ON THE SAME PAGE - by Kathy Kuenzer
Up until recently the only metal I have had placed in or on my body has been a couple of gold crowns and several fillings in my teeth. Now I can claim ownership to a sizable chunk of titanium where I once had a left hip. I may not be in the “bionic woman” category, but it’s a start.
After putting up with hip pain for several years, I finally had seen a ocal, respected orthopedic surgeon, who, upon viewing my x-rays, uttered the decisive words: “Bone on bone.” So, I agreed it was time to do something more than physical therapy, which I had tried a couple of years before. Due to a cancellation, we were able to set the surgery date for the next month.
As it turned out, I wasn’t prepared mentally when the date arrived. Too many personal problems to ever allow for a decent recovery. Another date was set for three months later.
Wouldn’t you know there’d be another glitch? This time my pre-op blood work showed an extremely low platelet count. Without platelets, the blood wouldn’t coagulate properly, so hip surgery would expose me to substantial blood loss. The surgeon said, “No way, not until you fix the platelet problem.” Like I was supposed to run to Walgreen’s for a fantastic platelet-making drug.
Another surgery date, this time four months out, was set.
This waiting-around business was getting old. To fill the time and stay mobile, I continued my water aerobics classes and walked whenever I could. But getting up from a chair after sitting for a while became more and more painful. I could walk; I just couldn’t sit or stand on that bum hip for too long.
Six days before the third scheduled surgery date, I had another blood test. The platelet count was now even lower. But I’d had a visit with my hematologist a few weeks before, and he assured me that if I had a platelet transfusion right before the surgery, I’d be good to go. The surgeon, however, disagreed. After hearing about this second report of low platelets, he wasn’t going to touch me.
I finally decided these two medical professionals needed to quit tossing me back and forth like a beanbag while yelling, “She’s your problem,” “No, she’s your problem,” so I talked to someone who could possibly bring this deadlock to an end. I called Shelly, the hematologist’s nurse, and explained the situation to her. In her wisdom, she said, “We need to get these two men on the same page.”
At 6 a.m., four days later, I was in the surgical wing of the hospital. At 6:45 a.m., the anesthesiologist made his obligatory appearance, and we talked about what would happen in the OR. At 7:30 a.m., the platelets arrived and were hooked up to my IV. At 8 a.m., I was wheeled into the OR (which I have no memory of). And at around 9:15 a.m., I was waking up in recovery. The procedure itself had taken all of one hour.
It took almost eight months to finally have the surgery, during seven of which the surgeon and hematologist could have been talking to each other directly about a solution to the low platelets versus surgery concern.
And yet it took probably five minutes of a caring nurse’s time to make the surgery happen. I know the doctors were only looking after my best interests. But I was less than happy that they didn’t speak to each other about my situation.
It’s amazing what a simple conversation with the right person can accomplish.
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Kathy Kuenzer was born in Council Bluffs, Iowa, in 1942. With a BS in math and a minor in English from Iowa State University she pursued a profession as a tech writer. When her two children were both in college she decided to go to graduate school and received a Ph.D. in the humanities at the ripe old age of 55.
Kathy has been a professor of writing and literature and has written for several magazines. She and husband Dick have lived in Fort Collins since 2012. Kathy sings in her church choir, belongs to a book group, and does water aerobics and gardening, but not at the same time.
