By Joe Rector
Before I begin, I’d like to offer an apology to my editor for any and all errors that might be contained in the draft I send her. A couple of weeks ago, I had cataract surgery on my left eye. Next Wednesday, I’ll have the other eye fixed. Right now, it’s difficult to deal with one good eye and one bad. I see clearly out of my left eye, but my right eye is fuzzy. So, right now, I have to wear my glasses to type or read, but my repaired eye’s sight is blurred when I have the spectacles on. I’m told that before long, both eyes will clear so that my sight is laser sharp.
All of this preface is given to state my amazement at the medical procedures of today. When I was a boy in grade school, our neighbor underwent cataract surgery. I don’t recall how long he stayed in the hospital, but for several days, he lay flat on his back with sandbags on either side of his head. They were so placed to keep him from moving his head at all. Doing so could have damaged his eye permanently.
My experience was much different. I arrived at the doctor’s office at 7:00 a.m., so that staff members could prepare me for surgery. Like always, no food or water was allowed after midnight, so my stomach growled loud enough for nurses to hear. An I.V. was set up before rolling me into the operating room. I remember seeing the doctor for a couple of seconds. The next thing I recall was being asked if I wanted something to drink. Before noon, I was home and snoozing the afternoon away. That evening, I attended choir practice.
Amy suffered from a gallbladder ailment early in our marriage and came out of surgery with three small incisions. In a couple of days, she was home. My cousin, on the other hand, was sliced wide open when her gallbladder was removed.
On one trip to Isle of Palms, my dear wife spent a woeful night battling nausea and pain. At some point in the early morning, we zoomed to the hospital. Her appendix had gone “kaput.” The doctor there didn’t want to operate until the blood thinners that she took were no longer problematic. By the end of the week, she was pumped full of antibiotics and pain meds, so we traveled home. The doctor at Parkwest Hospital said the appendectomy shouldn’t have been delayed. The next morning, he operated, and late that evening, we drove home.
Joint replacements shock me. Knees and hips are swapped out of folks’ bodies. As soon as they are awake, patients are walking in the hallway. After an initial physical therapy session, folks are shipped out of the hospital with therapy dates for the coming weeks.
The most unbelievable thing to me is the short stay in hospitals for new mothers. When Lacey was born, she was jaundiced, so for a week, Amy and Lacey stayed in the hospital so that my daughter could spend time under a light to cut back the overabundance of red blood cells.
These days, moms go in, suffer through hours of torturous labor, deliver a baby, and head home the next day. That seems to be a cruel way to treat new moms. They should have at least a couple of days to recuperate before going home to begin months of little sleep, dirty diapers, and early morning feedings.
I’m sure that future medicine will be much more advanced. Those in the medical profession one hundred years from now will look on surgeries of today as butchery. I suppose that illnesses will be cured with unthinkable new devices and medicines.
Our medical gains have been overwhelming in the last twenty years, and I’m sure they will continue to improve each year. I just hope that those treatments to come include a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a hug from a loved one. Medicine heals the body; soup and a hug soothe the soul.
