Surgery for Dummies

(**This post is a follow-up to the previous one**)

"I think we might need a vomit receptacle," I uttered to mom as we got into her car to go to the hospital.

The combination of pain medication, no food, no drink and nerves had taken its toll on my insides. I knew riding in a moving vehicle could only add to my body's urge to rid itself of what little was in my stomach.

And I was right. Luckily, the paper-towel lined bowl did its job and the three sips of Diet Squirt I had secretly taken earlier left little mess. Ok! I thought, let's get this party started - the sooner my gall bladder is out the sooner I can eat!

*******

Imagine my surprise when the surgeon informed me that no, he would not necessarily be taking out my gall bladder; in fact, he was pretty sure the problem was endometriosis, but there was no way of knowing for sure until he took a look inside me. If there was no endometriosis, then he would maybe take out my gall bladder, maybe even my appendix, depending on how everything looked.

The nurse I had spoken with earlier had obviously gotten her messages mixed. I knew I should have been more aghast at not knowing what exactly would occur in the operating room. But at this point, all I wanted was for the pain to stop, so I signed the papers, donned my beautiful backless gown and hoped for the best.

*******

The worst part about being wheeled into surgery was the fact that I couldn't really see - I had to take out my contacts and had forgotten my glasses. The nurses, in their periwinkle masks, had the frightening appearance of being one-eyed, and the giant lights above the operating table looked like mushy globes of orange jello. This was an unnecessary addition to the unsettling experience of being strapped onto the operating table. I hadn't signed up for electro-shock therapy, had I?!

Surely sensing my uneasiness, the anesthesiologist asked me if I could feel the "jolly juice" he had just begun administering.

Quite pleased with his concoction, I happily answered, "Yes, sir!" The last thing I remember is everyone in the room chuckling behind their periwinkle masks...

******

The next thing I remember is everyone in the room trying to calm me down as I came thrashing out of my induced sleep, unable to take a deep breath and in toe-curling pain.

Nurse: "Amanda, you have to calm down, we're going to transfer you onto another bed."

My inner voice: "But I can't breathe!"

Nurse: "We're going to put this oxygen mask on you."

My inner voice: "I still can't breathe! My side hurts! I'm thirsty! I'm dying!"

Ok, so I was a bit dramatic in my post-anesthetic state. But in my defense, I had forgotten I didn't have my contacts in and thought, at the very least, I was losing my eye sight. Damn jolly juice.

I spent the next few hours trying to keep my eyes open and form understandable words so that my husband and mom didn't think I was permanently brain damaged. I think I accomplished that when I solved a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune before either of them. They will probably deny that.

My post-surgery meal wasn't as glorious as I had hoped, for two reasons. One, I was again incredibly nauseous, and two, the liquid platter of broth, jello and sprite wasn't particularly pleasing to the eye. Although in fairness to the hospital staff, I don't think anything would have been at that point.

I did manage enough of an alert state to remember the surgeon coming in to tell us he had removed endometrium cells from an ovary, a fallopian tube and my outer uterus. The good news: my gall bladder and appendix were in top form. The bad news: I had endometriosis.

After my husband and mom left me to nod off in pure exhaustion, I took inventory of my emotions. I was struggling not to feel sorry for myself. My research had told me endometriosis is incurable, and can sometimes cause infertility. I knew there were worse things to have in life, but my physical pain and irrational mental state left me unable to summon what optimism I had at the beginning of the day.

It was at that time one of nurses (who I was already convinced was wearing angel wings as she filled my IV with morphine), relayed to me her struggle with the disease.

She was barely 20, and doctors could not figure out what was causing her pain. By the time they took her in for surgery, she had two cysts on her ovaries, one the size of a grapefruit, the other the size of a lemon. After a painful recovery, they told her she'd never conceive.

Two years later, she had the first of what would be four children. Her endometriosis has never returned.

As she left my darkened room, I was sure I saw a halo shimmering above her head. Or maybe it was just the morphine....