Donkey Has Hernia Surgery - Part 1

As I mentioned last week, I had surgery last Tuesday to repair a left inguinal hernia.

Dr. Robert Santaella

The surgery was done by Dr. Robert Santaella at Forest Park Medical Center in Frisco, TX. I received the referral to Dr. Santaella from my Primary Care Physician, Dr. Chris Noyes. (I've posted about my great experiences with Dr. Noyes as my children's doctor, but since late August, I have begun seeing him as well.)

I had my original office visit with Dr. Santaella in early September, when he verified what I was certain of; I had a pretty big hernia that needed to be surgically repaired.

I had had hernia surgery before, but that was when I was ten years old. That one was also in inguinal hernia, but on the right side. I also had another procedure done at that time and had a brief stay in the hospital. I do remember some painful follow-up visits from that surgery but learned that those were due to an infection that had developed.

I felt that Dr. Santaella and I hit it off really well and very quickly. He went to Catholic High in Baton Rouge, is an LSU grad - although he did some time at that "Ala-something-or-other" school - and went to John Hopkins Medical School. We joked about a crawfish boil, and that he had done his residency at the aforementioned "A" school "before that Nick Saban stuff", and I later set the date for the surgery; October 8.

I was actually glad to hear Dr. Santaella say that he would perform "open" surgery and use a general anesthesia followed by a local pain killer once I was out. I had no desire to be awake during the procedure.

When In Rome, Prayers, and Forest Park Medical Center

Although Forest Park is just a few miles from my house, I was not really familiar with the facility, but I have nothing but good things to say about my experience there. The staff was very friendly, and I was made to feel as comfortable as possible.

Now, I had the assurance of prayers from so many people, and of course from God that all was going to be fine. It didn't hurt that I learned that morning that Fr. Vincent Anyama would be offering Mass that morning for me...in Rome. ;-)

Already feeling fine, my O.R. nurse came in to introduce herself to me; Monica. "Well, I won't have trouble remembering your name," I told her, "I have a daughter named Monica."

Kendra came in to sit with me, and soon the anesthesiologist - Dr. Mohammed Aleem - came in to discuss what we had discussed the night before regarding the procedure.

Sometimes Truth is Hard to Hear

Now an interesting side note here is that until a few days before my surgery I was unaware that a tracheal tube was placed down your throat when you received general anesthesia. This is to help you breathe.

A few days prior to my surgery, a friend of mine who works in the medical profession - knowing that I was going to have general anesthesia during my surgery - for some ungodly reason informed me at that time that he had participated in an emergency tracheotomy that day. Apparently a patient had a severe reaction when the tube was removed, thus necessitating a last-resort course of action. That's when I learned about the tracheal tube during surgery. Awesome!

But by now I really was over any concern about that and even joked with Kendra when Dr. Aleem discussed the tube.

Geaux Texas Tigers!

Dr. Santaella came in and commented about Kendra's LSU shirt, and Dr. Aleem said that he had not noticed the shirt while talking to me. It was then that we learned that Dr. Aleem had attended Salmen High School in Louisiana, and - you guessed it - LSU!

Monica (O.R. nurse) then walks in, and Dr. Santaella announces that she is also from Louisiana. Woa - I'm in Texas, and my surgical team is from my native Louisiana. Nice.

Of course, then Monica asks Kendra - my wife - if she is my "daughter, Monica." Ugggggg! Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

Over and Out; Out and Over

Literally, the next thing I knew, the nurse in recovery is asking, "How are you feeling? Your're surgery is over."

"Over? I don't even remember going in." I said. I honestly didn't believe it at that point. "That's the whole point." she said, reassuring me.

To be continued....

Random thoughts after being out of town

Much of my family moved from South Louisiana to North Texas almost 8 years ago after Hurricane Katrina. I was in a small Central Louisiana town nearly all of last week, and that's the most time I've spent there since we moved.

My wife's stepfather passed away Monday, and we went there to help my mother-in-law.

Here's some random thoughts from the week.

I used to work for a bread company. There is NO bread that can compete with the freshness or soft texture of Bunny Bread. (I did not work for Bunny Bread.)

It really is true: Louisiana roads are crummy.

People in Louisiana move at a different pace than the rest of the country. 

People in Central Louisiana move at a more laid back and slower pace than even those in South Louisiana. This can have its benefits at times.

Some people have to be asked to do every little thing. Some do not have to be asked to do anything.

Good people are there for others even at difficult times.

Younger people do not make good "neighbors" at hotels.

No matter how prepared someone is for the death of a friend or loved one, they can never be fully prepared.

Not all funeral homes are created equal.

If you say you are going to call someone back, you should.

Supervisors often do not know the job of their employees as well as they should.

Some people are willing to go an extra mile or two or more. Some do the minimum only because they have to. Many try to get away with doing less than the minimum.

It's good to have a routine.

It's good to have a few interests and things you like - and to enjoy those to the fullest.

Old country music is better than new country music.

It's better to learn late how much you are loved than never to have learned at all.

Good food does not trump crummy service or attitudes.

I was taught to be a considerate and courteous driver. Most others were not - or they don't practice such anyway.

When you're used to Mass at a particular time, attending a different Mass can seem strange.

Some gave all. Some gave none.

Wal-Mart is Wal-Mart no matter where you are.

When making road trips, there's nothing like knowing where the clean restrooms are.

