FatJewishGuy.com

Day in and day out I write detailing my thoughts and actions for the world to read.

Normally I bare my soul, however, sometimes I may exaggerate or embellish for the sake of the story.

Every good comedian does this.

A fish becomes a whale, a girl becomes a one legged playboy model and a 10 minute wait at the market turns into a 3 hour wait behind a fat black woman eating a bucket of KFC with a mole on her face.

Sometimes in life, there are stories that do not need embellishment.

Sometimes, there are things that happen that are so crazy, so insane, so ridiculous that they automatically seem like a lie.

This is one of those situations.

I swear on all that is holy to me that there is nothing exaggerated here. There is no embellishment, nothing is a lie and to the best of my recollection this is the truth.

This is the real unedited version of my day at the surgeons.

I wish it wasn’t so.

4:00 am Tuesday morning I woke up.

My surgery was scheduled for 5:00 and we needed to leave the house by 4:30 to make it in time. I had been told I was scheduled to go under around 6 and that it would take an hour for paperwork and pre-op stuff. I figured I was going to be tired, so I didn’t need to bring anything with me to read.

I woke up hungry since i hadn’t eaten since 10 the night before, (which in and of itself is amazing) and made my way into the shower for the last time in at least 4 days. As I was shaving I realized that I would not be able to put deodorant on my left arm for maybe the next 10 days and I considered shaving my arm pit hair so it wouldn’t smell. Thinking ahead though, I realized that I could get razor bumps and that I would rather smell for a few days then have itching that I could not scratch.

After drying myself, I put on a Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt, shorts and sandals. For what I thought was the last time for the next few months, I took pretzel for a walk. When I came back in and put him in the gate, I glanced around the house for the last time and told Shorty I was ready to go.

As we drove down the empty 101 freeway, I wasn’t paying attention to what Shorty was saying because honestly I was very nervous for the impending surgery.

Let me rephrase that for a second.

I was not nervous about the actual surgery, but I was nervous about the pain that would come after the surgery. I think people should just keep their mouth shut when someone is about to get an operation. They were telling me that the doctor is wrong about how long it will take to recover. I honestly thought it was not fair that people were saying I would hurt for months, that I would be in pain and that my life would change.

It was making me nervous.

Nervous and scared.

Shorty pulled up to the surgery center. I remarked that it looked kind of ghetto as it was located right next to a El Pollo Loco (a sure sign of what was coming) in a seedy part of town. We found the parking in the rear and I noticed two people walking towards the entrance. I darted out of the car leaving Shorty behind determined to sign in first thereby getting my surgery before these people.

I made it.

After signing in first at 5:05 am, I sat down next to Shorty and waited for my name to be called.

A few minutes later I heard my name and looked up to see a well dressed man with a clipboard standing above me.

Let’s remember for a second the setting.

I had slept only about two hours, hadn’t eaten and did not take any medication so my blood sugar was doing g-d knows what. Also, I was about to get surgery involving the cutting and chipping of my bones.

In retrospect what the guy was about to do was a genius sales move.

The guy came over when I picked up my head and started to tell me that he had some “optional” equipment that insurance would not cover but that he wanted to offer me just in case.

Then he proceeded to try and sell me a 400 dollar ice machine that rotates ice around my shoulder, something called a T. E. N. S. machine which looks like an electrode torture device, a padded sling and a pain pump. He wanted around 900 dollars cash and while he stressed that this equipment was optional, he once again told me that he recommends I get it.

What peaked my curiosity was when I asked him what the pain pump did and he said that if I bought it, he would give it to the doctor and they would insert it during the operation. Then every hour it would drop a “local anesthetic” into my shoulder thereby keeping me pain free for the first 3 days after which it would be removed by the doctor.

Now, I know that the state of American health care is not in the best shape, but I also know that I have pretty good insurance and was surprised that they would not cover a pain pump. I figured that it made no sense that they wouldn’t pay for a machine that costs 400 bucks and take the risk that I need pain medication and more doctors visits that would cost g-d knows how much.

So, I did what the other people in this office did not or would not do… I called the insurance company.

Well, now it’s around 5:30am and I am fighting with someone on the phone about managing my pain. The lady was really nice. She told me that they do not cover the ice machine since there was no actual proof that it worked, but that the pain pump was covered 100 percent, however, she wanted to know more about the brand, model and what it does.

