The morning of my surgery was also my son's ninth birthday. He got up for school, wore his "free dress" outfit of choice, with his birthday boy pin that I bought him, and was prepared to go to school like any other day. My husband took the kids to school while my mom stayed at home with me.
I showered with the prescribed "Dial" antibacterial soap, did not shave (as prescribed), did not put on any lotion (as prescribed) or any deodorant (also as prescribed). Not having anything to eat or drink since midnight the night before and having only been on clear liquids since noon the day before, made me really hungry, crabby, and the recipient of a killer headache. The anesthesiologist said that the morning of surgery I could have one Xanax with a tiny sip of water, thankfully! So, in order to time the kick in of the Xanax with my arrival at the hospital at 9:00, I swallowed my little pill with the tiniest sip of water at about 8:00. I felt like I was crossing myself from the inside of my body as I that little blessing in pill form went down my throat...."In the the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I ask that you please bless me and my surgeon during this procedure. Let me fall asleep and wake up with no problems. Let there be no major complications. Let me not be in any pain or nauseated or shaking with chills or crying or wake up too early...Amen."
My neighbor came over and wished me well. I packed my bag. Watched everyone drink their lovely coffee. And sat quietly until it was time to go.
Wearing my new worry-doll headband (a gift from my folks from their recent Mexico trip), I left my phone at home, and got into the car...my husband driving and my mom in the back seat. Raging headache in tow, I simply closed my eyes and allowed myself to just be a passenger. Listening to my husband and my mom talk, I don't actually know what they said but it was exactly what I wanted to hear...someone else talking. At some point my husband did make mention of driving down this road coming to this hospital for the birth of my daughter (almost exactly 11 years ago) and for the birth of my son (EXACTLY nine years ago to the day). I haven't figured out how not to let that coincidence of dates bother me, but it doesn't.
I checked in, paid my co-payment, and they were ready to take me back.
The nurse showed me to a dressing room, told me to put on the gown with the opening in the back, and to put on the socks with the treads. She said to take everything off, no hair clips, etc. (I had already left all my jewelry at home.) So, with a reluctant swipe, I removed my worry-doll headband and whispered to those little people to take care of me. Once I was done changing, I was told to stand in a certain doorway to be greeted by the nurse who would take care of me. And so I did. I stood there like a kid being called to the Principal's office: eyes down, biting lip, holding the bag of stuff behind my back as I tried to keep my gown closed, I would have twirled my hair except that my hands were full. Finally a nurse introduced herself to me and said that she would be taking care of me and that her name was Pat.
She walked me to my bed, bed four, pulled the curtain around the bed and told me again that her name was Pat and that she'd be taking care of me. I looked at her and said, "Take good care of me. I'm really scared." And then, I started to tear up. She asked me a bunch of questions, confirmed my name, date of birth, allergies, weight, procedure, doctor's name, etc. All I could do was breathe and look at the pattern of the leaves on the curtain that enclosed my space. My head was still killing me and each breath made me more scared and more in pain, and each painful twinge made me more scared, and then I cried more, and crying made my head hurt, and that made me more scared... and on and on and on. Then she had to start an IV on me.
And that made me more scared!
Since having to do a clear liquid diet from noon the day before and a colon cleanse and an enema and no liquids after midnight, I was dehydrated and she had a very hard time finding a vein to use. She wanted to use my left hand because she said that the doctors prefer that the IV be on the hand and not in the forearm or elbow area. She tied a tourniquet around my forearm and smacked around on my hand, telling me to do twenty fists. Leaving the tourniquet on, she got another warm blanket for my arm and then examined my right hand. My hand was starting to go numb and I had lost count of my twenty open and close fist pumps but the she decided to tie ANOTHER tourniquet to my upper forearm. I was still doing my fist things and then she got up to get a smaller needle. So, I announced that she had one shot at this. I was not going to tolerate any misses and that she had one stick so make it a good one. She gave me a numbing shot and then the IV was in. Ta da! I couldn't help but think of that old saying, "measure twice, cut once." I didn't like having my hand strangled or spanked but I surely didn't want to have my vein blown out.
She invited my husband and my mom back to see me while we waited for various other folks to check in: the surgeon, another nurse, the anesthesiologist... At some point, Pat decided that I needed a shot of something to relax me but she had to wait until I spoke with someone else while I was still "with-it". I guess I spoke to that person, but my new BFF, Pat, gave me a shot. Whew! I stared at the curtain pattern again and waited for some relief, nothing. Still, I had a headache. Still I cried. My mom wiped my tears and petted my arm and that made me cry more. Pat came by with another shot. The litmus test of focus (the leaf pattern on the curtains) verified that I was still freaking out. My husband said some nice things and joked around with the nurse and that made me cry. Pat came with a third shot. Curtain check...nope. Shot number four came soon after and then I was no longer aware of anything. I don't remember saying good bye to my husband or my mom but I do remember being wheeled into what I assume was the operating room.
Some more people introduced themselves to me. I was moved from one bed to another. A gas mask was placed over my mouth and nose and then the next thing I remember was being asked to move from the bed I was in to another bed. " Again?!" I thought. Then, I asked was time it was and realized that I was out of surgery and in my own hospital room. I did it. =)
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