Going Under

It's funny how one of the biggest, scariest days of my life was treated with casual nonchalance by everyone partaking in it. The entire day of surgery was a strange mixture of waiting, answering questions, and mounting nerves.

My surgical day started at 6am at the pre-admissions counter. I waited in the hallway to be ushered into a small room to verify my personal information and be given my hospital bracelet. I then waited for the lab to open, where I waited a little bit longer to pee into a cup. After that I was sent to day surgery; next I was directed into a small curtained-off section of room with a stretcher for me and a chair for Dan. I strip and change into a hospital gown. Unfortunately the gown is a telemetry gown, so there's a breast pocket that is supposed to hold a telemetry monitor. Consequently I almost have some nip-slip going on during my big day.

My nurse is kind and has a calming energy, which is a good thing when you're in a large room lined with people about to be wheeled off to their prospective fates, and your neighbor keeps loudly asking about her thyroid pill. I go through my medication history and medications with my nurse, squeezing Dan's hand the whole time. Finally my time comes: a porter arrives to take me to the O.R. I have to take off my glasses and I say goodbye to Dan in the hallway.

When I get into the O.R. suite, my porter hands me off to a man in scrubs and surgical cap who hollers "room four" and leaves me outside of room four. I don't know why he gets to wear a fancy hat if his job is just to leave me outside of the room, but he seems to take great pride in his uniform.

I'm lying on a stretcher in a busy hallway, cold, and my nipple is on the verge of exposure. I'm completely disoriented because all I can see is a generalized blur. (I'm pretty blind without my glasses). The only logical way to prevent absolute panic is to stick my head under my blanket. I have to remove my head from said blanket when my anesthesiologist's assistant comes by. He asks me the same questions my morning nurse asked while starting a giant 18 gauge IV in my hand; fluids are started and a weird cooling sensation travels up my arm. It's my first IV and I'm too distracted to really appreciate this new sensory experience. Another man in scrubs saunters down the hall whistling. I'm about to go under the knife and forsake walking for a very long time and this guy is just going about his day, whistling.

The anesthesiologist himself comes by and asks me the same questions about medical history and medications. I remember feeling uncomfortable when he started talking about my period because it didn't really feel like a good time to have that discussion. Shortly after my nurse meets me and again asks me the same questions. Soon the rest of the team congregate around my stretcher to debrief: Dr. Johnston, his fellow, his surgical assist, the anesthesiologist and his assistant, and my nurse. In my mounting anxiety I don't really follow the conversation - something about approach and spinal. Plus I'm distracted by Dr. Johnston's head piece: it's a surgical cap framing his face and wrapping around his neck, kind of like a surgical version of what an old Baba wears.

Next thing I know I'm walking from the hallway into the O.R. Thankfully I can't see all the tools and surgical packages in my blindness. I look up at the lights and strange faces, I'm given a happy drug, and I don't remember anything until I'm being wheeled into recovery and someone repeatedly calls 'Sara' in my ear.

I have fragmented memories of my time in the recovery room. I remember shaking violently and feeling confused. I remember my left hip feeling heavy and pain so bad I shook even harder. I remember my nurses giving me several different drugs and pulling out my arterial line. I also remember an inflatable blanket that warmed me up and stopped the shakes and my catheter spilling on the floor when they transferred me from the stretcher to the bed. Whoopsies.

Dr. Johnston came by and said the surgery went well; also I was given 8.3L of fluid, so my fingers were fat sausages. I have hazy recollections of sleeping, eating ice chips, and telling my nurses to read my blog. I called Dan, too, and apparently it was a funny conversation.

After five hours in recovery I went to Unit 81. It was a long day, a bizarre day, and yet just another workday for everyone involved in my care. I'm glad my surgical day is behind me, but I don't know if it's better or worse knowing the smells and sounds I'll have to face when I get my next hip done. Sometimes I prefer blind ignorance to uncomfortable knowledge. My PAO pal Bill will have the answer to that question soon because he gets his second hip done this week. Sending lots of good vibes Bill's way!