common side effect of these kinds of pain killers. And she said “don’t mind me” and went to give me a shot while I held a trash bin up to my face. This was 100% going to happen. That internal countdown started: 5, 4, 3, 2…and then the feeling just went away. “That’s crazy…it’s just getting better” and then the feeling was gone. Amanda! Had given me an anti-vomit shot! (She had actually told me she was going to do it, I just heard wrong and thought she was doing something else). This was huge. This was clutch. This was Amanda with ice in her veins, stepping up to the line and dropping the 3 as the buzzer expired and walking away like it was nothing. I didn’t even know they had shots that did this. Science! Incredible.

The rest of the night was mostly sleeping on and off, and being woken up about 5 different times by various nurses or technicians who would check all my vitals. They were all really nice, and I always tried to joke and ask them how their night was. I think they like “ortho” patients because they’re pretty much there mentally, don’t ask for too much and aren’t always screaming or demanding drugs. From what I heard/saw down other halls, the night shift is no fun at all. I have a ton of respect for these folks.

At 6:58am, I met him. His name was Dr. Michael Quackenbush, and he was followed by a small swarm of residents and students. The way they looked at his back but avoided his gaze said a lot. This guy was a boss. Surgeons have so much swagger! I felt like I was in good hands.

I really wanted to talk about his last name. “I mean, you had to have gotten some grief in med school, right? I can’t be the first one to bring this up. You’re a doctor. “Quack” is in your name. You have to admit that’s pretty funny. I mean-no offense, I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. I have a last name that has gotten a lot of abuse. I feel your pain…Is that really your name?”

This conversation never actually happened, and it’s definitely my greatest regret. I bet he had all sorts of amazing stories. It’s probably why he got into medicine in the first place, to restore honor to the family name.

For those curious, your kneecap (or patella) really is like a cookie. Picture a nice round cookie, broken in two pieces in the middle. This is what I had. This was good, because it wasn’t a lot of little pieces, and it was good because these pieces didn’t mess up any other knee ligaments or muscles (like my ACL/MCL). The surgery would make an incision in the knee, and drill some holes in each piece. Then they would take wire and crochet the two pieces tightly together. According to them, I could stand on the leg immediately, start bending it within 2-4 weeks, be jogging by 2-3 months, and be fully recovered (running, jumping) by 6 months. They actually leave the wires/bolts inside (for like, the rest of my life) unless they become painful.

Before I knew it, two hours later I was being wheeled down to pre-op. This is when everything became real. I was given consent forms that talked about death, being briefed on the risks of being put under, and being wired up all over my chest with different sensors. For some reason, when they put the oxygen tube into my nose was when I really got my first spike of panic. I was covered in wires. I overheard another doctor apologizing to a patient for doing an incorrect procedure the last time was there (and now they were doing the right one). Ohjeez.

My mom visited, and so did Emily, and that definitely helped. It was nice knowing they’d at least be close by. I also put my graduate degree to work and thought a lot about statistics and probabilities and calmed down. They also gave me a pre-op nerve-block, where they make a small injection into my upper thigh, which pretty much numbs the nerves in my knee and lower leg. I remember being wheeled into the surgery room and them lifting me on to the operating table. Then I woke up in the post-op area, was told things went well, and fell back asleep for about two hours. I was never really not-lucid when I woke up, no cool anesthesia babbling to report. Just pretty sleepy. The really scary thing was that my mom and Emily (who have met twice before) were alone together in the waiting room for four hours.

The pain wasn’t all that bad. They gave me stuff, but I wasn’t actively asking for it. The anesthesia did make me sick though--lots of vomiting pretty much from after surgery until midnight. I had a nice diet of saltine crackers and sugar-free jello.

I also had a roommate! His name was Pat, and he had gone snowboarding, slipped on a patch of ice going down a hill, and slammed into three different trees. He had broken his clavicle, and had spinal cord damage. Still, he was walking and talking OK. At one point like 45 members of his family came in and were talking to him. His mother talked constantly, things like “why didn’t you call earlier? What kind of son doesn’t call his mother right away” for about 6 straight hours. I did like the visit though, because I wasn’t in any shape to read or watch TV and it gave me something to listen to while I was awake. The highlight of this visit was the mother whispering “what’s the story with your roommate?” and another friend saying “I don’t think he’s there anymore” and then me promptly vomiting, loudly.

Around midnight, the nerve block started to wear off. Where my pain was a 5 or 6 (out of 10) on the Pain Scale, it ratcheted up to a 9 or 10. Before I could feel one piece of my knee hurt. Now I could feel the entire leg. This is when I learned that pressing the Nurse Call button is not like pressing the Flight Attendant button. Someone doesn’t just walk up to your room to see what’s up. The Nurse Call button calls the nurse desk, someone answers, asks what’s wrong, and then calls your nurse, who is probably on another floor helping another patient. It can take something like 25 minutes for one to stop by after you call. The first time I figured this out, I was pretty much writhing on the bed waiting for the pain meds for half an hour.

And from there on out, it was as many pain meds as I was allowed to take, as frequently as I could. All night was buzzing the nurse, falling asleep, and waking up when the meds wore off (about every 2 hours). It was actually up to me to stay the “extra” night – I could have been allowed to leave after surgery. This seems crazy, there is no way I could have survived at home.

By morning, the pain had gotten (somewhat) better, and I was rested enough to watch some TV. They did some physical therapy, which was mostly me yelling and shaking and walking very slowly on crutches. The food got a little better, minus the waffle that was so doughy I could literally chew it for 8 straight minutes and make no dent (I ended up dissolving it with water).

Stay tuned for part III: home life.