Surgery: San Francisco General Hospital

Today was surgery. I think it went well. At least that's what a nurse told me. Or maybe she was a medical student. Or perhaps an anesthesiologist. I don't really remember. What can I say. I was groggy waking up from the 90-minute procedure. But I'm pretty sure said individual spoke with my surgeon. Or at least spoke with someone who spoke with my surgeon.

How is it that I could have surgery and not speak with my surgeon after the procedure?

Welcome to health care in the United States!

I have no complaints, though. San Francisco General Hospital is organized chaos and everyone there was both friendly and seemed to genuinely care. Plus my surgeon was beautiful. Well, I suppose I do have one complaint: I wasn't allowed to wear my glasses; therefore, I couldn't fully appreciate her wonderful personality.

Not only did I have to remove my glasses, but I had to strip naked and don a hospital gown, and there were at least eight doctors/anesthesiologists/nurses in the operating room. That seems like a lot for one broken finger. Imagine if I had broken all ten.

Today was my fourth visit to the hospital since the injury. Each time the splint/cast/bandage/wrapping/medical apparatus/whatever you want to call it, gets larger and larger.

First it was just a small splint on two fingers.



Then it was a larger splint on three fingers and my wrist.



Now I'm ready for the second coming of King Tut.


I'm also ready for more painkillers. It feels like someone is gripping my finger with pliers. God almighty it hurts. I underestimated what an ordeal today would be. Managing this blog post was all I could do to take my mind off the pain for a minute.

PS: Two of the photos were taken in the mirror, which is why it looks like the injury changed hands. I bet you didn't even notice. I bet no one's even reading this.

PPS: I injured my right hand (ring finger). Hopefully they were able to straighten it out. It was bent all kinds of crooked, and I was told there is no guarantee that it will be straight again, and it will never be perfect, but "we'll do our best." That's good enough for me.

PPPS: A huge thank you to my buddy Andrew for driving me to the hospital at 6:30 a.m. and then picking me up later. Not to mention the side trip to the grocery store so I could buy some fresh soup. What I really wanted was pizza. Unfortunately the nurse said greasy food was off limits. Fortunately that tomato-lentil soup was excellent, though some of that might have been the fact that it was my first meal in 24 hours.