Andrew's New Hip

Andrew Madagame, had surgery yesterday.  

Andrew is my sweet, smart, tall, dark-haired, handsome grandson.   All the attention was on him, which is definitely not his style.  When we approached the check-in desk the receptionist took his information.  She said, "You’re having hip replacement surgery?  Aren’t you too young for that?”  

Andrew just mumbled, "Genetic”.  His first encounter with useless, human interaction.

He is 22 years young. The little boy, I could scoop up and hold him, kind of young.  He is my "I love you, Grandma”, boy.    

I went with his mom and dad to see him, before they hauled him off for surgery, He looked nervous.  I thanked him for covering up the I.V., hook-up in his arm.  He smiled and said, "I don’t like to look at it either, Grandma.”

Staff was busily moving around him, prepping him for surgery.  They were doing the "Eye-Contact” thing when they were explaining what they were doing or asking him questions.  Which is really a good thing for them to do. It shows good patient care.  But, to Andrew, it wasn’t an eye-contact moment.  They were asking him questions he knew they knew the answers.  And they knew he knew, too.

When Andrew’s listening to information, he looks straight ahead, placing the details in his memory. He started a look of disdain on his face, when the questions became a repetitive waste of time.

One nurse asked him, "Do you like to be called Drew?”  

He said, "I like to be called Andrew when I’m dealing with a bureauocratic situation.”  There was not a twinge of humor on his face or in his voice.  I thought it was hilarious!  He was not going to get on a friend-basis with anyone!  He was not staying.

I didn’t doubt Andrew felt fear.  He even verbalized it, which is huge for him.  He’s been through hip surgery before. Almost five years ago.  He remembers being in the hospital, in Wisconsin, and not able to travel to Michigan, to see his grandpa before he died.  It was a traumatic time for Andrew, who loves his Grandpa Madagame.  

I can’t imagine the memory triggers he felt, being in the hospital again.  I only know what hospitals do to me.  So, I really tried not to show it.  I wanted him to believe I wasn’t worried.  I said, "You know what Grandpa would have said, right about now?  He would have asked, 'Will Andrew be able to play the piano after surgery?’ 

The nurse, next to his bed, quickly answered, "Even though he can’t play now, right?”  Andrew gave a shrug and his face got a frown, as if to say, "It didn’t need an answer!” And when she turned around, he smiled his baby-face smile at me, "I’m trying to humor them, Grandma”.

He was handed a clipboard, to sign something.  He picked the pen up with his left hand (the I.V. was in the right, with a cloth covering it)  The nurse asked, "Are you left-handed?”  

Andrew answered, „No”.

"Ambidextrous?”  

"No”, Andrew said, as he slowly signed the paper, "My handwriting is bad with either hand.”

Someone asked for his black, cell-phone and put it in a sealed bag.  His last contact with the outside world.  He didn’t look like he was ready to let go of it.  It was another reminder his surgery was getting closer. 

Andrew’s orthopedic surgeon, came to speak to him before surgery.  He reviewed his procedure and gave Andrew a chance to ask questions.  The doctor asked which hip he was replacing.  "The right”, Andrew answered.  Dr. Greene pulled out a green Sharpie and told Andrew he’d put his initials on his hip, next to Andrew’s initials.  He reassured Andrew he wouldn’t be staying off the leg after this surgery.  He would have a new hip and they would have him bearing weight on it, the same day.

Dr. Greene, Orthopedic Surgeon
 Beaumont Hospital, Royal Oak
(Cuter than Dr. Kildare!)

I’m not sure it reassured Andrew.  My guess he was thinking more of the pain, the recovery and the physical therapy ahead.  But, he liked his doctor and he knew he was in an excellent, orthopedic surgery hospital.

http://orthopedics.beaumont.edu/

When one of the nurses put oxygen tubes in Andrew’s nose, he kept messing with it, (much like his grandpa did).  Another step closer to surgery.  I gave him hugs and rubbed his feet, through two warm, white blankets and hospital footies.  

I  couldn't leave without touching his gorgeous, curly, short, black hair.   His mom and dad said goodbyes with encouragement, and he was wheeled through the gray, double, swinging doors.

This surgery only took one and a half hours.  Five years ago he was in surgery four and a half hours.  This time he was putting weight on his hip immediately after surgery.  Five years ago, he wasn’t able to put weight on it for quite some time.  

Dr. Greene came out to the waiting room to talk to us, when he was through with surgery.  He was happy.  The surgery went very well.  He was confident Andrew would not have to have this done again for about thirty years.  Andrew’s mom and dad were both relieved their son’s surgery went well.  You could see the fog covering them vanish.  Their first-born was doing well and they’d see him soon.

Hopefully, Andrew’s memory of this surgery and recovery will fade in thirty years.  It won’t be so fresh in his mind as his last surgery was.

Me, With Grandson, Andrew
(after he graduated from U of M)

I’m hoping, in another thirty years, the doctor can just put in a little tube and squeeze some hip-joint-caulking through, to make things work.  Or possibly, there’ll be a tiny robot, equipted to fix things up.  No bleeding, pain, recovery or physical therapy.  

Who knows, maybe the procedure will be free, by then.  No exchange of money.  Just a deposit on a card the doctor and staff can use anywhere, anytime.  Maybe even including dental work and college tuition for their children. 

It might allow them to use any electrical station, free.  So they can charge their vehicle, while they’re working.  

When Andrew signed the paper before surgery, maybe he was releasing rights to his first-born.  Or maybe even his DNA for his gorgeous, curly, black hair?

Anything is possible.  Even the possibility I’ll be 87 in 30 years.  The same age as my Mom.  

Nah, not possible.