The Lint Screen

Author: PD Scullin

  • Pressure’s On (Pt. 4)

    "Step right up and play Whiz-A-Rama!"A year and a half earlier, I had had my right hip replaced. Same doctor, same procedure, same hospital. Back then, the post-op pressures I faced were related to bodily fluids:
    1. Pee quickly, or get a catheter.
    2. Produce red blood cells or get units of blood and extra hospital time for monitoring.

    After my first hip replacement, I could do neither of these important tasks. The anesthesia apparently dries-up one’s urine flow, and my body was not about to bother with making some fresh red to replenish itself. Essentially my body was flipping me a big bird for hurting it (my body can be petty that way).

    So, this go ‘round, I was determined to at least avoid the dreaded catheter. There wasn’t much I could do about giving my body a pep talk concerning the importance of rapid blood production. My body’s got a mind all its own.

    So, I concentrated on ‘making water.’ No dice. Try as I may, and Lord knows I tried, I was dry. A drought of pee for me. The nurse even gave me overtime to see if I could score. Nothing.

    I will not go into the details of receiving a catheter hook-up except to say it is probably an early initiation rite as one passes through the gates of hell. However, it was not as painful as my memory had portrayed it from last time (sometimes memory can be a drama queen). It was intense, yes, but it was over quickly, and once the deed is done, the issue is laid to rest as long as you’re tapped. My catheter was in for 48 hours.

    A catheter is the ultimate lazy guy device. If getting one installed was not so painful, I imagine a catheter would be popular at football games, rock concerts and for long driving trips.
    "Fill 'er up, please!"The other pressure, the blood production, well, I failed that also. I was apparently white as my hospital sheet on the second day. My hemoglobin count was low, about the same count one would find in a stick. The kind doctor ordered me two units of A+ blood. This vintage is one Count Dracula described as “Precocious and playful” while being “invigoratingly intriguing to the palate, with hints of currants, blackberries and earthy exuberance. A wonderful pick-me-up!”

    Fluids were now going out, fluids were now coming in. I was on the road to recovery. All I had to do was serve my hospital time and survive physical therapy.

  • Living in 8 Minute Intervals (Pt. 3)

    The last thing I remember was being wheeled into the operating room. I had been asked to answer the following questions on eight different occasions that morning in the hospital: What is your name, your birthdate, and what procedure are you having today?

    My left hip and left foot were marked with a Sharpie Marker. All of this advanced technology was to alleviate mistakes, something like accidentally getting a lobotomy instead of a total hip replacement. Comforting, this modern medical science.

    The Wedge of Truth, Strap On In!
    The Wedge of Truth, Strap On In!
    I remember the operating room being cold. I recall the operating table being metallic, cool and narrow. I remember someone saying something about... and I was out as the doc did his dirty deed for the next two hours, placed in the recovery area and monitored for an hour, and finally assigned my post-op home: room #405, Piedmont Hospital, Atlanta.

    I awoke to numbness, a loving wife, my legs strapped to a foam wedge placed between my thighs (to keep my new ball joint at the proper angle, I guess), and a morphine drip. I was told that the operation was a success and my hip that had been replaced was “in bad shape.” Well, I could have told them that.

    I was also told I could hit my morphine drip plunger every 8 minutes, if needed. I knew from past experience my brain is very good at calculating life in 8 minute intervals and issuing urgent commands to the right thumb to plunge away.

    I was done. The nastiness was done. I had a 12-inch gash on my butt sealed with a row of 33 pretty surgical staples. Now came the really hard part– avoiding the catheter.

  • “Look, Ma– No Hip!” (Pt. 2)

    It ain't pretty, but at least Percocets can ease the pain.
    It ain’t pretty, but at least Percocets can ease the pain.
    On Monday, Nov. 2, a man I barely know had me stripped and knocked out. Then he cut open my left buttock, yanked out my left leg bone, sawed-off the diseased arthritic ball joint, cemented a new titanium one into the leg bone and put it back into the hip joint (where he had placed a new artificial socket for smooth hip rotation).

    Welcome to total hip replacement surgery. Welcome to arthritis playing for keeps. Welcome to the ravages of growing old. Welcome to some Percocet-inspired notes about my ordeal for your enlightenment and perhaps even amusement. To quote a great philosopher, “The only thing that distinguishes mankind from animals is our ability to laugh at pain, and not wag our tails.”

    This was my second hip replacement. My right hip was replaced in April, 2008. It’s wonderful not to have arthritic pain there anymore, but to get to that pain-free other side requires a painful journey. The surgery, the rehabilitation, the scrutiny of TSA personnel when traveling because your fake hip got the metal detectors screaming, they’re all part of the process.

