The very auspicious Friday the 13th Follows is the beginning, at least, of an account of the surgery that I had May 13th. I'll do my best to not be completely graphic, but I'm warning you!
A few of the people from the waiting room out front were in here, too. I settled down with a copy of Cosmo that was on the end table. After reading for a few minutes, I realized that this issue was from 2000. It was in really good shape, too. So I read about what was hip five years ago and Gary read his trashy sci-fi book and then my name was called. Gary was ushered into this little curtain area, and I was taken down the hall for a vitals check and I was issued my gown, a shower cap thing, fuzzy socks with treads on them, and a bag to put all my own stuff in. So I got changed and I was happy to see that the gown was the type that criss crosses in the back, like a backwards kimono, so my fanny wasn't exposed to all the world. And I really liked the fuzzy socks with the treads. The cap I didn't have to put on until I was about to go into surgery. I hopped up on the really uncomfortable bed in the curtained area and waited for the next installment of my surgery day. This turned out to be the installation of my IV. Now generally, I'm not scared of needles, but I don't like them, because I'm a hard stick, and I keep telling the techs I'm a hard stick, but they never believe me until 4 tries later when I'm crying and bleeding all over the place with haematomas everywhere. Fortunately, this tech got it in on the first try, but it really stung and continued to sting for some time. And the time on the clock (right across from my bed) kept inching closer to surgery time. I kept getting more nervous and cracking bad jokes. Then the anaesthesiologist came in. From here on out, I think I'm going to call him the gas guy. I don't remember his name, but he appeared and sounded to be either east Indian or Middle Eastern. He began to explain his whole procedure. I was doing okay until he started talking about catheters. Huh? He was telling me he needed to put in a catheter in the artery in my arm, preferably my left arm, in case something went wrong. Why? Because if something went wrong he only had a limited amount of time and the quickest way to deal with it was through an artery. He'd prefer to use an artery in my throat, because that was closer to the heart, but since the surgery was on my throat, he didn't think he could do that. The amount of anaesthesia I was going to receive was dangerous, it was always dangerous, because it would paralyze me and there was always the chance that I wouldn't wake up. But he will do his very best to make sure that didn't happen, but it was only with God's help that he would be able to do that. It was about this time that I burst into tears. It had never fully hit me just how dangerous this whole procedure would be. I was now terrified that I was going to die. But then the gas guy patted my hand and left, and Gary found tissues and hugged me and the IV began hurting worse than ever. I asked him to find a nurse, please, and I heard him telling a nurse that his wife's IV hurt, please come look at it now, and I don't know why, but whenever I hear Gary refer to me as his wife it just warms the cockles of my heart. Aww. It turned out that my IV was just fine, it was the novocaine they had injected to set the IV that wore off. The nurse introduced herself and that she was going to be one of the nurses in surgery with me, and why was I crying? I told her that the gas guy scared me, and she rolled her eyes and said she'd give him a smack for me. Gas Guy came back and asked me to pee in a cup. Apparently no one had thought about doing a pregnancy test on me. So I had to go pee in a cup, tethered to my IV with a hurting hand and fighting with my kimono gown. So then I handed off my urine and climbed back onto the most uncomfortable bed ever and cried a little more. I was at the point of no return as far as turning off the waterworks, and I hadn't been allowed to take my prozac that day. Gas guy came back a few minutes later and said I wasn't pregnant, so the anaesthesia was no longer an issue. In the meantime, would I like a margarita? Huh? He waved a syringe of Demoral in front of me. I said, hell yes, and got shot through the IV drip. And I began to chill out. A few minutes later the surgical nurse came in and told me to put on the shower cap; it was almost time to go. This is where things got hazy. I don't remember saying goodbye to Gary; I don't remember him kissing me. I certainly don't remember Gas Guy telling Gary to kiss me again, although Gary says he did. I vaguely remember being told that after this, I would be in recovery for a couple of hours, and then when I was put in a room, then Gary could see me again. I was rolled through big double doors into a dim blue room that was rather large but there was bunches of stuff everywhere. A nurse told me she needed to take the kleenex out of my hand. Then Gas Guy asked my if I wanted another margarita, I said yes, then I just faded out. The next thing I remember is a beeping noise and a nurse saying, "Bonnie, wake up! You need to take deep breaths! Take deep breaths!" That was Doris, my recovery room nurse. I stayed in recovery for the next five hours.
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