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Another trip to the surgical center--this is getting old

By Dick Sparrer

It seems I'm spending an inordinate amount of time at the Los Gatos Surgical Center lately. "So how many times can you go in for that liposuction?" asked my pal Skip. Uh, did I say pal?

Anyway, first it was my oldest son, Mike, who had a little surgery on his finger; then my wife, Natalie, went in for a colonoscopy; and last week my youngest son, Kevin, went in for knee surgery. Man, I'm here so much they should give me my own parking space! You'd think I'd get some benefit, maybe along the lines of the frequent flier miles the airlines offer. But, no, each time all I get is the bill for the $100 co-pay.

It was no different this time around. I was there with Kevin to offer a little support, a ride home and a page out of my checkbook. How could I say no when he has that starving college student look in eyes? (But he graduates in 10 days ... yes!)

No sooner did I sign on the bottom line of my check than they whisked him off for prep work, then called me in to sit by his bedside to wait for the surgery.

Trying to lighten the moment, when the anesthesiologist came by I asked him, "Since I paid for this, do you think that while the anesthesia has him knocked out you could shave off this ugly goatee of his?"

"Uh, I think that's between you and Kevin," he said diplomatically, not thinking that I was at all funny.

Kevin just shook his head, then he said, "Yeah, well, when you pass out, maybe I'll ask them to shave your head."

Ooh, cheap shot.

Fine, so maybe I do have a history of fainting. I pass out at the sight of blood ... OK, so I pass out at the thought of the sight of blood! (I'm actually feeling a little light-headed right now!) Heck, I'm lucky to make through an entire episode of House.

So then Kevin had to share his favorite story with anyone who would listen about the time we started all this knee business a few years back (he had the nurses in stitches--sure, they thought he was funny!).

Well, as the story goes, we were in the doctor's office when we found out that he had completely torn his ACL and would miss his entire senior football season. Now, for a dad who planned to live vicariously through his son's accomplishments, just as I had with his older brother, this was quite a blow.

Kevin was stretched out on the bed in the examining room with his right leg elevated because of the swelling when I said to the doc, "Uh, I'm feeling a little light-headed." He quickly had Kevin get up and stretched me out on the gurney.

"Here I was the one with the injury, and the doctor made me get up so you could lay down because you passed out!"

I didn't really pass out ... well, almost. But mostly I just embarrassed myself as I usually do.

The worst of all those experiences came nearly 30 years when the oldest went into the hospital for a little surgery. Oh, it was nothing serious. He was just getting his adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears. He was only 2 at the time and doesn't even remember it. I should be so lucky. It stands out as one of my most embarrassing moments--you know, the kind my loving family members like to bring up every time we get together for a holiday gathering.

Anyway, here he was, this little toddler, going into the cold, scary operating room at Kaiser Hospital in Santa Clara, and he wanted his big, strong, dependable Daddy to go in with him. No problem.

I carried him into pre-op, rocked him back and forth as the anesthesia kicked in, gently placed him on his bed when he fell sound asleep and sat back down to relax until the doctor came in. That's when Mr. Wimp looked up and discovered where he was--right in the middle of the pre-op, post-op patients.

Fine, so I don't do hospitals very well. I looked out over what seemed to be a sea of patients hooked up to a network of IV units. I could only imagine the surgeries, the incisions, the blood ... oooh, I'll look down so I won't have to watch them, I thought. That's when I saw the blood splatters on the floor.

That was it. I got up slowly, found the nearest nurse and said, "I'm feeling a little light-headed." Things moved swiftly from there. She plopped me down in one of the beds in pre-op, slapped an oxygen mask on my face and said, "Don't move."

With that, she went into the waiting room to get my wife--the strong, dependable Mommy--to sit with our son. When she walked into pre-op to find her tiny son out cold in one bed and her husband on oxygen in another, she burst into tears. I just shrugged my shoulders, grinned sheepishly and blushed (which was a good sign, they told me ... at least I was getting the blood back in my head).

I'm happy to report, though, that we completed Kevin's knee surgery without incident. And for a while, I'm through with the Los Gatos Surgical Center.

"At least until your next liposuction appointment." Thanks, Skip, you're a real pal.