"So how are you doing?"
I heard this several times throughout the next couple of weeks leading up to my total thyroidectomy on November 18th. Honestly, work was the only thing keeping me from having a total anxiety attack. You have to keep it somewhat together when 150+ people rely on you for instruction and guidance. I made final arrangements for family and friends to visit and for a substitute teacher to come in the last two days before Thanksgiving break. Those two weeks flew by...
The night before my surgery, I was able to fall asleep easily, thanks to a prescription from my doctor, but that morning I was extremely nervous.
We were running late. I tried calling the hospital, but I had the wrong number. We didn't know where to park. We were rushed in to meet with a strange guy in a suit about payment. Already my legs and arms were twitching uncontrollably. Nerves.
I changed out of my own clothes into a pale, ugly hospital gown, and a puffy shower cap and socks. I lay down on the hospital bed as tremors seized every muscle in my body. My legs were kicking, neck twitching, chest convulsing. The anesthesiologist wanted to give me something urgently to ease my extreme anxiety, but, no, I had to wait for Dr. A. to come in and conference with me, and I had to sign a consent form and apparently give verbal consent as well. Finally, the IV was inserted correctly, it took a few painful tries (I am already squeamish of needles), and I was given something that made the tremors stop, but I was still awake.
Away I rolled down the florescent hallway. We stopped beneath a mistletoe and John, Pam and Dan gave me a kiss before I was finally wheeled into the operating room. I felt like I was on an episode of "House" or "ER." Large metal discs and lights hovered over a steel, rectangular altar. I lifted myself from the now-seemingly comfortable bed to the higher metal one. I lay down. Darkness.
Sound came first. A voice speaking my name. I replied, feeling a salty, swollen lump on my upper lip with my tongue. They told me to open my eyes, but some gel was sealing them shut. I told them several times to wipe them off. I was given lip balm and ice cubes. My mouth was parched! A needle was jabbed into my wrist by an impatient male nurse who figured I wouldn't know the difference. I hardly felt the pierce, but the emotional wound lingered. He bumped my bed several times. John's voice emerged from the darkness: "Dr. A. said the surgery went really well. You also have a room to yourself." Thank goodness! They wheeled me to my room...to be continued.
