One Week Ago

I thought it would be a good idea to type out my surgery experience before I've totally forgotten it. It has now been a week since that lovely Feb. 25, so I thought this would be a good day to get it all out. I will add post-surgery memories later today or tomorrow.

I had to be at the hospital at 9:30am, on Wednesday, February 25, 2009. I waited a while and then was brought back to a room, given the lovely backless robe (even more lovely because mine wouldn't really tie--they said that I wouldn't care for long), and had an IV line started. I was fitted for leg cuffs (I was right at the line between fitting in a small and medium, which is crazy to me. They must have an extra, extra small size for some people's legs.) My dad joined us back in that room for a while. He helped keep my mind off things by talking about his days as a wild horse chaser. Saralyn later joined us and proceeded to remind me that they would be stuffing a giant tube down my throat and other such lovely facts of surgery that I was actually trying not to think about. Aren't sisters so helpful and kind?

Once it was time to go back to the surgical waiting area (a different one in the main hospital wing), Jon was the only one allowed back with me. I was put into a little curtained cubicle, barely big enough for the bed and Jon to stand nearby, with a man awaiting shoulder surgery on one side and a man awaiting surgery on his oh-so-delicate-parts on the other side. Since light curtains were the only things separating us and my doctor was running late, I was able to learn a lot about what was going on with the other guys. The guy with the shoulder surgery was very nervous and very loud. He kept me entertained and his wife embarrassed.

I should say that I was thankful for the men on either side of me and the soap opera they provided. My plan for the morning of surgery was to think about anything but surgery. I figured that the longer I could keep that up, the less I would think serious thoughts and the less I would worry. It was easy at home when I had kids to prepare and a house to get in order. Once I got to the hospital, my dad and sister helped. When I was wheeled to that final waiting area, I knew there was still plenty of time to get worried and too thoughtful. I'm pleased to say that it never happened, mainly because of the man on my right side.

I had seen that man around the hospital some that morning and even a couple days before when I was doing my pre-op paperwork and bloodwork. He was quite old and completely alone the whole time. His young doctor (too young, in my opinion--would I really want a male doctor younger than me seeing my naked body? I don't really think so. That's just weird.) was actually trying to talk him out of having surgery. There he was in that last place before they wheel you away, and he was being talked out of going. Anyway, in the process, I learned his birthday 12/25/15, even though he thought the nurse was asking him to remember the day of week and time of day he was born. His senility led to a lot of difficulty in answering some simple questions, and this kept me entertained (is that mean??).

His senility also kept him from thinking about the lady in the curtained area next to him when he got graphic about his difficulties with his, uh-um, area. He got quite detailed in a loud voice. It was very funny and a very good diversion. The doctor finally figured out that his main reason for wanting surgery was because he wasn't able to exercise quite as long and as often as he wanted (even though he was still exercising every day), but they realized that surgery at his age was probably going to cause more problems than it would solve. He was one of the lucky ones that got handed his bag of clothes and led back to a dressing area without ever facing the knife. What a great and funny guy he was, and I hope that I'm just like him at his age and worrying about why I'm not able to ride my bike for as long as I used to ride it. Wow!

It was after 12 when my doctor showed up. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, which was a surprise. I didn't expect my doctor to look less professional on the day he would be cutting me open than all those times I saw him for brief minutes in his office. I'm guessing he changed, but I don't recollect seeing him again.

They wheeled me back into the operating room. I've seen many such rooms on TV shows and in movies. Mine was a lot bigger than I expected. And a lot more sterile-looking. There were two huge lights hanging down. A nurse introduced herself to me. They asked me to move from my wheeled bed onto another one. Someone above my head asked me to make sure I was centered in the new bed. AND THAT'S IT!!! I don't remember one single second beyond that. Nothing. Where was the guy telling me that he was about to start the anesthesia? Where was my chance to try to count backwards from 100? Where was the feeling of starting to drift away?

I barely saw the room, met a nurse, moved onto a bed, got myself centered and was completely out. That's not what they show on the movies.