The Hernia, the
Nurse and Shrinkage
by Don Drewniak
I began
running in 1973 and ran my first race in 1975. I
was hooked. From that race forward I was not only
possessed with racing, but also with becoming
faster. Hooked enough to run 50+ miles per week.
Hooked enough to do at least two speed workouts
per week. Hooked enough to have once run three
races (a 10K and two 5K’s) in one day.
Somewhere around 1982 came the realization that
no amount of mileage and speed work was going to
make me more than a mid-pack runner. That’s
when it became fun.
Was it always
fun? No, there were bumps along the way. It was
either in 1983 or 1984 when I entered a 5K in
Worcester, Massachusetts. Had I taken the time to
check out the course beforehand, I might have
taken a pass as it was held on an out-and-back
course that was predominately downhill going out
and uphill coming back. I ran the last quarter-mile
full throttle. Checking my notes from that race,
I placed 67th out of 155 finishers.
Taking a
shower the next morning, I spotted a large lump
in my left groin area. Ugh, the dreaded hernia.
Surgery was scheduled for two weeks later at 8:30AM
at a local hospital.
7:45AM: Nurse
Ratched II walked into the room and announced
that she was there to shave my crotch.
“No need
to, I did it this morning.”
“I have
to make sure the area is totally clear.”
“It is.”
“Doctor’s
orders.”
She nicked me
three times.
From Wikipedia:
Nurse Ratched (full
name Mildred Ratched in the movie, also
known as "Big Nurse") is a fictional
character and the main antagonist of One
Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, first featured
in Ken Kesey's 1962 novel as well as the 1975
film adaptation. A cold, heartless tyrant, Nurse
Ratched has become the stereotype of the nurse as
a battleaxe. She has also become a popular
metaphor for the corrupting influence of
institutional power and authority in
bureaucracies such as the psychiatric treatment
center in which the novel is set.
8:15AM: My
doctor’s name was called out over an
intercom to report for an emergency GI bleed.
No!
9:00AM: I was
informed by Nurse Ratched II that I might want to
reschedule as the doctor would be tied up until
at least 11:30.
“You’ve
got my hair, I’ll wait.”
She muttered
something under her breath.
9:30AM: I
pressed a button signaling that I wanted to see a
nurse. Ratched II returned.
“I would
like Johnny bottoms and a pair of slippers.”
Mutter,
mutter, mutter.
Back she came
a few minutes later with my impromptu running
gear.
9:45AM: I
begin a one-hour run through the corridors.
11:00AM: Nurse
Ratched II informed me that surgery was scheduled
for 12:15PM.
11:15AM: Dr.
Thomas Scarlett, a friend of mine and a
podiatrist, walked through my six-bed pre-surgery
room.
“You
getting a lobotomy?” he quipped.
“No, but
can you do a quick hernia repair so that I can
get out of here?”
He laughed as
he left the room.
12:05PM: A
nurse not named Ratched II wheeled me into
surgery where I was quickly surrounded by the
surgeon, four female nurses and an
anesthesiologist. A huge beam of light was
focused on the target area.
Had the
surgery been done during the Seinfeld era, my one
wish would have been not to suffer a George
Costanza moment.
https://youtu.be/85MZ4c1EWkM?si=fjcf5WwFNYzvbE6G
“Oh,”
said the surgeon, “just before we begin the
procedure, I understand that you told Doctor
Scarlett that he could probably do a better job
of repairing your hernia than I can.”
And then the
lights went out. That is, my lights.
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