“He can resume activities within a few days.” (Meaning, the patient can go from just-barely eating to barely eating, and going from watching mind-numbing reality shows to more stimulating game shows. And getting off the couch by himself, more than twice a day.)
“It’s not hard to change the dressing. Um, or do you feel you need a home health care nurse to do it?” (This said with a raised eyebrow.)
“There’ll be some blood, of course.” (Read: “Get ready to faint.”)
Oh, the wonders of Surgical Day Stay. Get ‘em in, get ‘em out. All courtesy of your not-so-favorite health care insurance provider.
I’ve been this route many times over the past fifteen years with about six close family members. Within hours of surgery, I’m called into recovery and told to help the patient get dressed, and given rapid-fire instructions of what to do when back in the comforts of home. Home may be comfortable, but it’s certainly not the reassurance of a hospital setting. True, many viruses lurk within the walls of the medical building, but I’d rather have skilled staff and the extra day of rest for the patient before they’re rolled out of bed, bundled into a wheelchair, and sent into a car not equipped with turbo engines to propel us home swiftly and smoothly. Of course the patient is usually drugged up on pain killers and the remnants of sweet dreams from anesthesia. They smile as I hit every pothole or when I stop short in order not to ram someone who hates running through yellow lights. That smile, though, invariably turns into grimaces of pain as night bears down hard and cruel and long. Even though I set my alarm clock to wake up every six hours to administer more pain pills, it doesn’t help much that their bed doesn’t raise or lower their heads to drink the liquid. Or that when they have to use the bathroom, it’s a matter of holding up someone much bigger than I am and wrestling with clothes. Over the years I’ve developed muscles and a plethora of comforting words though I feel inadequate as a caregiver. Especially when I have not a clue why blood is seeping through the pile of gauze or I quietly, secretly, put in a call to the doctor’s answering service at three in the morning.
I love my family and hate to see them in pain or cause them any additional pain (which I tend to do) as I fumble with a catheter bag to empty it or gently peel off seemingly glued-on surgical tape from sore backs or arms.
All I ask of the health care insurance providers and doctors–please, for the good of all, do away with day-stay surgical centers, whether stand alone or in a hospital. Make them all at least overnight surgi-centers. We’ll all profit from it, in more ways than one.
