So, my surgery went Ok, and the doctor seemed happy about both the surgery and my recovery from the anesthesia. After all the horror stories that others have relayed, I was glad the doctor was both a) reputable and b) pleased with the results.

This morning, I went back into the surgeon this morning to have the stitches removed. He laid me out on my belly, and snip-snip-snip, I was all done. “Sit gently for a while,” he said as I was going out the door. “Not a problem,” thought I, and made an appointment for a followup for a month later.

So, I’m at work this morning without a care in the world, other than to rest my posterior down gently whilst sitting, when I realized something was wrong. I felt warmth down below, and a quick shuffle to the bathroom caused me to realize that something really bad happened to my post-surgical area. I was bleeding a lot…

I walked back to my cubicle, with blood down the back of my pants. I put my jacket on, and grabbed my keys, told one of my coworkers that I was having complications with my surgery, that I had to go home, and that I would call back in when I got a chance. I hopped in the car, and began to drive home.

A few feet outside the parking lot at work, I called Sarah from my cell phone. She answered the phone with, “Why are you calling from your cell?” Caller ID is cool.

“Please call the surgeon and tell them I’m bleeding. Ask if that’s normal. I’m on my way home.” said I, trying to project a sense of calm in my scream.

“Ok…,” she said.

After a while, the phone rang again, and it was the surgeon’s office. A woman began asking me what happened, and whether the wound had opened up, and how much fluid there was. I didn’t yell at her that I was at my office, and really didn’t have time for a full rectal examination, but I wanted to. Instead, I explained that I really wasn’t sure. The nurse said that the doctor would give me a call back.

I got home, and was such a mess that I wanted to burn my clothes and hop in the shower for the rest of my life. Sarah, my long-suffering and strong-stomached wife, performed a reconnoiter of the damaged area. After a few seconds of examination, she looked at me and said, “Go ahead and get in the shower… I’m going to call your doctor. You’re going back in to get that fixed.”

The half-hour I spent in the shower were not pleasant. I thought they were going to need to stitch me back up, using a local anesthesia, and I wasn’t looking forward to that. Sarah came back upstairs and told me that she made an appointment at the surgeons. My mom (dear saint that she is) took the kids with her, and Sarah and I headed back to the surgeons.

No one should ever need to visit a surgeon. No one should ever need to vision a surgeon twice on one day. It’s just not fun. Good times are not had at a surgeons office. I went in to see the good surgeon, and he “hmmm’ed” and “yeah’ed” for a few minutes, and then told me that we’re going to need to go with plan two. Plan two involves stuffing the currently open wound with with gauze and allowing it to heal from the inside out. This new plan requires going back to the doctors about twice per week for gauze replacement. 🙁

Anyway, after the doctors, Sarah and I headed for Walmart so I could get a new set of clothes, and then back to work for extremely important meetings. I’m hoping to get a kneeling chair out of the ordeal, but I’m not holding my breath.