Local anaesthetic: screams
only heard in Chestnut Hill

by BOBBY HARRELL

The following is a letter written by long-time Chestnut Hill resident Bobby Harrell to a friend on August 5, 1997.

It’s been almost four weeks now since Dr. Sullivan performed surgery on my lower abdomen. Acute pain in the left groin brought me to the Emergency Room at Chestnut Hill Hospital on July 5th. The medicine man on duty that afternoon popped the hernia back into place manually. So that my screams would not awaken the dead in the Poconos, a pretty nurse administered five double doses of morphine. The patient never knew what hit him. Yet they call this a “local” anesthetic. I guess “local” means only the Delaware Valley? (The patient next to me had allergies so bad that he could not even wear a flowered shirt without breaking out with a sneezing fit.)

Five days later I returned as an outpatient for surgery. I entered the hospital at 1 p.m. and was discharged at 7 p.m., with instructions not to climb Mt. Everest or play in the National Hockey League for at least six weeks. You may be damn sure I didn’t break any rules. We Harrells have guts, but we don’t want too see ’em.

The only thing I knew for sure was that I did not have Lincoln Tunnel Syndrome. That’s when your fingers curl up if you try to write the word “Lincoln.” The most painful part of the whole experience came about as the result of a side-effect from the pain killer I was taking orally. To wit: constipation in its severest form. After suffering the tortures of the damned for several hours (I was alone at home and in no shape to phone for help), my wife Loretta finally returned and contacted our HMO.

The doctor she spoke to recommended I try either mineral oil or an old-fashioned enema, and if those brought no relief, I had better get my arse to Emergency pronto. Just to play it safe, we added a dozen stewed prunes to the recipe and held a small stick of dynamite in reserve.

Fortunately, the latter wasn’t necessary. Two hours later my compacted bowels broke loose (excuse the expression), and your correspondent realized he would live after all, if just barely. In the process my allegiance to atheism lost its grip, if only temporarily, and I remembered the adage which says that there are no atheists in foxholes.

It had been a close shave (but not on my face). You can be sure that I discontinued the use of the prescribed pain-killer that had bound me up tight as a drum. You can probably read between the lines here, and if you can’t, get new glasses. But I am boring you stiff with this morbid tale. Enough is enough.

It’s been four weeks since I went under the knife. Dr. Sullivan has ordered me to avoid all strenuous exercise for at least six weeks. I may lift a couple dozen ping-pong balls but nothing heavier. Wild horses could not get me to pick up anything heavier than a spoon and fork. Well, maybe they could, but fortunately for me, there are no wild horses in Chestnut Hill. There are some other wild things, but not horses.

You can imagine how I must feel about being hors de combat; right in the midst of moving out of our house. Loretta is left with the lion’s share of the work while her mate “sits like Patience on a monument smiling at grief.” Is this grounds for divorce? I hope not. I’m too old to date other women.

Meanwhile, our cats are disoriented. During the gradual move from Benezet Street to the Hill House, they don’t quite know what to make of the mass exodus of furniture from their home. Appliances have been sold one-by-one: washing machine, drier, fridge, dishwasher, ceiling fan. Boxes in every room. General chaos prevails. We worry, too, that George will never adjust to apartment living. He’s become addicted to hunting and the great outdoors. Gracie catches birds also but is otherwise more content to remain indoors.

All in all, my life these days is about as exciting as a stuck elevator. I spend part of my days looking at women who are committing crimes against Spandex. I read a lot, but you can’t swallow too many self-help books on an empty stomach. Hope to see you soon.