I was booked in for a two-o'clock admission but there I was, all undressed with nowhere to go, until four o'clock. Luckily, I had brought with me "Prisoners of Geography". Being, in a manner of speaking, one myself, I had almost reached its final conclusion and began flicking through the index, when my number came up.
Then another check just before they handed me over to the man with the knife: "Your name and date of birth, please!" I passed, after which the theatre nurse wanted to know, "Manfred-Peter, do you still need to go for a pee?" I always give my full Teutonic name to ensure that, in case of a slip-up with the knife, they give me a wide tombstone with enough space under my name for my last words "Please move on! You're standing on my balls!", but I'm digressing because what I actually told her was that a pee was the least of my problems as I'd probably be shitting myself as soon I saw the man with the knife walking towards me (a thought which, at last, might give me an explanation for that surgical gown they put you in which is open at the back and exposes your bum!)
I never saw the man with the knife; instead, the chap with the job title I've always had a problem spelling, started probing my left arm in vain. Then he seemed to have found something that looked remotely like one, stuck a needle in, and anesthesia took over for I don't know how long. Next thing I remember was seeing Padma standing at the end of my bed with a cup of jelly and custard in one hand and a big spoon in the other.
I never saw the surgeon, Dr Oliver, again, but he left his Royal Easter Show bag containing his written post-operative instructions, a bottle of Curasept mouthwash, a "baby" toothbrush and tube of COLGATE tooth-paste (a hint?), a starter pack of four tablets of painkillers, and a prescription for a course of antibiotics to be taken over seven days.
And, yes, Dr Oliver did take the trouble of phoning me this morning at home, only hours after we had come back from our last night in Nowra, to ask if everything was all right and for me to phone him if ever there wasn't. I couldn't see his face but it sounded like service with a smile!
P.S. He and the anaesthetist had every reason to smile: after I had paid the surgeon $700 and the Ether Bunny $250, they helped themselves to another $443.85 and $665.90 respectively from my Medicare card. That makes it a total of $2,059.75 for a tooth extraction! Ka-ching, ka-ching! (PLUS charged direct to my private health insurance: hospital $1,986 and anaesthetics $665.90 - although I had to pay a $250 excess on both)
P.P.S. The $665.90 seems to have been charged TWICE: to my Medicare card AND to my private health insurance - see insurance claim below!
I have sent the good doctor this email, "I have had reason to review my Medicare and Medibank Private claims, and it seems that Dr Anthony Fitzpatrick's anaesthetics charges for my tooth extraction on 10 June 2022 have been duplicated to both Medicare and Medibank Private - see attachments tooth1.png and medibanktooth1.png. Please advise."