    Watch your step!
    Watch your step!
    The good news is you can be fixed. The bad news is medical science hasn’t made the process a cakewalk or cake-hobble.

    I will spend the next few blog entries detailing my experience. Reading these will be less painful than hip surgery and probably somewhat more enjoyable.

    That’s The Lint Screen way.

    Stay tuned…

  • My Left Hip (Pt. 1)

    Daniel got nothing on me.
    Daniel got nothing on me.
    Many people have often compared me to Daniel Day Lewis– with the exception of his good looks, incredible acting talent and fantabulous wealth.

    Still, we’re pretty much two peas in a pod. Daniel starred in My Left Foot, and I am soon to star in My Left Hip. You see, dear children, this Lint Screenin’ daddy-o is about to undergo ‘total hip replacement’ surgery on Monday, November 2.

    Oh, I know what you’re thinking: he’s just doing that because joint replacement surgery is what all the cool baby boomers are having– it’s the “in” operation to have and he’s just got to have it!

    On left, the plastic model from my doc's office. Yum!
    On left, the plastic model from my doc’s office. Yum!
    Sure, I’ll confess that there is a certain amount of peer pressure involved, but there is also the little issue of arthritis decaying my joints these past 8 years like gasoline on Styrofoam (try it some time– what happens when the gas makes contact is pure evil). I had my right hip replaced in April of 2008, and now it’s time to balance the technology to alleviate my pain.

    As Carly Simon sang, “I haven’t got time for the pain”, so I will undergo pain to be done with it. My store-bought titanium right hip is pain-free, with the exception of the commotion it causes going through security at airports. But its triggering of alarms does afford me the unique and stimulating opportunity to share a little bonding time with friendly TSA personnel. F-U-N!

    The high tech utilized to indicate which hip needs replacement.
    The high tech utilized to indicate which hip needs replacement.
    While I certainly don’t look forward to this surgery, I do look forward to some day soon not having pain that causes my entire body to contort to compensate. I also look forward to one day getting off the pain management medication teat.

    In the grand scheme of things, what I’m going through is nothing. This is fixable, and physical therapy and time make it better than before. No pity parties here. It’s just a minor repair and I think I still have some mileage left on me.

    I ask you all to contemplate your lives, count your blessings, remember the suffering of those who have little hope, and give thanks for good health. I will leave you with a photo of the chart which will be a focal point of my room in the hospital. It forces one to think about the pain he/she is feeling. What is your number? It’s a good think to think about daily. What is your number?

    Put a number to your pain. Now, reduce it.
    Put a number to your pain. Now, reduce it.
    By the way, you may not be reading fresh dispatches for a little while, I’ll be whacked-out on the goof. In the meantime, I invite you to graze deeper into the Lint. Here’s ten of the most popular morsels you may have missed and ample proof as to why this blog is the world’s fastest growing website containing the words “Lint” and “Screen”:
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    And, for all you monkey humor fans, http://bit.ly/9MonkeyDinner
    Of course, there’s plenty more fun to be discovered and shared. Thanks for playing, mind those hips.

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  • Carney Scandal

    Did kid con carney? The world stands aghast (with cornie dog and deep fried butter in hand).
    Did kid con carney? The world stands aghast (with cornie dog and deep fried butter in hand).
    In a historic first, a carney recently had to pay out a large stuffed animal when a patron miraculously put the ball through the basketball hoop at The Texas State Fair.

    “I ain’t never seen nothing like it,” said Lucky Doodrop, a gaming specialist operating the Shoot for Glory booth. “I didn’t even know those whatchamacallit ball-orb-thingies could go through the hoop-y-dealies– but I surely saw it with my own two eyes! It were either an act of God or I got myself snookered, but good!” said the contrite carney as he expelled a stream of tobacco juice into his styrofoam spit cup.

    The winning shooter, one Kenny Lorridore of Driscoll, Texas, said he never expected to win. “I’ve played this game for long as I can remember, but I’ve never even come close. Probably spent close to $5,000 trying to win me a big stuffed animal, now I somehow did it! Don’t know where I’m going to put the big sucker, but by gum he’s mine, all mine!”

    “It’s just not fair,” said Mr. Doodrop, ” I have been done in by ill-fated chance or flim-flammery, and my heart is truly broken for I loved me that stuffed critter, what that no good cheating kid done stole from me. I aims to see it don’t never get done again!”

    With that, the irate carney flipped down the lid to his welder’s cap, ignited his arc torch and began heating the basketball rim, tightening the circumference on his game of chance.