A long one (they all seem to be, these days). Brace yourself.

We arrived at the hospital at precisely 07:30 on Wednesday, and got the wife settled into room 649A. She shared a room with a member of the medical staff, who was in for a brown recluse bite. Who got lots of visitors, and a bouquet made of inflated blue surgical gloves.

They came for the wife around 0820. She was pleasantly surprised to find the gurney was heated, and snuggled in under the covers. And down we went to the fourth floor. At her request, I was packing her purse, and unexpectedly body slammed a man with it as we shuffled down the hallway. Swinging one of those things around all day without maiming someone has to be a skill innate to females. I could never get used to it.

She had been the stoic trooper until it came time for our goodbyes outside surgery, and then the tears came.

She wasn't afraid of the surgery. Or the possible bad outcomes, including chemo.

She was terrified of having an IV put in.

Only she could relate the full horror stories of what she has had to endure at the hands of medical staff as they tried to shove needles into her small, thin veins. For both c-sections for the boys, and her bout with pneumonia. The ravaging her wrists take just to get blood samples. And she was dreading having to go through that again.

She was right to.

Here's one I never thought to worry about. As it inevitably seems to happen, "that time of the month" arrived at a moment of greatest inconvenience, in this case a few hours before we headed to Central City. So, which is better when you're going to be unconscious, prone and under the knife for several hours? Pad or tampon?

Wife seriously asked me that question. Like I would know?

According to Sally, the nurse's aide, "pad."

The staff and volunteers at Central City medical center are about the friendliest folk I have ever met. Seemed like everyone began their conversation with "Hi! I'm So-and-so, and I'll be your nurse's aide/anesthesiologist/whatever."

But they are not the most competent people on the planet.

In the final preparation before knocking her out, the surgical nurse confirmed that they were doing a Left lobectomy.

Uh, no, it is the Right lobe!

Well, the doctor wrote it down as Left.

Really.

That's why the nurse was asking. Because those "accidents" sometimes occur.

How?

Needless to say, that did neither inspire confidence in the wife, nor allow her to relax for the most dreaded part of the procedure.

These medical people need to be just a little more OCD.

One of the first things they did is lock the inevitable hospital nametag on the wife's wrist. With a fancy barcode. Then, with every medication, they simply zapped her barcode with the hand held laser reader, and the code on the needle itself to keep a digitized record of all meds.

Cool.

From this wrist tag we learned two things.

First, her surgeon's first name was Todd. No biggie there.

And second... our family doctor's middle name is "Marvin." Really.

"Marvin."

No offense to any Marvins out there, but he sure does not live up to the image I conjur up for a "Marvin." Not sure how, but I have got to find some embarrassing way of using that knowledge.

The gal punching in the IV before surgery was gruff, rough, and horribly unpleasant. Despite being warned about small, thin veins and low blood pressure, she jammed the first needle clear through the vein in the back of the wife's left hand, "blowing out" the vein. She then moved to the wrist, all the while ordering the wife to relax.

As soon as the needle was in, but not yet taped, another nurse dropped a large metal chart on the wife's leg, causing her to jerk and, yes, pull out the IV.

When asked what the delay was by the anethesiologist, this brutal nurse put all of the blame on the patient, claiming she had "jerked it out." She then jammed the needle in again, higher near the elbow. The wife has a bruise 4" long and an inch wide from this assault.

She left, leaving the anesthesiologist to discover that 1) she had neglected to clear the IV line (which he bitched out loud, a fact that will remain in the patient's memory for a long time to come) and 2) the damn thing still wasn't working.

So he had to her job, and proceeded to poke a fourth IV hole in the wife, this time on her right arm, since the left was already too swollen to be exploitable.

While this was going on, I was taking family photographs and doing a Christmas jigsaw puzzle. Someone else had started it, getting the borders complete and all the easy parts, like the bundt cakes and fruit cakes. I had only gotten 8-10 pieces in (and confirmed that at least two were missing) by 10:42 when the surgeon and his assistant came with the good news.

Surgery done. Only one lobe removed. No sign of cancer. Wife should be out of recovery in less than an hour.

With my concentration improved, I completed the remaining ~200 pieces of the puzzle, tolerating the whining, self-centered noises of a female brat and the cartoon show "Two Dumb Dogs", by 11:30, and went to wait for the wife.

Nurse attending the families at the three waiting rooms could not tell me where my wife was.

Excuse me, but isn't that your job? Isn't that why you are here? But to be fair, she found her before I could consume my first cup of coffee of the morning.

Wife was back in 649A.

Sitting up in bed (not allowed to recline) with a plastic basin on her lap. Miserable. Dopey. And in pain.

Seems they hadn't gotten the post-operative IV in yet. So no painkillers. No fluids. They were quite concerned about her nausea. Yes, I can see how the violent contractions of throwing up could be a bad thing following throat surgery.

But even I know nausea is a symptom of dehydration. How about getting some fluids in? As in, where is her IV?

They're waiting for the IV expert to arrive.

Don't know if this was the same gal from before surgery or not, but she managed to get a line into the back of the wife's left hand again, using a baby (#24) needle. And then quickly hurried out. When they let me back in, wife was still in pain, still nauseous. And complaining that she did not get the metered IV that was supposed to allow her to control her own pain meds.

"What was the point of teaching me how to use the damn thing (she rarely swears) if they're not going to give it to me?"

Apparently it doesn't work with the baby needle. But she wonders if it is even doing anything at all, as the pain keeps increasing.

Now, I need to take you back 19 years. When the wife was complaining of great pain following her c-section. And upon my comment, the nurse remarked "It's okay, she won't remember any of this." And gave her nothing.

As if it is okay to see someone in pain, so long as they won't remember it.

Plus the fact that my wife does remember it. And the conversation. And the nurse's name.

Still hates that woman.

But that has always been my role. To stand by in support, and take direction from the medical staff.

But after reading Trinity's diary, I had to wonder if I shouldn't be an advocate instead.

Really, Trin, I was thinking of you. And what you would do.

But you need data. So I timed the damn IV.

One itty-bitty drop in six minutes.

And hunted for a nurse.

Excuse me, but just exactly how slow should her IV be going?

To her credit, Sally immediately went in to the room to check. With me mentioning my unneeded datum over her shoulder. And she promptly began checking the IV. Clearly concerned.

And found one of the many little plastic clips along the line was still set, pinching off the flow almost completely. She opened it, checked the flow, and left. Clearly perturbed with the IV staff.

The proper flow? One drop roughly every three seconds.

(Oh, okay, you caught me. I timed it. One drop every 2.8 seconds. So I'm a little anal.)

But it would be nice if the hospital staff were all a little more obsessive and compulsive.

Really.

And Trin, hon?

Thanks.