Well, here I am.
I’m afraid I won’t have a whole lot to offer in the way of witty witticisms, wise wisdom or wry . . .um . . . wryness.
What I do have to offer, however, is a drugged up, spaced out brain which is causing me to spend a lot more time on each sentence than I’m used to. I keep on having to reconfigure the misplaced letters and recombobulate the misspelled words that somehow managed to sneak from my brain to my finger tips without even consulting me first. And I thought my fingers were better trained than that!
But anyway---off to my surgery report.
Let me first say that having one’s surgery done in the afternoon instead of early morning is not a good thing. I didn’t mind so much not being allowed to eat; it was the not drinking stipulation that just about did me in. I drink a whole lot of water every day and to go for 15 hours with nary a sip? It was tough.
The morning hours seemed to drag by, especially since we got to Greenville an hour earlier than my scheduled 1 pm check-in time. The surgical nurse had told me last week that many times they run ahead during surgery and if they did, they'd call me to come in earlier.
But alas. No call.
The longer the wait stretched out, the more I started to feel a little bit of that yucky pre-surgery anxiety creep in. Tuesday’s surgery was my third “put to sleep” surgery in less than six months and even though the two previous surgeries went well, I‘m still not real crazy about scalpels cutting into my very own personal skin; I’m also not real crazy about the thought of having a breathing tube stuck down my throat. And then of course, there is always the background buzz of worry about the results and how things things will turn out in the “revision and repair” department.
With no last minute phone call, we killed some time around town and got to the Surgery Center at 1 pm. By that time, I could have knocked back two gallons of water without even stopping to breathe.
Part of the pre-opping activities included providing a urine sample. I remembered I had done that for the previous surgeries as well, but I never asked why. This time around I found out that the test was to determine whether or not I was pregnant.
About ten minutes later the nurse came back into my little curtained off cubicle and happily announced, “The pregnancy test was negative.”
I looked at her and said, “If you would have told me the test was positive, I would have passed out cold right here, right now and the anesthesiologist wouldn’t even have to show up for my surgery!”
During the whole pre-op process—height and weight recorded, oxygen level noted, blood pressure and temperature taken, IV started, and really fashionable support stockings applied to my person—I kept one eager, earnest eye on the clock, waiting for the magical time of 2:15 to come around so that I could be given my happy medicine and wheeled on back to the operating room.
However, at about 2 pm, the nurse poked her head in and said, “By the way, Dr Franklin is running late today; it’ll be at least another hour until he’s ready for you.”
An hour? A whole nother hour? With no water? With no nuthin’?
And what was worse, they couldn’t even give me my dose of relaxing medicine early because the surgeon still had to come by and have me sit up on bed so he could get out his little magic marker thingie and draw all over my “relevant skin area.” (I’m sure what he used was much more high tech than a magic marker, but that’s what it looked like to me.)
So I spent a long hour lying on my little gurney in my curtained off cubicle, attempting to read some magazines, which turned out to be a bit of a challenge since I had an IV in the right hand and couldn’t turn pages very well. Unfortunately, my bed was turned right toward a huge clock on the wall and I must say that I have never ever seen a minute hand move more slowly in my entire life.
At long last, the surgeon arrived and did his Magic Marker-ing; I got my little dose of relaxing medicine and we were off! To the O.R! Finally! Hurray! Let’s git ‘er done, already!
Woke up in recovery an hour later with just a little pain—actually, my throat hurt a lot more than the surgical area did. I was ecstatic to get my first sip of something cool and to munch on a few Saltines. Utter bliss.
We arrived back home about 9 am. I downed 27 gallons of water, took my round of meds and went to bed. It was such a fabulous feeling to be at home and have it all over with!
I’ll have a follow up appointment next Monday and in the meantime, I will actually be allowed to shower! I don’t even have to wait a whole week, like I did the last time.
The only bad things? The infamous Girdle Bra has made a reappearance and has to be worn 24/7 for at least a week. Or more. And my throat is still very painful and I can barely even talk.
But at least it’s over.
And now I’m going back to bed for a little while to give my poor befuddled brain (and fingers) a break!
Thanks for your prayers and encouraging words; you guys are the best blog family ever!