Surgery Day

Is this the end of the road?

The weekend flies by.  Monday night I begin the fast for surgery. No food after 5 pm but I’m allowed to drink apple juice. Sadly the fructose is not my friend. It makes me bloat. I’d rather not inflame my body any further so I call Su Yin for medical insight. An Australian anaesthesiologist working with a gynae surgeon, she’s been a fount of life saving information. Happily she has an alternative solution; “I tell my clients to hydrate with salt water instead of juice which can be problematic for some. The extra hydration helps with faster recover post-op” she explains. “Just add a few grains of salt to warm water and drink as much as you can.” 

I wake at 4 am. I’m due at the hospital at 6 so I endeavour to calm myself. Since I can’t distract myself with breakfast prep, I do my breath work with a short restorative yoga sequence; no point increasing my energy if I’m going to be lying horizontal all day. Afterwards I make my way downstairs. The cat is in the living room bay window waiting for the squirrels to attack the feeder. She looks bored. Its dark and the squirrels are still in bed. I sit with her and stare at the lonely feeder.

Mom comes into the living room. She’s surprised to see me sitting in the dark. “You Ok?” She asks. “I’m ok. Just watching the cat, watching the bird feeder.” I respond.  “Nervous?” She asks? “A little. I’ve been awake since 4.” 

At 5:15 I convince Mom that she doesn’t need to drive me, especially at this hour. “There’s no traffic. I’m simply getting out of the car and going into the hospital. I’ll be fine.” I reassure her. Talking does not calm me. She likes to talk to relieve her stress, I prefer movement to calm me.  If I’m IN MOTION I’m distracted from my thoughts. In reality my vata imbalance needs grounding, communication and stillness but I tend to ignore that, which invariably makes me more frenetic.

I request an uber. 

Amazingly I arrive at the hospital a mere 15 minutes later. At any other time it would’ve taken half an hour or even 40 minutes; the beauty of no traffic. I make my way to the entrance only to find the doors locked. I look at my watch, its 5:45. This wing of the hospital does not open until 6. I assumed the main doors would at least be open but since its not the emergency ward, I guess they need to keep it closed. I walk over to a nearby bench. A squirrel is rummaging in the garbage beside the bench, peeks his head out, watches me for a moment and then continues with his breakfast mission. I sit and try meditate. I’m too nervous so I stare at the sky explode into a rainbow of colour as the sun peaks above the horizon.

At 6 am I walk into the main lobby. Oddly there is already a line of people waiting to pass the covid screening. The receptionist asks the regular screening questions: “Have you left the country in the last ten days? Have you tested positive for covid? I’m asked to replace my new N95 mask with a thin light blue surgical mask and told “please follow the green arrows to the Day Procedure Unit”. I’m nervous and confused so I ask for confirmation; “the green arrows go to the Day Procedure Unit?” “Yup, that will lead you right there” he responds cheerily. For some reason my brain refuses to work so I find it hard to know where I’m going. I don’t see the green arrows on the floor as I walk down the hall and then stop. I look around for someone to ask directions. The halls are empty. No one is around. Fear fills my body. Thoughts of getting lost in the hospital and missing my surgery set in. “How can I travel the planet, help people get medically evacuated from a rain forest but I can’t follow the green arrows? What’s wrong with me?” I mumble to myself.  I meander further down the hall and encounter the elevator bay. I suddenly recall that I need to be on the 2nd floor, so I push 2 and the doors close. When they open there are green arrows on the floor.

I “check-in” with the Day Procedure Unit. They attach an ID bracelet to my wrist and tell wait to the next room. I shuffle slowly into neighbouring ward. An orderly approaches just as I’m about to sit down. “Siobhan? Please come with me.” He leads me down the hall and into a room of beds. “Good morning” a nurse says. I try to be upbeat even through I’m about to throw up. “Good morning” I respond.   

She leads me to the last bed in the ward opposite the window wall and instructs me to change into the gown and place my clothing in the bag. “Can I keep my socks on? I’m freezing?” She pauses as she reviews my chart. “Yes you can keep them on for the moment.”

