An unusual week this week, as domestic matters took precedence overwork, and heaven forbid, even golf (almost unheard of, I appreciate)
This week, my good lady wife, the Pharmacist indoors, underwent a further operation on her spine, specifically, an "Anterior Lumber Interbody Fusion" - which is the operatin Tiger Woods had to fuse two of the vertebrae in his spine. I, of course, have been going round saying that after over 30 years of playing our sport, my wife, in 2 short hours, now has more in common with Tiger than I do.
Suffice to say that the operation went as well as the surgeons hoped it would, and I am delighted to say that the patient is recovering very well indeed.
There were, however, a number of things I noted at the beginning of the week.
Firstly, the tension that builds up on the approach to any significant medical procedure is downright Hitchcockian, so much so that the drive up was filled with heavy silences and silly humour to hide the concern. One such moment was the discussion around whether a siding on a railway line could be referred to as a "side-track" - I was of the opinion that sidings are called sidings, not side-tracks, and this became a point of conversation that continued for far longer than it should (any suitably trained experts out there who are able to prove me correct, please feel free to get in touch).
The second thing I noticed was that at least this time, they wheeled my wife away on a trolley instead of making her walk to the theatre as they did the last time they operated on this particularly offensive disc. It seemed very wrong watching her walk through the dramatic double doors. This time though, the orderly/technician was getting the life story as they rolled through the doors which still didn't fee; quite right.
The third thing I noticed was that when we were advised to proceed with the surgery, there was a distinct lack of info regarding the, shall I say, nuts and bolts, of the procedure. We were told that they would be going through the front this time, but no explanation ass to what this means - specifically we didn't find out until later that this involves a vascular surgeon clearing the field for the orthopaedic surgeon to get to work - in my head, this involved the surgeon wearing a long pair of rubber gloves, putting their hands in the incision and pushing the intestines and other internal organs aside, before the other surgeon comes in with his power drill.
What actually happens, is the incision is much smaller than I imagined (thankfully) and so I assume that they used smaller instruments to "clear the way".
The other thing that wasn't originally mentioned (althugh it was at a later date prior to the operation), was they would be taking a bone graft frrom the hip to act as a spacer between the vertebrae. In my mind, I am imaging some sort of "planing" and a splinter like sliver being shaved off - which just goes to show how much I know, as it is more akin to an ice-core being taken out, and the plug of cells extracted is what is used.
The last change that I noted was within myself. The last time I was the typical anxious husband, wandering the street of Christchurch, waiting for the surgeon to call me with the update on how it all went.
This time, I decided that this was not a productive use of my time, so I booked a golf lesson instead as a distraction (I did feel slightly guilty about this, but had cleared it first). The lesson went well, and I realised that my recent dip in form was all Phil Mickleson's fault (and not just because evertything else seems to be his fault in the golfing arena at the moment), as I had seen an online tip of his about a way to get a pitch shot that flew in lower, with a touch of draw, and then released up the green rather than stopping quickly. It is a great technique but it turns out it had infiltrated it's way into my swing hence my shots having the current unacceptably high dispersement rate.
I am working on the fixes, and this seems to be going well (of course this will change over my next competitive round), but the other reason I mention this is that while I was hitting a 7 iron up the range at Christchurch GC, the pro disappeared before returning with a new Callaway Rogue 7 iron that had just arrived and got me to have a go with it.
Suffice to say, my wife's surgery has proven to be significantly more expensive that either of us expected.
Stay safe, play well, and I look forward to seeing you all out there
Steve
|