Four days ago I went to a weird little hospital in downtown Abu Dhabi to have laparoscopic cholecystectomy (my gallbladder scooped out through small incisions). I really had no idea what to expect. I didn't know if I'd be in a dormitory style room or a private room. If I would be able to keep my personal belongings with me or even if Dan would be able to see me at all or if I would definitely have to stay the night. Well, now that it's all done with (except for a follow up visit this week) here's how it went down.
My pre-op instructions were on half a sheet of paper that the nurse took when I arrived at the hospital. They were pretty standard and also pretty vague:
Maintain good hygiene by bathing the day of the surgery before coming to hospital (I didn't do this, I bathed the night before because no way was I going to have wet hair all day long. Take that, The Man)
Maintain good hygiene by using toothbrush and toothpaste on the day or surgery
No food or liquids on the day of surgery
Stop use of alcohol or tobacco as soon as possible before the surgery (I interpreted that to mean 48 hours)
Prep the area using trimmers if necessary
So, prepped and wearing my pajamas (certainly inappropriate and disrespectful of the local culture), Dan and I arrived at 6:45am, were escorted to a private room on another floor of the hospital (the hospital building is two interconnected 20 story buildings). and left there for 4 hours. There was a telephone, bed, couch, wardrobe, and TV that got 1.5 English channels. During that time I was given a smock and trousers, and repeatedly asked if I had removed everything else.
YES I TOOK OFF MY PANTIES!!
Although I kept saying yes, I had removed everything, boy was I wrong. I was wearing nail polish!!!1!
And it looked hella cool too
This was such an unprecedented event that it was discussed at length by the OR nurses. I don't know the essence of the conversation, because the only words in English were "nail polish", but eventually something was decided (probably that no one really cared) and on I walked into the operating room. That's right, I walked, carrying my IV bag of fluids, into the room where I was to be cut open. The hospital is so small, it's impractical to move patients on gurneys everywhere. The anesthesiologist was a very genial man who asked me all kinds of questions, probably to distract me from the fact I was about to be cut open for the first time. He asked the usual questions, where are you from, how many children, do you drink a lot, doesn't this anesthesia feel better than a drink? He also asked me what kind of livelihoods they have in Arizona.
"Gold mining and cattle ranching, good sir."
I have no idea how they managed to get me back to my room afterwards, but I did have to shift my own body from one bed to another, reminding me how much pain I was in (a lot, a lot of pain). Luckily, the rest of the day was just me dozing, only waking up when someone came in to remove my IV bag and bring my liquid dinner of mango squash (super-thick juice). I saw the doctor at about 9pm, cementing my opinion that he works all the time. He might live on site for all I know. I asked for stronger pain medicine than I was getting, and I did get something better, but just that one time. And there's the biggest difference between surgery here and surgery in the US. Here, what I got was fancy ibuprofen (in the US it's called Rimadyl and is marketed for arthritic dogs and cats), in the US, I would have gotten something that actually helps with the pain, like vicodin. Next time I need my guts scooped out, I'm asking for an American doctor or going to Dubai and the American hospital, I don't care if that makes me seem racist. I do not want to be in pain because of the cultural hang-ups of my doctor.
Just give me the good stuff
Dan stayed most of the first day, leaving only when he knew I'd come out of surgery OK. There wasn't any reason for him to stay and watch me sleep all day. He got enough of that the next day, when he woke up and came straight to the hospital to sit and play poker on his phone while I slept through Dora the Explorer for four hours, because the only all English channel was Nick Jr. That's a man who loves me.
There! Candy Mountain is right there! Geez, Dora, turn the hell around!
Anyway, other than the lack of actual pain relief, the experience was fine. If I had gone to another hospital here in Abu Dhabi, I would have gotten the same service, only dressed up in fancier equipment. I'm recovering well enough: sleeping a lot and eating small meals. I can even lay on my side already. I don't have stitches because my incisions are glued shut, and I only have three instead of the usual four (Dr. Ravi must have been showing off. I hope he won that round of Remove That Organ). They even brought me my stones afterwards, even though I didn't ask for them. They are super gross, so of course I'm legally obligated to post a photo:
Grosser images available upon request
On Thursday I'll going in for my check-up, and I can resume all regular activities a week after that.
Well folks, that was quite a slog though my surgical experience. I'll try to bring on something shorter and more light-hearted for my next post. I'm off to take some doggie motrin and eat a small sandwich.
Maybe I'll hide the pill *in* the sandwich to trick myself into eating it
One of my most popular recipes is Elegant Toffee. It's one of those universal things that everyone loves and I get asked to make it more than anything else. No one ever asks for the recipe, but I still think the intriguing tale of toffee is worth telling. I was taught how to make toffee by my grandma on a cold winter day in 2003, but the delicious knowledge of the recipe goes back much, much further....
