Surgery this week. Thursday in fact.

Ok, it's getting to feel more real now that I've only got a couple of days to go before I head back under the knife. I was going to blog about this a while back but didn't for reasons that are somewhat unclear to me. On one hand once something has been "Googleized" it never really goes away. So if you're going to say something on your blog you'd better be prepared for have that same thing hang around for quite some time. I've told the story to so many people at work I figured what the heck, why not just tell everyone? And here it is.

I've got a tumor in my right middle finger. It is NOT cancerous! Let me be clear: I do not have cancer. But I've got a tumor. Weird huh? It's more common then you might think. Most people, when I say that, ask "is it a cyst?" No, it is not a cyst. A cyst is a sack or sorts. There is a clear boundary between what is inside the cyst and the surrounding tissue.

A benign tumor is not a cyst but does not invade surrounding tissues, does not metastasize and does not grow uncontrollably. What I have is mostly like that only if my tumor doesn't get removed it will continue to grow in size. However, that said, it can only get so big because it's hemmed in by my finger. The real problem here is the tumor most likely didn't "come back from nowhere as if magic"; it was likely never fully removed the first or second time.

See, the thing isn't like a little ball growing in there. Oh no, it's got root-like (or octopus-like if that makes the visual any better) growths that go all over the damn place; surrounding veins, hiding under muscles, wrapping around bone. The damn thing gets everywhere. A tiny piece was likely left after the first and second extraction attempts and it regrew over the last decade into the force that must be dealt with today, or Thursday the 27th more accurately.

My doctor, the same one who removed my tumor the last time, said he's not taking any chances this time and he's "going digging". I told him I really don't care about scarring on my finger; my second surgery was performed through the same scar left from the first to minimize scarring but you can't really see the original scar unless you know it's there and are looking for it. This time I'm getting a new one across the side of my middle finger right over top of the mass. From there it's time to peel it back like a banana and go hunting.

What am I going to be doing during all this? Well I can't really say. I'll be good and stoned no doubt. This proceedure is being preformed under a regional anesthesia called a Bier Block. Having had this done, twice now, I can say this is the worst part of the ordeal. I'll tell you about it now.

First you are given two IV lines, one on your hand to be operated on and one in your other arm. The "other" arm gets a standard IV, saline drip bag, the whole nine yards. No big deal. The IV in each arm is placed in veins on the top of your hands. The arm to be operated on gets a cap on the IV and it just sits there for now. Then the fun begins.

Next comes The World's Strongest Blood Pressure Cuff. There's no velcro on this one; it just slides over your hand and up your arm. Then it puffs up... and crushes your arm. Well not really, but it is a tourniquet that stops the blood flow to the arm. Then out comes The Crippler. I don't know what it is but it looks like a long strip of black rubber, two inches or so across and maybe 1/8" thick. They start on your fingers and they squeeze, as tight as they can, all the way up your arm to the pressure cuff. This pushes all the blood in your arm through the cuff and when the rubber comes off your strong Manly Arm looks like it has magically been affected with Polio. Literally - it looks like a twig attached to your shoulder. Freaky man. Boom - out of nowhere comes THE F*$#!#%$ LARGEST SHOT you've ever seen, but thank God, they hook it up to the IV that is already in your twig-arm. They shoot you up with stuff to numb your arm and all feeling goes bye-bye, in a hurry. The anesthesiologist is, at the same time, shooting your other arm full of happy juice so you really don't care much about what's happing any longer.

Being as your arm is no longer receiving oxygen things start to happen fast. The already cold surgery room (the coldness kills bacteria, I asked last time) is pumped way cold and your torso is covered in the warmest towels that you'll ever have the pleasure of encountering. A sheet of sorts is dropped and you can no longer see your arm and the good doctor goes to work.

They only have 1-2 hours to work with so they work quickly. Both the last surgeries I feel asleep during most of the proceedure. I think I'm going to stay awake this time around. Nearing the end of the surgery, about the time you are getting stitched up the drugs are starting to wear off (the ones that sent you to happy land injected in your "good" arm), you can sort of feel it's all over with. Once the sutures are in the cuff is released and your arm puffs back up and turns pink with happiness thanks to it's good friend Mr. Red Blood Cell and his band of merry friends.

Now, that said, once they let that cuff go all that pain killer in your shoots back into your body... so you're off to la-la land again as they wheel you out of the room to the recovery area where you lay in your bed. Forever it seems. Then a nice nurse comes around and gives you the ok to leave. They dress you back up (modesty has long been thrown out the window this day) and plop you in a wheel chair where you are taken outside for the best breath of fresh air you'll ever have in your life. And then it's in to your friend's or loved one's car to home where you'll spend the day higher than the collective student body of San Diego State. Maybe even ECU.

And then you're all better. Or in another ten years you get to do it all over again! I'm hoping my good surgeon gets it all out this time. I think he will.

The real good news is my wife is a Pharmacist and, believe it or not, they do quite a bit more than count tablets and such. She's in charge of the meds, and the Global Warmer, because we are going to get home and move me from her car to mine and then we're heading East to the beach. Could there be a better place to recover? I think not.

So if I blog about some rambling nonsense Thursday night just ignore it, I'll be toasted.