I asked the guy what the real name of the pain pump was and he didn’t know. He did not know the model number either and when I put him on the phone with her she told him that they would cover it, so he changed the price to zero and started explaining to me how to use it.

I got a lesson on how to use a pain pump, which consisted of, “if you are in pain, hit the button.”

Um, I could have figured that out.

Then he tried to explain to me the T.E.N.S. machine and when I said I understood he gave me a piece of paper to sign.

Now, I may not be the smartest person in the world, but, I do read everything that I sign and noticed that it said that the guy affirmed I was not diabetic.

I looked at him and said, “I am diabetic.”

He said to me that it didn’t really matter and that the only difference was that I shouldn’t turn the machine up so high because diabetics can burn themselves with the electricity if they are not careful.

I remember thinking to myself that this guy was a moron and that it wouldn’t have been funny if I was burning myself at home after the operation. Although it kinda would have been a Homer Simpson moment if every time I turned on the machine I kept saying, “Doh!”

Another thing that was weird was that my social security number was wrong on the top of the form. But, I didn’t want to start anything so I signed it and now owned the equipment.

The salesman went away and I tried to put this out of my mind. Shorty’s friend had shown up and we were all talking when they called my name and took me in the back.

I kissed Shorty goodbye and followed the nurse into the back room.

I got into the back and the nurse told me to take off my clothes and put on a gown. I was put in a bed with no privacy as anyone who walked in the door was staring right at me.(and many reps had walked in the door in the short time I was there)

The nurse came over and wanted me to sign paperwork. Once again I read every page. What struck me as odd was that there was one piece of paper which was the consent form that stated my doctor, Bruce Fishman who was supposed to be my surgeon was the “referring doctor” and that my surgeon would be someone named Dominick Sisto.

I had never heard of this Sisto guy. In fact, Shorty had picked up on this last week when there was a piece of paper that said Dr Sisto on it. I had called the doctor’s office on Monday and asked about this guy and they told me that he was Dr Fishman’s assistant and not to worry.

Guess what?

I am Jewish, I worry.

I told the nurse that I would not sign the consent form until I spoke with the doctor himself to find out what was happening.

Now, this is the funny part.

I am sitting in the hospital bed in a gown and not having signed a consent form, when the nurse comes in and gives me an IV. Not only an IV but she gave me some kind of injection first into the IV spot that was supposed to numb me up. Then she shaved my shoulder and wrote, “Yes” on the one he was going to cut and “No” on the one he wasn’t going to touch.

Then the nurse wanted to take my blood sugar. I told her that I was afraid of doing it and she joked around with me for a bit. She asked for my finger and I was scared to give it to her until I saw that she didn’t have one of those modern machines in her hand. The nurse was holding a regular lancet that she was going to prick my finger with. Since that is the way I do it myself, I told her that I would prick my own finger and she agreed,

After poking my finger, I squeezed it to give her a blood sample and she told me there was not enough of a blood sample to get a machine reading. I joked with her that there was plenty and that’s when I saw the machine she had. It was ancient. Just as I noticed how old the machine was she said to me that the machine was old and that they would “one day be able to afford an Accu-Chek.” I joked with her that I had an extra one and then asked her if the rest of the machines in the back were modern.

As the nurse looked over her paperwork, she said to me that it looked like I spoke with Dr Sanchez the night before. I told her that I did not and she showed me the piece of paper that said that I did. Once again, I told her that she must be mistaken, but she was adamant that someone had a phone call with me the night before about the procedure. I told her there was no way I spoke with anyone, but she just ignored my answer and walked away.

As I was waiting I saw a nurse and heard an accent that I recognized. I knew it was Hebrew, but it could have very well have been some Islamic accent, so when she said it was an, “Israeli” accent, I felt a bit better.

I asked her in Hebrew if this place seemed a bit strange and she asked me, “how so?” I told her about the salesperson in the front and she just looked at me funny. We talked for a bit about Israel and her son who left law school for med school and then in the middle of a sentence she walked away.

Finally, the doctor came to see me and I asked him if he would be the one doing the surgery. He gave me an explanation that was so convoluted that it almost made sense. The doctor told me that insurance wouldn’t pay for two surgeons and to get around that he puts the other doctor’s name as the surgeon so that he would get paid and vice versa. He told me just to sign the paper and that obviously he would be the one to be doing this.