Cleopatra was renowned for her beauty and political acumen. What history has forgotten is the delicious confection she served Julius Caesar at their first meeting. It was the first bite of candy which began one of the most notorious love affairs in history. It should be noted that at this time, the candy was not coated in chocolate, both because of the heat and because chocolate didn't exist in ancient Egypt.
Poor bastards
The recipe was thought lost to antiquity when Cleopatra committed suicide by snake.
I just died of fright
Fortunately, two English draft dodgers, not wanting to fight the colonies in the American Revolutionary war, decided to take on the impossible task of finding the source of the Nile, thought to be deep in the heart of Africa and filled with gold and gemstones. The two intrepid explorers did not find gold or gems, but did come across an abandoned temple of Isis.
Historically Accurate Photo
This temple had been dedicated at the height of Cleopatra's reign, and in celebration of her talents, the toffee recipe was inscribed on the wall.
Desolate at not finding a hoard of gold or Solomon's mines, the explorers nonetheless took the section of the wall inscribed with the recipe back to Cairo with them and took the first boat back to England. The boat they chose was not going to England, however, and was instead a trading vessel bound for South America. This didn't bother the men too much, since South America was known for being much more temperate than England and they had become accustomed to the heat of Africa. Upon arrival in South America, the two men tried their hands at mining and failed, instead marrying into a coffee planter's family and living happily ever after.
This romantic tale was later adapted for the silver screen.
But what of the toffee recipe, you ask? Well, when the coffee plantation fell on hard times, the family searched the attics for things they might pawn to stay afloat during the dry season. One of the more adventurous daughters of the family came across the dusty old stone with the recipe and promptly attempted to recreate the confection. Her experiment was a great success (it was at this point that the chocolate coating was added) and she soon began selling the candy on the path up to Machu Picchu, where my great-grandmother purchased a packet. Instead of continuing on her trip, my great-grandmother remained in South America, learning the secret recipe before returning home and teaching it to her daughter, my grandma who in turn taught it to me. And that, my friends, is the true story of how this toffee recipe came to me.
Or it's in the Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook. I think the Cleopatra thing is more likely.
"But Sabrina, how do you make it?"
Good question, hypothetical reader! It's more of a process than a recipe, so here's a run-down of how I actually produce such deliciousness.
First, put butter, sugar, vanilla and salt in a pan over medium heat and start stirring with a wooden spoon. Sing all of Journey's Don't Stop Believing while you continue to stir. Make sure you sing ALL of the song, even the annoying repetition of the refrain at the end which gets annoying when someone sings it at karaoke.
When you've finished the song, remember you forgot the first first step and yell at Dan to "Come here and help me NOW please!" While Dan is stirring, cover a cookie sheet with wax paper and spread a single layer of almonds on it. Take the spoon back from Dan and keep stirring, this time chanting "Don't scrape the pan" because you do NOT want to scrape the pan when you pour out the molten sugar mixture. As you are stirring you'll notice it goes from platinum blonde to light brown faster than a banana reaches peak ripeness and then rots. When it is all light brown, pour it over the almonds. DO NOT SCRAPE THE PAN. While the candy cools, chop up a whole bunch of walnuts. Just keep chopping. When you're tired of chopping, wash the pan you cooked the toffee in and then melt a bag of chocolate chips in it. Pour half the melted chocolate over the slab of toffee and then sprinkle the chopped walnuts on it. Put the whole shebang in the fridge until the chocolate hardens a bit. Flip the slab, repeat the chocolate and walnuts, put back in fridge. When the chocolate is hard all the way through, break the candy into pieces. I use my hands. It will be messy, but your reward for that mess will be over a pound of elegant toffee and 2-3 cups of nut/chocolate/toffee crumbs that you can later put on ice cream or in cookies.
Due to recent events, showing that you have more tenants living in the unit than allowed, you are hereby evicted. You will be removed via laparoscopic procedure on June 20, 2012 and any stones you may contain will be removed along with you.
My sister has concerns that when you are removed from the premises, you may take other parts with you, such as a kidney or lung. Please be advised that the proper authorities will oversee the eviction process to ensure this does not occur.
Not that we haven't had some good times, gallbladder. You've stored bile for me for almost 30 years, through weeks when I ate nothing but ice cream and fried chicken. But now that you are harboring seven stones, I'm afraid we must part ways.
Seven stones? Several? I'm really bad at understanding accents. Honestly, the first three minutes of Game of Thrones sounds like this to me:
Our troubles all began on Thanksgiving 2010, when you made me projectile vomit a delicious dinner all over my grandmother's bathroom. Despite numerous attempts to avoid foods that irritated you and a vast amount of Nexium (the Rolls-Royce of stomach medications, according to my cute little German PCP), you have continued to cause me pain and nausea.
Yeah, Nexium is *just* like this
So, my little friend, we must part. You, to a medical waste bin, and me to a future of eating deep fried zucchini without fear.
Extra ranch dressing, please
I hope the surgeon will be able to let me keep the stones so that I can freak out my nephews and future hypothetical children.
