Sally Breslin: My Life: YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT APPENDECTOMY?

One of my friends recently had her gallbladder removed. She was in and out of the hospital in the time it took me to eat my lunch. And even more amazing, she didn’t have to be carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey or require a team of professional seamstresses to stitch her back together. The surgeon made just a tiny hole and sucked out the gallbladder right through it (well maybe it was just a tad more complicated than that). Anyway, she was back at work in less than a week.

Times sure have changed. I can remember when any major surgery required so much time in the hospital, instead of just packing an overnight bag, you practically had to file a change of address with the post office. The good part, however, was that your health insurance covered every penny of your stay. If you still felt too weak to go home after 10 days, you could stay another 10 days to recuperate. No problem.

I guess the reason why insurance companies are in such a big rush to get patients in and out of the hospital nowadays is because in the past, too many people abused their services and even became “professional patients.” For example, I can remember one woman I worked with back in the 1960s. Her annual summer vacation was a week-long stay in the hospital for different ailments she would fabricate, simply because she enjoyed the pampering…and the free TV, meals and room service.

She certainly couldn’t do that nowadays. Insurance companies are pushing so hard for brief hospital stays, it’s only a matter of time before patients will come out of anesthesia and be wheeled directly to the nearest hospital exit, where an Uber driver will be waiting to zoom them straight back home.

Something happened at a pharmacy the other day that further convinced me that long hospital stays are a thing of the past. I was standing at the checkout counter when a young woman holding a tiny baby wrapped in a pink blanket walked up next to me.

“Ooh, what an adorable baby!” the clerk gushed. “How old is she?”

The woman glanced at her watch. “Five hours.”

My jaw and the clerk’s both dropped at the same time. I noticed that the woman still was wearing a hospital wrist-band.

Heck, back when my mother gave birth to me, she was in the hospital for over a week, and was off her feet for another month. Can you imagine if she’d have needed a C-section? By the time the doctors released her from the hospital, I probably would have been old enough to drive her home.

I’ve had two major operations in my lifetime - both abdominal - one in 1970 and the other in 1987, and it still amazes me how much the procedures changed just during the years between my first operation and my second.

In 1970, I was admitted to the hospital two days prior to my surgery to undergo all of the necessary pre-op tests and preparation. I even was given something to make me sleep soundly the night before the surgery to guarantee I’d be well-rested for the Big Event.

Seventeen years later, it was a whole different story.

“Your surgery will be at 8 a.m. on Monday,” the surgeon told me as I sat in his office. “So arrive at the hospital at 6 that morning.”

My eyes widened. “You mean I’ll just rush in, jump into a johnny and have my operation?”

“Basically,” he said. “We’ve found that most patients get a better night’s sleep at home in their own beds the night before.” He then quickly drew a lopsided stick-figure on a piece of paper and showed it to me. “Speaking of the night before, on Sunday night I want you to shave your body from here to here.” He drew arrows on the stick-figure as he spoke. The trouble was, his artwork was so crude, I couldn’t tell whether he wanted me to shave my navel or my armpits.

He also wrote down the name of a strong laxative he wanted me to pick up at the pharmacy. “Drink a whole bottle of this the day before your surgery,” he said. “It will leave you all nice and clean inside.”

Well, the day before my surgery I was so nervous, I would have been better off trying to shave myself with a buzz saw. By the time I was through, I had so many cuts on my body, I looked as if I’d just run naked through a razor-blade factory.

And the stress caused me to completely forget to drink the bottle of laxative…until I’d already crawled into bed for the night. Needless to say, I didn’t get a wink of sleep because I was sprinting to the bathroom every 10 minutes. I arrived at the hospital looking as if I should just walk directly down to the morgue and be measured for a toe tag.

If things were that rushed 13 years ago, I can just imagine what they’re like nowadays. I have visions of a string of patients lying head to toe on a long conveyor belt that goes directly into the operating room. Pinned onto each patient’s johnny is a sign that says, “gallbladder,” “appendix,” “prostate,” etc., so the surgeons won’t have to waste precious moments reading charts.

Actually, I guess “quickie” operations may not be such a bad thing after all. In the future, a person’s appointment calendar probably will look something like this: Monday, 8 a.m. - business meeting; 11:30 a.m. - lunch with Susan; 12:30 p.m. - double hernia operation; 5:00 p.m. - line-dancing class.

At least the insurance companies will be happy.

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