The jury was still out on Dr. Schmalzried. I happened to notice that he had quite the multi-cultural staff when I visited his office. I don't think there was an ethnic group that was not represented. There were black people, white people, people of Hispanic and Asian descent. I overheard different languages being spoken and everyone seemed generally happy to work there. I was treated with the utmost respect and professionalism, and yet there was a very comfortable familiarity in these people. They were real and if you asked a question, someone acknowledged your presence and got you an answer. I like that in a physician's staff. However, I was still suspicious of this renowned surgeon who came out to shake my hand in the waiting room.
"How do you like working for Dr. S?" I asked the x-ray technician.
"He's a very nice person, and people come from all over the world to see him."
"Do you think he knows what he's doing?"
"Well, he must because people keep coming back and he's got no shortage of patients."
Because I was being admitted to a Los Angeles hospital with no local primary physician, the Joint Replacement Institute refers you to an internist, a very smart doctor who monitors your care while you are in the hospital. Internists are known to be the doctors who know everything about everything yet do very little aside from a lot of order writing. This is not to say that they are not busy. They are extremely busy because they are usually taking care of every patient in the hospital. They are generally brilliant people who know so much about the human body that they are phased by nothing. They admit and discharge hundreds of patients in a week and could tell you just by looking at you what your medical profile is.
I saw Dr. Michael Stefan preoperatively. He's the only doctor I have ever seen do all of his own busywork. He has a waiting room full of patients and he still does his own EKG's, draws blood and performs a thorough assessment. He has a charming sense of humor but never crosses the professional line.
"I saw your X-rays"
"So do I need a new hip?"
"Dr. Schmalzried thinks you do."
"Yes, but is that because he's a knife-happy surgeon or because I really need a new hip?"
"Generally, Orthopedic surgeons do not replace healthy joints. It's bad for business."
"Am I doing the right thing Dr. Stefan?"
"Are you in pain Mrs. Robinson?"
"Yes sir."
"Then it's probably a step in the right direction"
I still wanted to run away. The fact was, I couldn't run. I could barely walk without limping and there was always a low-grade level of pain that spiked with precisely the wrong twist. I would cry out in public gatherings and then cover with a laugh or a giggle.
My martini consumption was also increasing. I was going down the path of the typical 40 year-old woman, who waddles when she walks, double-fisting Lemontinis and barking orders to her children because she's grumpy and irritable either from too much alcohol or not enough.
Because my husband travels for business, I have a personal rule. No mind-altering substances allowed when I am the only parent at home. Ever try to get through a night of "I can't sleep," "I wet my bed," "The coyotes are trying to get me," with tee many martoonis on board? It's not an effective strategy....My husband will generally be gone most of the week so come Friday, I am ready for pain control and slipping out of my responsible mother shoes. However, during the week, the combination of a little pain, a hectic schedule of soccer practices, community meetings, work and poor coping skills qualified me for the "Irritable Mother" of the year award. "Get up and go to them" I would think to myself when my kids were choosing to fight over a toy or a piece of clothing. But the pain was significant enough and movement required such a huge effort that I would choose to not move at all and yell something awful across the room. I was the fishmonger's wife. I hated the person I was becoming.
I spent the weekend trying to resolve the raging internal battle of whether or not I was doing the right thing. My husband flew in to LA on a Friday afternoon and we headed to his grandfather's place just north of San Diego. I had an agenda. I was scheduled for 5am Monday morning to have my hip replaced. Sans kids, this would be the first romantic weekend my husband and I have had for a long time.
"Let's go running on the beach honey." Nope. Can't do that.
"Let's go catch a movie". Nope, sitting for long periods of time made me very uncomfortable. "Let's walk down to Roberto's and grab fish tacos [my favorite] for lunch." Sorry, not up to it.
"And you don't think you need this surgery......why?
We then spent the next day visiting grocery stores for potato chips. Yes, potato chips. Because of my hip problem, I have had to watch every little thing I eat so as not to gain too much weight and load my hip unnecessarily. However, after my visit with Dr. Stefan, it was noted that my blood pressure was too low.
"Your blood pressure is too low."
"Too low?"
"Yes, too low. This weekend, I want you to drink lots of water and eat lots of pretzels and potato chips."
"Dr.'s orders?"
"Dr.'s orders."
I had authorization from the smartest guy in LA to load up on salty, potato chips. Kettle Brand makes one in particular called "Salt and Fresh Ground Black Pepper". They are my very favorite but I never eat them because they are so high in calories. What started out as a simple trip to the store became a mission and my husband and I were the A-team.
Store 1 had all kinds of knock-offs, including Lays "kettle style" Salt & Vinegar chips and some other kind of "kettle" impostor. They had the Kettle Brand , but only in BBQ and Salt & Vinegar flavors. I made my husband take me to another store.
Store 2, which was a couple of miles away had nothing, not even good fakes. Sun chips? No way. Too healthy. Tortilla chips? Not salty enough. I wanted greasy, thick sliced, oversalted, overpeppered, Kettle Brand chips and I was determined to find them.
"Won't these do?" as my husband points to a far inferior brand of potato chip.
"No."
"How about pretzels? He did say pretzels too."
"The last potato chip I may ever eat is not going to be a pretzel. Come on, there's got to be another grocery store near here."
Store 3 was a large store, the kind with the pharmacy and the deli and it's own organic section. However, once again, the chip aisle was devoid of Kettle Brand "Salt and Fresh Ground Black Pepper" potato chips. I began to think it was a conspiracy.
"I don't understand it. Everytime I shop, I see them and I want them so badly. It's as if they call to me. And now, in my moment of desperation, they are nowhere to be found."
Just then my domestic Mommy skills kicked in. Having been through this drill before with my children trying to find that perfect snack food or that unusual brand of yogurt that some other kid brings to school every day and my daughters MUST have it, the revelation came to me.
"Natural foods."
"What?" my husband asked disbelievingly.
"We need to find the natural foods section."
"Since when were potato chips a 'healthy alternative'?" my husband asked.
"Since everybody started using 'all natural' ingredients." I replied.
We split up to divide and conquer. Just as I was rounding the end of the aisle, my husband waltzed up with a cheshire cat grin holding something behind his back.
"Guess what I found?"
"Natural foods aisle?"
"Yep."
"I told you."
"Yes dear."
We were successful. It was a mission accomplished and gave me great satisfaction that if we can find Potato Chips in an unlikely place, then my husband and I could pretty much do anything.
Chips in hand, I was ready to face the fact that Hip surgery was going to happen. I had no good reason not to let one of the finest Orthopedic surgeons in the world replace my crumbling right hip and it took a bag of potato chips to help me realize it. Now, there was just one thing left to do.......
"We need to find a sushi place in downtown LA."
"I'm on it," my husband answered confidently.
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