The Nose Knows, Part II

Thought I was the first person in history to die on the table having a septoplasty? Not so much. The surgery, as it happens, was not bad. The recovery, on the other hand, not so good.

Actually, if I had not had an allergic reaction to the antibiotic I was given, I think I’d be feeling a whole lot better by now, but we never know, do we?

So my thanks go to a fine surgeon and a terrific O.R. and Recovery staff, and the ability of the human body to recover from the assaults we perform on it! I’m getting better, and despite my expectations to the contrary, I can clearly breathe better than I expected to five days post-op.

And since I’ve taken to pontificating on the virtues of good manners in the past, I believe this is my opportunity to address the topic as it applies to the hospital room. Thus, here comes:

Hospital Etiquette for the Hopelessly Dense Inpatient

1. When your guests come to visit, lower your voices so that I’m not overhearing your family drama. I now know who cheated on whom, how many times, and why. I’m honestly not interested, and I needed to sleep more than I needed the theater.


2. Phone calls that your son needs to make about his truck repairs could conceivably be made elsewhere. I’m just saying…


3. When you take a phone call, please mute your t.v. The soap operas to which you are apparently addicted are competing with your personal spectacle, and the plotlines of the two overlap and confuse me. I have enough trouble keeping my own life straight. Don’t inject yours into my head.


4. When you leave the room to ‘ambulate the halls’ as our dry-erase board so officially puts it, that’s also a good time to mute (or, heaven forfend!—turn off!) your t.v.


5. Thanks for sharing your theory that “You could meet someone in Vegas and get married the same day, and your chances of it working out are just as good as anyone else’s.” This may have been developed via the extensive and exhaustive study you’ve made of soap operas. I’m not sure you have the (real-life) statistics to back it up.

So, while I felt your pain, got the nurse for you (when I could), tried to help insofar as I was able, and hope you’re feeling lots better, I still feel justified in making these simple suggestions. I hope neither of us ever needs them again!

Meanwhile, may all your ailments be treated in the office, and may any future hospitalizations be conducted with a maximum of decorum and a minimum of drama.

The Nose Knows

Today I’m going under the knife, as they say, to correct my severely deviated septum. This should fix my breathing problems, after the swelling subsides and the pain ebbs. If I live that long. Whatever. (The septum is a wall inside your nose that separates the nasal passages.  In cases like mine, instead of being straight, the septum veer to one side and screws up your breathing, partially blocking air flow.) By the way, this is not to be confused with a 'nose job', and there will be no changing of my outward appearance.  Damn! 

There are lots of photos of 'septoplasty' on the web, and even lots of videos of the actual surgery, but I'll spare you.


I’m just saying, why didn’t someone fix this twenty years ago, when I was younger and healing was so much easier? Plus I would have had twenty more years of decent breathing. Breathing is not optional, I like to say. Although in this case it appears to be pretty much elective.

I’m going to see whether CoTU wants to bring his camera to the hospital and document the experience…Not the gory surgery stuff-- just the ugly swollen and bandaged me post-op.  It might make a good blog post later on. To paraphrase the great Gail Collins of the New York Times, I am not one of those people who believe everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that everything happens so I can blog about it.

Anyhoo, if I’m AWOL for a few days, I’m just wallowing in the pain. Or the drugs. Or the pain. You really won’t know which. Unless CoTU invades the blog and starts begging for a merciful end to MY suffering.

See you on the other side! --no, I’m not going to die, I mean the other side of the blogosphere. If I can find it. (And this is before the drugs.)