She walks off to attend to the other arrivals as the ward slowly fills up, and returns ten minutes later with a few questions while reviews my chart yet again. “Are you pregnant?” I look at her wondering if its a joke. “No” I respond. “Its best if you try to urinate now. I’m going to give you a muscle relaxant for the post-op pain.” She continues to read my chart and add notes. “I can’t take oral anti-inflammatories” I tell her. She writes a note on my arm with a black marker, attaches a new plastic bracelet and covers me with a plastic blanket and then, oddly, connects the blanket to what looks like a hair dryer, blows warm air into the plastic blanket “Odd”, I’m thinking. “Less virus transmission, but more land fill; its never ending” I think to myself.

I lie there staring at the ceiling and watch my fellow Day Procedure colleagues. I don’t have my phone to distract me nor can I leave the bed so I zone in and out and watch any movements. Happily moments later an orderly approaches and asks me my name. “Its your turn” he announces, unlocks the wheels on the gurney and pushes me through the room and into the hall. We chit-chat about life in the hospital. He’s the cheeriest person, I think to myself and amazingly distracts me from the nausea and fear.

We weave through a long snaking hallway and then he parks me in front of a set doors into an operating room. I’m beside what looks like a bulletin board with a list of all the day’s procedures. I watch the surgical staff check where they will be working and with whom. They flow in and out of the space, chitchatting about life. Just another day at work it seems. I mull.

Suddenly Dr. Singh appears. “Hi Siobhan. How are you feeling?” He asks warmly. “Nervous” I admit. “That’s normal. I’ll send out the anaesthesiologist. I’ll see you inside” he says and makes his way into the operating room. Again without me noticing there is a man standing on my left. He greets me cheerily “Are you Siobhan?” He asks. “Yes, I’m Siobhan” I confirm. “I’m your anaesthesiologist. I understand you’ve had a few issues in the past?” He asks in a tone of genuine concern. I explain my past experiences and he concludes by saying; “I’ll do my best to avoid any hiccups you’ve experienced in the past. I too have issues with anaesthetic.” He smiles and walks into the operating room. I never know whether to believe this when I hear it but it seems genuine. An orderly appears “Can you walk? We are ready for you” he tells me. I sit up and make my way into the operating room. There are a few steps up to the bed and I sit on the table and I lie back. “We need you to remove your gown,” the surgeon says. I pause not knowing how to interpret this and think to myself “I need to be naked for this? How odd. Oh well”. I start to take it off and then he stops me. “No, no, we just need you to loosen the back and open it at the neck. We need to access your stomach.” I sigh with relief and lie down with the gown loosened.

I wake in a different room. I’m groggy and not fully awake. I doze again in and out and when I do wake I look around. I’m not sure what’s happening nor where I am. The room is filled with people lying in beds but its not the room I was in earlier. Some are throwing up, others groaning. A woman is standing beside me typing into a computer. “Hi, how are you feeling” she asks warmly. “Would you like some ice pellets?” She injects something into my IV and I doze again. The next time I wake she is beside me typing. “Would you like some water?” She asks. I smile and take the cup she is offering, realizing that yes I feel thirsty. A plastic cup; ugh. The never ending land fill. Why do I care? I doze off. When I wake I lie there quietly observing. I don’t seem to have any pain I realize.

The surgeon appears beside me. “Hi Siobhan how are you feeling? How’s the pain? He asks. “I don’t really have any” I respond. He continues speaking “the laparoscopic procedure was successful, no bowel perforations, we removed all the lesions, removed your uterus and since we did the frozen section during surgery, we were able to save your ovaries. I’ll prescribe some pain killers and once you’ve urinated, you can get dressed and head home. I’ll call you in a few days.” He types into the computer and continues talking. “The prescription for the pain killers can be filled on your way home. Who is picking you up?” I look at him “remember I can’t take oral anti inflammatories?” I remind him. “Oh, yes, that’s right, we spoke about suppositories. Are you still ok with them?” I nod. He continues to type. “These can be filled at any pharmacy. I’ll call you in a few days. Take it easy for the next few days” he reiterates. “Thank you Dr. Singh. Thank you taking on my case.” He smiles and walks off.