For some reason I trusted him and signed the paper that explicitly stated that Dr Sisto was my surgeon.

Then he started telling me about what to expect after the surgery. For two weeks I would be in horrible pain since he was doing bone work, Dr. Fishman explained.

I started to think that maybe all those people who were telling me how much the surgery hurts were right.

He told me that to manage the pain he was going to put in a pain pump, (the same one they tried to sell me in the waiting room earlier) and that 3 days later I would need to come to his office to have it removed.

I said to him that since he only works in that office on Monday and that Monday was Yom Kippur, I wanted to know where he would be on Friday since that is when the pump needed to be taken out. He told me that he wouldn’t be at his Sherman Oaks office but that any nurse on duty could take it out and make sure I was recuperating ok.

This seemed wrong to me since I wanted a doctor to be the one to check if the surgery went well. I didn’t want not some nurse doing this but a doctor(preferably my surgeon.

Still, I kept quiet.

Finally, he told me about something called a nerve block which he said they offer as “extra.” I asked him what this was and he told me that after the surgery, when I woke up, if I was in pain, they would offer me a nerve block that would completely take the pain away for between 8 – 14 hours. This sounded amazing.

A shot that would take my pain away!

I asked him why I wouldn’t do it and he said, “well there are risks involved.”

I remember thinking that if I was willing to go under for surgery, why would I not want to get a shot that takes my pain away? Dr. Fishman said to me that for legal reasons they had to offer me the shot before I went under the anesthesia, but that I would make the decision when I woke up if I needed the shot or not. Then he winked and said that he covered himself legally by telling me now.

Once again I asked him if I would just “know” if I needed it and he told me that “believe me you will know.” I said cool and asked him if he would be there. He said probably not, but that it’s not a big deal. it’s done all the time and that they could page him if needed.

I thanked the doctor and made a joke about how if something happened to me I would not forgive him on Yom Kippur. We shook hands and he went away.

By then it was almost 7am and I still had not been operated on. I started texting Shorty and her mom and then the anesthesiologist and the nurse walked up to my bed. The anesthesiologist looked at my chart, focusing on the same sheet of paper the nurse had questioned me about earlier.

The anesthesiologist asked someone why her name was signed when it was obviously “Chris’ ” writing. Then she asked me when I spoke to Chris about this sheet and I told her that I did not speak to Chris. Finally, she did what a normal doctor would do and she started asking me the questions again so she could be sure nothing bad would happened to me.

Yes!

I was so excited!

A doctor who actually cares!

I was so relieved when she started asking me the questions, that I started to feel better about this whole thing.

Then it happened.

The anesthesiologist also started to sell me on this, “extra” procedure that would give me no pain for almost the full first day. I asked her what it did and she replied that it would completely numb my arm. She made a joke about how I wouldn’t be using my arm anyway and I agreed. I told her that I was afraid not so much about the pain of the shot, but that I would be very afraid to let her stick a needle in my neck. She answered my by explaining that “Pain was great motivator” and that if I woke up in pain I would be begging her give me the shot.

I actually agreed with her and asked her how long a procedure getting the shot is. That’s when it got really weird again. She told me that everyone is different, but that the nerves are located in the same spot in each person. Then she told me that it takes a while since they had to stick a needle in my neck and then run electricity though it to find my nerve bundle and that it could take around 10 minutes. (glad the surgeon didn’t think he needed to be there for that)

That’s when I freaked.

I could not imagine coming out of surgery and then deciding while half lucid to get a needle in my neck with electric current running through it. Maybe I would do it if the effects lasted for more than 8 hours, but I guess I wouldn’t know how much pain I would be in until after I came out of surgery. I relaxed a bit, thanked the doctor and went to lay down. Then I saw them wheel in the man.

The guy was the one who I had tried to beat to the front door earlier. They had obviously taken him in for surgery before me and now he was done, asleep on the stretcher right next to me.

I sat up to look at him and the anesthesiologist left my side to go speak with the person. I thought it was so nice that the doctor wanted to be with the guy when he woke up, but that all changed when I heard her ask him, “do you want that nerve block we spoke about?” Seriously that was the first thing the guy heard when he got up from under the anesthesia.

