I wasn’t sure whether I would actually write this post. But after tossing and turning for hours last night, I think it may do my soul some good.
I had surgery on January 7, 2011. The plan was to break my upper and lower jaws, but when all was said and done it ended up being only the top jaw.
My husband and I arrived promptly at 9:30am to begin intake for my estimated 12:30pm surgery. Of course, traffic was a breeze and I wasn’t even allowed a bit of a roadway gaffe to postpone the surgery.
I should say now that I have never had surgery of any kind before and this was all very surreal. My cell rang as we hopped in the elevator. It was a friend asking how I was doing. Good question. I seemed pretty okay I guess, but scared.
In the worlds smallest hospital room (bathroom was the size of an airline bathroom) I put on two hospital gowns, some really ugly booties, a blue hair net and started answering questions after getting an IV. Was I healthy? Uhm, yes? I don’t know. Has anyone in my family had problems with anesthesia? Uhm, I don’t know. Damn you family tree. How would I rate my cardiac health? Sheesh. Guess I should have done more cardio at the gym.
The anesthesia resident was named Katherine and I couldn’t help staring at her name badge, her purple eye shadow perfectly applied for that dusty effect and wondering why she chose her profession. She must have sensed my underlying fear and snarkiness. She promised to explain every little bit as she would prep me in the OR. I then asked about her surgical outcomes. Without skipping a beat, she said, “My outcomes? Let’s just say I am damn good.” Great, I have Christina Yang as my doc.
Then Brandwyn came in and introduced herself. She would be my OR nurse. Until lunch. That didn’t make me feel better. I didn’t like the thought of nurses coming and going to go grab a turkey on rye while I am on the table. She then loaded me on a wheelchair and we were off.
It was like a slow race. There was an Hispanic gentleman a few years older than me being loaded onto his wheelchair. We were wheeled side by side down the hall and through the “surgical gowns from here on” area. We were silent. The nurses were chatty, talking about their evening plans. I knew he was having leg surgery from earlier when the nurse pulled up the OR schedule to see if we were on time. He looked scared too.
I’ve been in dozens of ORs for work and have always been very respectful of the space. Lives are saved and lives are lost everyday in ORs. But for me to be the patient was very unsettling. Everything seemed too white. Too cold. Too alone. It is no wonder they roll you in; that way you can’t run.
We then arrived at door one and they wheeled me inside. I saw a bevy of folks, stood up and began to lose it. Big fat tears, wailing, sniffling and more. Suddenly, I wished I had run.
