Bad Knees Blog - take 11 Did anyone mention the drill?

Ralph in BC compressed

We're home, and the rest is up to my stem cells, my body, and my karma. It's been a remarkable week, eventful for me and probably less so for my incredibly patient and giving wife.

We drove down on Monday morning, a nice drive. We always enjoy our road trips as long as the weather is good - time to talk and just be together without the distractions of home. We stopped at Bagel Jay's for a breakfast sandwich and coffee, then hit the road. I drove first. I had a four hour fast and a pleasant morning with my best friend ahead of me. We allowed plenty of time to allow for road work, weather, or anything else that might crop up. But the weather was great, the road clear, and the traffic light. We got to Pittsburgh early, checked in to our hotel, and planned the day. Mine was simple. I started with a dose of that 1950s housewife fave, Valium. I let that settle in and half an hour later I added a second and a dose of oxycodone.

Of all my anxieties over the coming procedure, I was most concerned about having to take oxycodone. Buffalo had seen ten overdose deaths in three days the week before and thirty-three in ten days a few weeks before. Most were from heroin, but many of the addictions had begun with a prescription for oxycodone. I'm not ashamed to admit that I am terrified of its potential to destroy lives. Even so, I did as my doctor, brother, wife, and common sense told me. I took the meds.

At 12:30 I had blood drawn to be injected again later in the day as oxygenated platelets. Easy peasey. At 1:00 they flipped me on my stomach and prepped my hips for the stem cell harvest. Yes, that's what it's called. They send little tiny illegal immigrants into both hips, and they work like crazy for pauper's wages to bring in the stem cell crop.

Okay. That's a lie. But the truth is also a little crazy.

Here's my favorite moment of the whole long ordeal. I was laying on my stomach, the doctor and nurses getting a good view of my best side. It began in the usual way: "This will be cold - cold again - little pinch..." Then the nurse hit me with a new one.

She said, "Did anyone mention the drill?"

Of course not. Why would they have mentioned that the doctor would be drilling into my hip bones, not once, but three times on each side?

I'll pause here to once more to praise those wise people who said, "Take the meds." Thank you, thank you, thank you. And, of course, the little pinch signalling the lidocaine deserves mention as well.

I don't know what brand of drill Dr. Leiber prefers. I'd like to think it was a Dewalt or Milwaukee, but I was in no position to look. The nurse offered me noise cancelling headphones because "The noise bothers a lot of people," but I declined. I wanted to hear the satisfying sound of bit into bone. And so, he drilled three times on each side, and each time he drew the stem cells out while the bit was in place. I assume the bit was hollow and a needle was inserted to harvest the cells, but I didn't ask.

Did it hurt? I don't remember, but hurt or not, it was cool.

Then the worst was over, or so I thought.

Later in the day I'd come back to have my processed cells planted in my knee.

Stay tuned.