If you’re searching for dignity, the hospital is not the place to look for it. In fact, heavy doses of humility if not humiliation are prescribed. I was there for my second procedure in six weeks, a bypass of the LAD, the artery they call “the widow-maker”. I’d survived a heart attack that probably should have killed me. It’s not so much in what they say as in what they don’t say as they look at the ground and shake their heads. That adventure resulted in the placement of a stent in my RCA and a failed attempt to Hoover a 15-year-old stent plugged with a blood clot. I was lined up for a bypass.

Robotic surgery and the DaVinci robot have been around for a while, used on gall bladder surgery and for other procedures around the country. But robotic heart bypass surgery is comparatively new. The doctor who did my stent insisted that I see a surgeon in Reading, PA. “She’s the best”, he said. I’m sure he was right. The procedure went well and will, no doubt, add many years to my life. That, dear folks, is a blessing.

Back to the dignity issue. What does dignity mean in a place that celebrates the post-surgery passing of gas, bowl movements that get charted, and measured urination? Not much. It’s not that they don’t try, it’s just that the situation demands so much exposure. Perhaps, if I were male supermodel material I wouldn’t have minded so much. However, at my age and in my current condition I minded. I began to mind it less, the longer I was there. Other matters such as learning to walk and breathe again seem slightly more important than needing help bathing or putting on your socks.

I guess there are situations where we have to set aside our pride and just go with it for the sake of a greater good. I’ll have to think about that some more to come up with some witty and profound life applications.