My Stay-cation in Anchorage, Part Four: Logistics and Frustration

 

Logistics and Frustration

 

I’m a planner.   I plan for every contingency, especially when I'm about to venture into the unknown.      I over-plan, make allowances for emergencies, and consider plans from all sides

With the familiar, however, I frequently follow the advice from  one of my Refrigerator Philosophy Magnets collection, that being a quote attributed to Marilyn Monroe: “Ever notice that ‘What the Hell’ is always the right decision?”

 

So, when  I first contemplated large hiatal hernia repair surgery a couple of years ago, I was stumped by the logistics.  I live a hundred miles from the doctors and hospitals.

 

You know how hospitals won’t let you leave in a taxi after procedures?   Yeah, that.  I fussed over that.  

 

Who could I burden with that chore?   Drive all the way to Anchorage, wait for my discharge from the hospital, and drive to a hotel.   I figured I’d have to hang around Anchorage for a couple of days after, just in case.

 

So, where would I stay that didn’t put me in the poor house?   And what would I be able to eat while staying in a hotel?   And who would want to stay in a hotel with me for however many days?

I found a convenient hotel in Midtown Anchorage and made reservations for five nights.   I also bought trip insurance.

 

And on and on it went, a veritable wealth of excuses for not proceeding with the surgery.  Me, chicken?   No, too many logistical hurdles.

 

Yes, chicken.

Phone photo taken post-surgery of our hotel room.  Obviously, I'm in bed.

 

After putting up with the pain in my back all of 2024, I had to admit I needed to do something to regain any quality of life.  

Plus, there was always the threat that my stomach or esophagus would be strangulated and that would be a medical emergency.   A pretty serious one requiring immediate surgery.

 

I called my stepdaughter Diane and asked her.   She said yes!   She had lived in my little town years ago and was always glad for a return.

Looking from my bed, past Diane's unmade bed, to the lounge, kitchen, and desk alcoves.

Hurdle one was solved and, as it turned out, my surgery date corresponded with when she was free of other obligations.

My first pre-surgery consultation with the surgeon went well.   I was impressed with the four framed “diplomas” on the wall, all attesting to his completion of specialized training.   Duke, Yale, Cornell, and another medical school?   Who wouldn’t be impressed?

Most importantly, I liked him.

We went through all my history and my concerns.   He carefully addressed my fears and laid them to rest, somewhat.

Before surgery, he said, I had to have three tests: a blood draw, an X-ray, and an ECG.

He didn’t specify, but I assumed that arranging for these was my responsibility after he submitted orders to the appropriate venues.

 

A scheduling clerk called and set my surgery date for March 24.   I asked about the three tests.   Could they be done on the 20^th when I picked up Diane from the airport?   Or, could they be done the day before surgery, which was a Sunday.   

 

She didn’t know if all the labs would be open on Sunday. 

And then began the most frustrating two weeks ever.

I waited a week or so and tried to make an appointment with one lab.   There was no order.   I waited some more.   No orders.

I tried contacting his office to find out when the orders would be transmitted.   No response, not even within the “3 day” noted on the recording..”  I called again.  No response.

I would be in Anchorage only one day before surgery and time was drawing nigh to get those tests done.   Still no orders.

I tried again and again and again.   No responses.

This photo is of the next room we had after extending our stay.

 

Finally, I dialed the hospital’s admitting nurse.   She reassured me that all three would be done on the morning of surgery.   I could relax.  Now, why didn’t someone tell me this before I drove myself into a dither?  

After thinking about this for a long time, I came to one conclusion.  Staff does this stuff every day and it’s rote to them.   Boilerplate.  They can’t see it from the patient’s side.   Plus, with my little bit of medical experiences, I was a neophyte.

So, on Sunday, Diane and I were off to the hotel in Anchorage, armed with a suitcase containing bone broth, protein shakes, fruit juice, and Gatorade for my post-surgery restricted diet.

Also with us was a bright red The Club.  

In addition to The Club, we had another device that locked the brake pedal to the steering wheel.  

The hotel was conveniently located for those staying for medical reasons.   It was also conveniently located for the homeless and the thieves who prowl the parking lots for vehicles to steal.   And, it was in a large cluster of such hotels.

I read Anchorage crime reports on Facebook and was well aware that these hotels, as well as the hospital parking lots and garage, are prime targets for the parasites around town.

 

The couch became my bed, post-surgery, as I had to sleep propped up and not lying flat.

The tray next to Diane was provided in all the rooms, and was excellent for holding the stuff I needed near.

The kitchenette and desk area were opposite the couch.  Large and roomy, with sink and fridge.   The only problem was there was no coffee pot for the coffee maker.  The pot had disappeared from our first room and the second room didn't have one to begin with.   Repeated requests failed to bring the arrival of a coffee pot.

My nest on the couch, and a king bed for Diane.

Beyond the TV and closet was the sink alcove and the bathroom itself was opposite that alcove.   Excellent layout for this room.   The TV is mounted on an interior wall and not on the wall for the next room.