Fashion Statements

Oh, the split-gown! This year has been my year for donning a split, hospital gown. Each time has had moments to remember or not, because general anesthesia does funny things to me; sometimes I forget stuff; other times I just get the giggles and repeat questions, ad nauseam.

First there was the 10-year colonoscopy. I asked the staff whether they wanted the split in the back or in the front. Of course, they needed it in the back, but I had to ask, even if I already knew the answer – anything to make the situation lighter. I remember being whisked down a long, cold hallway on a gurney. I remember the gurney’s high velocity being notable, as was the chilly room temperature. I remember bursting through the batwing doors of the OR, but I do not remember the doors closing behind me. Later the same morning, I was enjoying breakfast in a favorite restaurant, but I could not remember getting dressed. So I asked. It seems I asked that question, repeatedly.

Next, was my annual physical. The nurse’s instructions were get into the gown and wait for the doctor. Front or back? This time the answer was, “makes no difference!” So, I took the front option and tied bows at the collar and at the waist and waited, legs swinging over the edge of the exam table. When the time came to cough for the doctor, the doctor praised my decision for the front split and claimed it would become his new standard. Wow, now I have become a trend setter.

During that physical a suspected torn rotator cuff was discussed. The full diagnosis would require an MRI. I reported to the imaging facility and removed all clothing, rings, watches, and any other metal objects. Once again, I was offered a split gown – front tie was OK, because the MRI machine did not care. For about 30 minutes, I laid on my back in the MRI chamber, listening to the pops, clicks, and humming of the scanner. At the end of the procedure, I hopped off the scanner table with gown bunched up to my waist. No problem, the MRI operator had already seen everything, anyway.

Sure enough, the rotator cuff was torn. On the scheduled surgery day, I reported to the hospital. Another gown was fashion-de-rigueur. Instead of asking front or back, I said, “if you want it tied in the back, I will need your help, because the shoulder will not bend to do the tying.” The nurse obliged and loosely tied the collar and waist in the back of the gown. I then padded down the hall to my waiting gurney. The back draft was a clear indication that I had left all modesty behind.

Just this weekend, a freak injury landed me in the ER. Something popped in my leg. My calf muscle was swelling and was getting as tight as a drum. The ER staff put me in a gown, split in the back. I was poked prodded and tested. At one point I was asked to roll on onto my stomach for more prodding and poking. A familiar breeze caressed by back. After much inspection by the doctors, my dear wife asked if she could cover me up. Oh sure, we are done now. To make a long story short, I spent a night in a split gown in a hospital room for observation. I have a torn muscle in my calf, an injury usually reserved for thirty-year old athletes that push their basketball game to the limits.

Through these experiences, I have learned a couple of lessons this year: 1) Growing old is better than the alternative, and 2) modesty is not all that it is cracked up to be.