It is no secret in my house that one of my favorite television shows is “Naked and Afraid.” As a child who grew up traveling and roughing it in the deserts of the southwest, the Badlands of South Dakota, and the Bayou of the south, it is fascinating to watch two people try to survive in these areas with just a large knife and a fire starter. The “naked” part is superfluous as all the private parts are blurred. I must be careful not to watch the show when my granddaughter, Rosy, is here. She would surely go home and squeal to her mom that we were watching a show with undressed people.

Following Hubby’s example from last month, last week I had the pleasure of having knee replacement surgery at South County Hospital with my favorite robo-doc, Dr. Marchand. He is so handsome that one would think he was a movie star, but so down to earth and welcoming that he feels like a friend.

Hubby dropped me off at the front door of the hospital, as is the protocol these days with COVID-19. A sea of cheerful volunteers smiled at me and one claimed me as his own. His pleasant conversation got me up to the surgery floor with nary a worry.

Ushered to a private cubicle, I sat down on the stretcher as another new person claimed me. She gave me a lovely hospital nightgown to put on, along with some bright yellow non-slip socks. She chit-chatted as she closed the curtain, leaving me alone. Taking my clothes off and putting them in a bag, my nakedness struck me. Naked and afraid. I quickly threw on the outfit that was a lovely shade of green with a variety of green foliage. The curtains around the cubicle matched the johnny in a clever ploy to relax the occupant, but it was not working on me! Too naked and afraid.

It did not take long for the nursing staff to make me feel more relaxed. They were lovely women, pleasant and reassuring. At one point, three of them were working on me at the same time … one woman was washing my knee with an antibiotic, another one was taking my vital signs with a blood pressure cuff that felt like a tourniquet, and a third woman poked and prodded to find a good place to put in the intravenous needle. (Hint: There IS no good place to put an intravenous needle.) They were having a lovely time and joining in their banter was relaxing for me.

A spinal block was to be used for anesthesia. Clearly anxious when presented with this option, the anesthesiologist explained the benefits of this method versus general anesthesia to me. I knew the benefits but feared the pain from the needle. It was then explained that medication would be used so I would FORGET the pain from that shot, as well as another shot going straight into my knee. (I wonder if that medication could be taken prior to a dental visit…)

I woke up from the surgery with no memory of any shots. My knee was draped in a vertical bandage at least a foot long, which covered an incision at least a foot long. As soon as my hunger was satisfied with crackers and ginger ale, I was whisked up to my own hospital room. I retrieved my cell phone on which games would soon occupy my fingers. Alas, relaxation was not meant to be, as a cheerful, spunky physical therapist was soon by my bedside, sporting a walker, open and inviting. Within a few hours of insertion, my new titanium knee was put to the test as I joined other patients in the corridor of the hospital, shuffling back and forth. As soon as I could demonstrate the ability to go up steps, it was determined that I was well enough to go home.

It was a pleasant hospital stay. I survived my own “Naked and Afraid” challenge, and I “killed it,” thanks to the help of some wonderful staff!