The Dickins you say! How long did it take for her to recover from that procedure? Over 6 weeks? Well, that's just silly. Most people recover in 5.

The Dickins you say! How long did it take for her to recover from that procedure? Over 6 weeks? Well, that’s just silly. Most people recover in 5.

Most of you probably know that I had a rather uncomfortable completely inhumane “procedure” (as medical personal like to call it) done in February. It was actually an act of barbarism that entailed splaying open a part of me that was never meant to be splayed or open, cutting me, and leaving me with open wounds to supposedly heal while all forms of bacteria-laden stuff that my body no longer wanted regularly (or irregularally) blasted through the open wounds.

Medical professionals would call my procedure a hemorrhoidectomy. People never having had this procedure would call it bonkers. People who have had this procedure would call an ambulance because they just spazzed out from remembering what they endured.

I don't know the medial terminology for this instrument that they used on me, but It looked a lot like this. I can't be sure because I was knocked out, but I bet the surgeon had that look on his face, too.

I don’t know the medial terminology for this instrument that they used on me, but It looked a lot like this. I can’t be sure because I was knocked out, but I bet the surgeon had that look on his face, too.

Let’s just say my recovery was not pleasant, and was made longer and even less pleasant by a urinary tract infection that I developed as a bonus. I read the obituaries daily and thought about how lucky these dead people were.

Will I ever sit comfortably again? And, to the person who placed this gun by my side...thank you, but where are the bullets?

Will I ever sit comfortably again? And, to the person who placed this gun by my side…thank you, but where are the bullets?

Well, it’s now April and all of that is behind me.

The surgeon told me that my rectum will never look like it did when I was 16 (yes, he really said that), but I should never get hemorrhoids again. Regarding his first diagnostic outcome, I was okay with my 55-year-old rectum not looking like a teenager’s butt. Heck, When I was 16, I never saw my butt-hole, and I haven’t taken a look at my 55-year-old one, so I really don’t know what I’m missing. As for his second diagnostic outcome, I’m taking a “wait and see/feel” approach. Several years ago, I had this “procedure.” I heard the same promise from that surgeon.

The view is great...of an upside lake, but I can't see my butt.

The view is great…of an upside  down lake, but I can’t see my butt.

Okay. Now you know the back story.

So, this week, I got a letter from the hospital. I thought it was a satisfaction survey. They do that these days. I think they have to.

Before I opened it, I thought to myself, Wow, these people are smart to wait so long to send a satisfaction survey to a patient who had hemorrhoid surgery! Had they sent it only a month after the surgery, I would have ripped them a new one–kind of like they did to me. 

But I’m feeling better now and more objective about the actual surgery versus the recovery. I was ready to approach the survey like a sane person without an inflamed butt.

But (I’m using a lot of “buts” in this post. This is purely coincidental.) the hospital did not send me a satisfaction survey. No. They sent me this.

Imagine my surprise.

Imagine my surprise.

At first, I thought the graphic in the corner was a crucifix. It’s not, but given the whole “death, aging, plan well before you’re not capable” message, I got confused.

Aren’t hospitals supposed to concentrate their educational efforts on keeping people alive?

Well, I guess hospitals have to make ends meet somehow...

Well, I guess hospitals have to make ends meet somehow…

Sure, we all need to think about the inevitable, but should hospitals be the ones pushing that particular message? Kind of makes you wonder how much faith they have in the quality of their care, doesn’t it?

I’m good at reading between the lines. Being dizzy all the time, you kind of have to learn to read any way you can. What I read from between the lines on this marketing mailer was the following message to their patients:

Be sure you have your affairs in order before you come to us for that “procedure” you need because, when we make mistakes, they’re hard to ignore–unless you die. In that case, you won’t know, but someone probably will notice. It’s just simpler for your loved ones if you arrange for your death before you come to our hospital.

I’m no marketing genius. Actually I suck at marketing.  I can’t say anything and get to the point quickly (as I’m sure you have already deduced). But the marketing people at my local hospital are giving me a run for my money at the “I suck at marketing” competition.

Okay, so these marketing people make the hospital people and me look like pros.

Okay, so these marketing people make the hospital people and me look like marketing professionals.

I still haven’t received a satisfaction survey about my hemorrhoid surgery. But I don’t think I’m going to go and complain. If I go over there and fall or something, this might be the last time you ever hear from me. I’m donating my body to science. And they know it, too.

Hold on, Captain Mustache! That's not what I had in mind when I said I was donating my body to science.

Hold on, Captain Mustache! That’s not what I had in mind when I said I was donating my body to science.