The Other Side of the Fence

My Recent Experience on the Receiving End of Surgery

Hello, Health Enthusiasts!

Welcome to this week’s installment of our Informative Health Blog, lovingly written by yours truly every Saturday morning for the past decade (yes, I am that committed—or maybe just stubborn). These posts are my attempt to keep you informed, entertained, and hopefully learning something new! If health blogs aren’t your thing, you can easily opt out (I promise, no hard feelings). But if there’s a topic you’d love to see covered, drop me a line—I’m always open to suggestions (within reason, of course).

Now for some important news that really needs your attention!

Our new office is amazing, but… DO NOT GO TO THE MAYWOOD OFFICE!

Yes, I know, habits die hard. But seriously, if you show up at the old Maywood office, you’ll find a whole lot of nothing. Since late September, we’ve been in our shiny, lovely new space at 17-17 Route 208 North, Fair Lawn (just after the Fair Lawn Promenade). Google Maps and Waze might try to lead you astray—don’t let them. Your best bet? Tell your GPS to take you to “Summit Health, Fair Lawn Hub, NJ.”

A few pro tips for a smooth arrival:

Our building comes up really fast and the sign for the building is small, so keep those eagle eyes on alert.

Parking is in the back of the building (not the Route 208 side).

Enter from the back of the building, then head up to the second floor—SUITE 290 IS IN THE NORTHWEST CORNER OF THE BUILDING.

We know it’s a bit of a treasure hunt, but trust me, the prize is worth it! Thanks for sticking with us through this transition—we can’t wait to see you in our cozy new space.

I have advice from two patients regarding finding your way to the new office:

“I find it easier to use 18-01 Pollitt Drive, Fair Lawn on my GPS, which is Retro Fitness and is opposite your parking lot/entrance.”

“Fly from NJ to Zimbabwe, take a train to Egypt, go by boat to Hong Kong, then fly to NJ. Once there, go to your Teaneck office.”

Stay healthy, stay curious, and as always, thanks for reading!

Warm regards,
Andrew Siegel MD

The Other Side of the Fence: My Recent Experience on the Receiving End of Surgery

After 35-plus years as a physician at HUMC -- Hackensack University Medical Center -- (yes, I’ve been here since dinosaurs roamed the Earth—or at least since pagers were a thing), I’ve grown accustomed to being the one holding the scalpel, not the one under it. I’ve dodged the receiving end of health care through a lifestyle of relentless exercise and healthy living. But alas, in spite of my healthy lifestyle and perhaps because of it (lots of squats and core routines) my body rebelled in the form of a recurrent groin hernia, demanding surgical intervention. As I am a daily exerciser and a believer that “movement is medicine,” I was apprehensive about the physical activity restriction vital to the healing process after surgery.

And so, 16 days ago, I faced the music—or rather, the sterile glare of an operating room light.

The Pre-Op Odyssey

Surgery Day began at the crack of dawn, with my wife and I arriving at HUMC before most coffee pots even had a chance to warm up. We were greeted by a friendly staffer who, ironically, happens to be one of my patients. (Talk about a role reversal!)

After navigating the labyrinth of pre-op stations, I found myself in a private room, stripped down to the ever-glamorous hospital gown, and accessorized with an ID wristband. In that moment, I transformed from a take-charge surgeon into a patient surrendering all control. Pre-op staff swooped in like a NASCAR pit crew—checking vitals, starting an IV, and wrapping me in a bear-hugger warming device. (It’s like being swaddled, but for nervous adults.)

Acute Role Reversal

My anesthesiologist and surgeon—both respected colleagues—came by to discuss the plan, and I signed off on the consents with a mix of trust and trepidation. Shortly after, I was wheeled to the OR, where the scrub and circulating nurses introduced themselves. I hopped onto the table, stared up at the surgical lights, and braced myself for the unknown. The intended procedure was a robotic-assisted, laparoscopic hernia repair with mesh.

Anesthesia: The World’s Most Efficient Time Machine

One second, I was nervously eyeing the OR staff and the surgical lights above me, and the next, I woke up in the Recovery Room, groggy but intact. My wife was there, looking relieved. I had survived anesthesia, surgery, and the dreaded apple sauce they handed me post-op. (It wasn’t bad, actually.) I was encouraged to walk, taking a pit stop in the bathroom to ensure that my not-so-young prostate would not be giving me a problem emptying my bladder as so often happens after surgery. Fortunately, my petite prostate (thank you finasteride) cooperated.

The surgeon informed me that, in addition to my recurrent right-side hernia, they had found another one on the left. Both were repaired, and my abdomen was now adorned with three puncture sites—one above my navel and two on either side, sealed with surgical glue. By noon, I was carefully walking out of the hospital with my wife’s steady arm for support.

The Recovery Chronicles: Not My First Rodeo, But Definitely a Different Ride

This wasn’t my first hernia repair. Back in 1988, I had an open repair that barely slowed me down. I was back to work three days later, as if nothing had happened. This time, however, was a different story.

General anesthesia, bilateral surgery, and being nearly four decades older turned recovery into a more “character-building” experience. By day two, the local anesthesia had worn off, and the pain hit like Joe Frazier in his prime. Tylenol and ibuprofen took the edge off, but eventually, I waved the white flag and reached for the prescribed oxycodone. (Pro tip: Don’t be a hero. Pain management exists for a reason.)

Every cough felt like my abdomen was auditioning for a disaster movie. The narcotics also threw my famously punctual digestive system into a tailspin. Let’s just say those three days of waiting were anything but relaxing. (You don’t know how much you appreciate fiber until it’s gone!)

But each day brought improvement. By day seven, I was back on the treadmill, albeit at a snail’s pace. By day 11, I was back at work, cautiously optimistic, and looking forward to resuming my usual activities—minus the hernias, of course.

Lessons from the Other Side

As someone who thrives on control, being a patient was a humbling experience. But it also gave me a newfound appreciation for the compassion, efficiency, and humanity of the HUMC team. From pre-op to discharge, I was treated with warmth, respect, and skill.

It’s safe to say I prefer the giving end of health care to the receiving end, but this experience has given me a fresh perspective—and a hernia-free life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a paddle tennis match to attend (gently, of course).

Wishing you the best of health,

Andrew Siegel MD