Entergy (the power company for most of Louisiana) is ripping people off to the point that I am sure the politicians are being paid off by them. People's bills are doubled between the extremely high "fuel adjustment" and the Hurricanes Katrina and Rita surcharges on the bills. (These will each be on the bills for ten years.)

Ok. That's all for now.

The New Battle of New Orleans

Although my exodus from Louisiana to Texas occurred more than 7 years ago, I still try to stay on top of what's going on "over there" and especially in the Archdiocese of New Orleans. Really, New Orleans and the surrounding area is pretty unique. I've discovered that even more now that I live elsewhere.

Yesterday, I caught a story from WWLTV that just reinforced what I already knew. The Archdiocese of New Orleans gets involved in some ways that are pretty unique as well.

I'm guessing most people know that there has long been a crime problem in New Orleans. The Archdiocese has gotten involved many times in the past and is doing so again. This time, dubbing the action as "The New Battle of New Orleans", the Archdiocese will be distributing yard signs to parishioners. The yard signs read "Thou Shalt not kill - God". The Archdiocese says that if the signs are a hit (no pun intended), then it will print more.

Here's the story:

Archdiocese fights violence with 5,000 'Thou shalt not kill' yard signs

Hurricane Isaac Reminds Me of How I Got Here

I recognize that while many who have known me are familiar with my roots in Louisiana, there are many who may not be.  With Hurricane Isaac taking a very similar path as Hurricane Katrina, and with the possibility of landfall on the anniversary of Katrina, I thought this would be a good time to re-introduce the story of how I came to North Texas.

On August 28, 2005 at 4 AM, my wife, our then 9 month old son, and I evacuated from our house in Arabi, Louisiana. Arabi is a small community in St. Bernard Parish which rests near the Mississippi River. You may not have heard of St. Bernard, but you may be more familiar with our neighbors immediately to the west; the “Lower 9th Ward” of New Orleans. 

Escaping the path of Hurricane Katrina, we took our dog, a few changes of clothes, and some personal belongings that we could fit in the car.

Living in an area which is 13 feet below sea level, it was not the first time that we had “run the drill” so to speak. In fact, it wasn’t even the first time that we had evacuated that year. However, this time just felt a little different. Still, as we drove away, we did not realize that it would be the last time we would call that place “home”.

We tried not to think about what could be in store for Louisiana and other areas in the Gulf region, so when we were not praying, we tried to keep the conversation light. We had gone to the Vigil Mass the evening before, and we joked about the choice of the closing Hymn, “Rain Down”.

For much of the next week, from a Houston hotel room, we watched the events which followed in the aftermath of Katrina. It was really hard to watch. There were pictures of places that were familiar to us our whole lives, now completely submerged by several feet of water. There were pictures of rescues, some too late. There were images and sounds of complete and utter chaos. There were scenes of people living in subhuman conditions, and while many organizations and agencies were able to get in, it seemed no one was able to get out. Some St. Bernard officials remained throughout the storm and were posting updates on the internet. Their reports were even worse than what we were watching on television, and they gave a pretty dim prognosis for the recovery of the area.

With all of these things and more in mind, we discussed our options and prayed for guidance. After a couple of days, we decided that we would not return, and that we would head to “Dallas” as we previously referred to this area. My Godfather and his family have lived here for several years, and we had just visited the area the year before. Ironically, I remember that at the time we thought it might be a nice place to live…”some day”. That hypothetical “some day” was now upon us, and while we were uncertain about a great number of things such as housing, employment, and little things like that, we were definitely at peace and comfortable with our decision.

We decided to let my parents know of our plans. My parents, as well as most of my family, also lived in St. Bernard and had evacuated to Memphis. As I placed the call, I was a little concerned about how my mom might respond to us moving so far away. When she answered the cell phone, my mom said, “Hold on. Your dad is on the phone with Paren. I think he’s talking about moving to Dallas.”

On a temporary basis, we all rented a house in The Colony. All of us, my mom, dad, wife, infant son, the dog, and I quartered in the same house. As you can imagine, that in itself presented its own challenges and situations. Although we had made the move, “at peace” with the decision, the tensions and pressures of various sorts began to mount. It was around that time that I read these words from St. John Chrysostom. 

The waters have risen and severe storms are upon us, but we do not fear drowning, for we stand firmly upon a rock. Let the sea rage, it cannot break the rock. Let the waves rise, they cannot sink the boat of Jesus. What are we to fear? We brought nothing into this world, and we shall surely take nothing from it. Though the waves and the sea and the anger of princes are roused against me, they are less to me than a spider’s web. For I always say “Lord, your will be done”; not what this fellow or that would have me do, but what you want me to do. That is my strong tower, my immovable rock, my staff that never gives way. If God wants something, let it be done! If he wants me to stay here, I am grateful. But wherever he wants me to be, I am no less grateful. 

The following weekend, we found our way to St. Francis of Assisi in Frisco. We knew that we had found our new church home as the choir sang "Rain Down."  (You can't make this stuff up.)

A month later, we purchased a house in the area, became involved in our new Church parish, and have seen how God has shaped our lives in ways that we did not expect and could only have happened here and now.  I don't know what we would do without the friendships that we have made through our church "family". Grateful? Indeed!

Please take a moment to pray for the physical and spiritual well-being of the people in the Gulf area.

Note: The majority of the content in this article was taken from my lay witness during a Stewardship drive at St. Francis.  Also, this article has been edited, but most of the content was originally posted several years ago here on DFW Catholic.