The guy was so quiet.
He was laying there so still that I actually called over the nurse and whispered to her, “I know this is none of my business, but wouldn’t the guy be screaming or moving around if he was in that much pain?” The nurse told me that everyone shows pain in various ways and who was I to question this man’s pain threshold.

I guess she was right, but the man was laying there groggy, quiet and still. He looked like he was at peace, to he extent that I secretly wished I would be in that good shape when I got out of surgery. Then the surgeon came out and spoke to him. I was in shock when I heard him asking if the guy wanted the nerve block. The guy relented and murmured yes, so the surgeon told my anesthesiologist to give it to him.

The anesthesiologist then said to someone else to give him the shot and I heard the guy say to have Chris do this. (the same Chris who I guess spoke to me the night before)

Finally, they wheel me into the operating room.

I get in there and they have me slide onto a table.

The anesthesiologist says to me that I need to move up so my head is centered on top of a blue net. She tells me that “the more uncomfortable I was the better.”

I asked her if there was supposed to be something sticking in my back and she replied, “yes.”

So, now I am on the table and they put a mask on over my nose and mouth.

The guy tells me it’s just oxygen and I start breathing deeply.

Then I hear the anesthesiologist tell me that my arm will hurt since they are taking my blood pressure, but that they are doing it 2 times and by the second time they do this I will be fast asleep.

This is when I freaked out.

Not sure why, but I had a panic attack.

I started saying, “I don’t want to do this.”

Now, had the doctor just stopped for a second and calmed me down, things would be different right now, instead the doctor held the mask on my face, turned up the gas and said, “This is like a roller coaster, once you start you can’t stop!”

Those words may not sound that bad, but when there are 4 people standing over you with masks, needles and gloves it’s pretty freaky.

I got more scared and asked the to let me off the table.

They pushed me down and held my mask tighter as they said that they could not stop since they gave me meds already.

I sat up forcefully and I saw to my right that they were trying to inject something in my IV.

I pushed my mask off and said, “I have a right not to do this. Please stop.”

That was it.

The doctor told them to stop and asked them if they gave me anything.

They kept saying 10 milligrams of Reglan.

I head someone say, “just get him out of here.”

Things happened fast after that.

I was taken back to the pre-op room and the IV was taken out.

I heard the anesthesiologist say that she was sorry she pre-opped me and someone else said that they wanted me out.

I asked them what I had in my system and they said just something for my stomach.

That was it.

I was let go, no paperwork, no warnings, nothing.

They took away my pain medication prescription (which I would have needed anyway since my shoulder obviously still hurts) and they were really nasty about it as if the were punishing me.

As I walked out the door with no help, hyperventilating and visibly upset, the nurse actually asked me if I was going to reschedule.

Shorty then told me that the doctor had come out to talk with her.

She said he seemed pissed off and told her that in 30 years he never had someone do this. (that could have been because maybe normally they hold the person down and tell them that they can’t leave) She said that she had asked him if she could talk with me and maybe convince me to do the surgery and he told her no. It was done. He was going home.

Apparently 5 minutes later he appeared again in street clothes and left the surgery center.

We drove home and I did not want to tell Shorty, but I was very depressed.

I wanted to kill myself.

I felt so depressed, and I told her that when we got home I wanted her to hold me as I went to bed. She said yes, however Shorty had no clue about the thoughts of despair that were going through my head.

I got home, took my diabetes medication and a pain killer and went to sleep with Shorty by my side.

7 hours later I woke up hung over and in a fog that still has not lifted.

For some reason I googled Reglan, and read that the side effects were “agitation, depression and nervousness.” It also said not to take narcotic pain medication with it. Since no one told me what I was on when I left the surgery center, I had taken a narcotic pain medication earlier in the day.

Now, I am not a doctor. (though my mom would have been proud if I was)

What I think happened was: While I was on the gurney about to go under, they gave me this drug (Reglan) which gave me a panic attack. Instead of calming me down, the doctors freaked me out even more with their actions and words which in turn freaked me out even more. Who knows if that is what caused my freak out, but in retrospect I am happy with the decision to leave.

I feel I made the right decision and only question why I didn’t leave the place earlier.

The whole day was weird.

It was sketchy.

Now I need a new doctor.

I need a surgeon who doesn’t want to sell me stuff.

What a day.

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