What would I do for my daughters?

As a father of three girls, I can identify with the cliché, “I would do anything for my children.” There are, however, things I would not do for my girls, for instance, anything illegal, things that would ultimately harm them, or brain surgery.

It is expected that fathers will help their daughters. A mechanic will assure that his daughter’s car is in excellent working condition to keep her safe. Dentists, I am sure, clean their children’s teeth. I could go on about fathers helping daughters with plumbers plumbing, painters painting, carpenters carping, and politicians....well, there is always one exception to prove the rule.

This assistance started at conception, when biological fathers fertilize. I grew up in dairy farm country, so I am well acquainted with this concept of fertilization. Trust me, it is not a pretty thing. In fact most farmers I know fertilize their fields in the dead of winter, when snow blankets them. The snow keeps the organic fertilizer from being so malodorous. Then, in the spring, when it warms up and the smell erupts like a manure filled volcano, the farmer goes on vacation to far away places. This is to escape the stench and to avoid the irate phone calls from neighbors.

The reason I have been thinking about things fathers do for daughters is a recent episode from the ABC television show, The Doctors (thedoctorstv.com). The episode I saw had a cosmetic surgeon who had done some work on both of his daughters. His eldest’s belly button was an outie instead of an innie. He fixed that. His younger daughter had a flat chest and one breast was bigger than the other...or one was smaller than the other, I forget which. He fixed that, when she was 18.

People have all sorts of opinions about this situation. Let me give you mine. This father, in effect, said to his daughters, “I, genetically speaking, am a fertilizing failure as a father. Therefore, let me fix your bodies, so you can be beautiful and successful.” Voilá, one daughter has a chest that sticks out more, and the other a stomach that sticks out less.

The rest of the daughters of the world just have to settle for running vehicles, plumbing and roofs that do not leak, or, in the case of my daughters, a well fertilized sense of humor.

Surgery

As many of you know I had surgery recently. Now this does not seem as if it would neither be at all fun, nor anything I would want to blog about. I want to correct those misconceptions.

Upon arrival at the hospital, I was ushered into pre-op, which is short for “the room where you are prepared for surgery”, and was instructed to take off all my clothes and put on a gown. Now anyone who has worn a hospital gown already knows how hilarious this is, those gowns never fit, have snaps in all the wrong places, and flap in the breeze - rendering any sense of modesty useless.

Once I had the gown on, a seemingly endless procession of medical professionals began to parade in and out of my room. Starting with the pre-op nurse. “Good morning Mr. Distaffen.”  she cheerfully greeted, “I am Clara, I will be your nurse while you get ready for surgery.” Now I think it is wonderful that each person in this procession introduced themselves and explained what they will be doing during my stay at the hospital. However, not wanting to be undone, I responded to each as professionally as is possible while wearing a silly gown that air-conditioned parts of my anatomy that do not normally experience air-conditioning, “Good morning, my name is Rob and I will be your patient today.” was my chosen response.  This exchange occurred with the pre-op nurse, the operating room nurse, the anesthesiologist, the surgeon, the unit nurses, the patient care techs, and some guy who was lost and looking for directions, “Hello, my name is Bill and I am lost, can you tell me the way to the post-pre-op-recovery-discharge unit?”

Finally, it was time for surgery and since I was “Fasttrack” patient, I went straight to surgery without anesthesia.

From all the stories I have heard about surgeries, going to surgery fully awake was neither what I expected nor a pleasant prostpect. My terror was allayed once I actually reached the operating room and was greeted once again by the anesthesiologist, who explained that all the anesthesia would be administered right in the operating room. She then placed a mask over my face and instructed me to breath normally as she gave me oxygen to breath. I thought that is what I breathed normally, but I was sadly mistaken. Only a certified medical professional can give you oxygen to breath, the rest of the time you breathe air. The difference between air and oxygen is simple, air is free and you can get it anywhere, from anyone. Only a medical professional can give you oxygen and it is expensive.

In keeping with being a Fasttrack patient, I awoke before surgery was completely finished. I vaguely remember them taking screws from my head and hearing shouts of ‘restrain him’. One thing I remember distinctly is a bead of sweat trickling down my face. I hate beads of sweat trickling down my face and I wanted to wipe it off. The doctors and nurses were unconcerned with my beads of sweat, they were more concerned with my loose screws. Unfortunately they did not tighten my loose screw, they just removed it completely.