I'll be checking in to the hospital at 10am. Correction: I should be. However, due to a few stops before getting on the turnpike and the traffic we're currently stuck in, our ETA is in question. It will be a few hours before I'm actually in surgery so I figure somewhere around lunch time is when it will start.
When I woke up this morning, my head started going through all the coulda-shouldas. You know, coulda done a lot more yoga the last few weeks as it will be some time before I can resume that activity. Shoulda made a song mix to see if doc would play it during the operation. (I imagine they like it quiet in there, but who knows, maybe my surgeon likes to work listening to music with the volume turned up to 11. And there's just something really cool about imagining Lateralus playing while I'm having my stomach cut out of my abdomen).
I had a craving last night for lobster and crab legs. So we ended up going to Red Lobster, of all places, for dinner. Some of you may not be aware of my utter disdain for huge, corporate-owned chain restaurants. But this fit the bill at the time. I had quite a little feast and it was decent for my last full meal for a while.
I haven't had my panic attack yet. I'm starting to wonder if it will ever happen. It should, right? I mean, there's something abnormal about not having a complete and total mental breakdown at some point prior to having a major organ removed from the body. I can't help feeling that the longer my psyche waits to crack, the more heinous and horrific the episode will be.
Oh well, it's time. We're almost there. Thank you all for everything. See you on the other side of this ...
I thought I would remember every single minute of that morning. But it turns out that my brain's random selectivity in recalling stored memory of that day is no different than it is for any other. Dan and I drove down and were met by my mom and niece shortly after I checked in. I had been drinking coffee and realized that I had done the math wrong and wasn't supposed to be drinking anything, even water, at the time I was slugging down some Wawa Java. Ooopps!
I recall a few different waiting rooms and actually experiencing the beginning stages of my long-awaited psychological freak-out. But it turned out I had to answer questions or something and forced myself to hold it together. I finally got my dress and bracelet; hospital-gown couture is not haute. Once we got to that part I had to say goodbye to Dan, Mom and Rachel. They walked with me in the hallway. Here is where some poignant words may have been exchanged, where a future legendary quote may have been uttered; but if it was, I don't remember.
I found myself on the gurney in a buzzing room full of pre-operative patients such as myself. Several people stopped to ask me questions. What is my name? Why am I here? Or stick me with needles. Or ask if I had any questions. I thought about the iPod thing again, but I hadn't finished creating a proper playlist and didn't know if it had enough of a charge. Incidentally, I found out later that my surgeon would have played whatever music I wanted, so I'm content knowing that it could have happened.
Someone came and put on leads for the heart monitor. Someone else set up a PICC line. (When I woke up post-op there were no less than six additional tubes/wires coming out from or going into my body). I recall a key conversation with the anesthesiologist where we talked about NOT having an epidural. He told me that it would be needed if I was having a standard "open" surgery, but since it was being done laproscopically, I wouldn't need one. I concurred as I figured that it would be one less thing that could go wrong, but made sure he was aware that they were set up to go in the standard "open" way if necessary. He just said they would cross that bridge if they came to it.
Big. Fat. Mistake. I'm the only one who crossed the bridge, and it was misery! As I've detailed in earlier posts, they did end up having to make a big incision to properly reconnect my new alimentary canal. It wasn't until weeks after my surgery that I realized that the lack of having an epidural greatly contributed to the state of constant discomfort the first four or five days after surgery.
As the nurses wheeled me into the OR, I commented that it all just wasn't nearly as glamourous as it looks on TV. Not long after that, I was out. The next thing I knew, some people I don't know where calling my name and telling me I had to scoot over from the gurney to my bed. This did not make me happy. It got worse when the bed I was in didn't incline and they had to bring another one in. I got to do it again.
Well the rest is ... not just history, but mostly documented in previous posts. So I'll refrain from a rehashing of the events of those early days. It's amazing to look back at the state I was in and see how far I've come. Four months is a decent landmark of sorts so I'm pleased to be here. I have quite a road ahead of me but it's a well worn path with many guides along the way to help when I stumble and pick me up when I fall.
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