Alive to tell the story ...

After a rather restless night's sleep, I procrastinated getting ready to leave the house yesterday by lazing on the couch with the Olympics on. At the last possible moment, I stared reality in the face, threw on my already set-aside, carefully-chosen clothes (zipper up the front), and we were Kamloops bound. As luck would have it, it was seniors day on the highway, with the average vehicle speed hovering around 88 kph -- or were they also part of a well-laid plan of avoidance in getting to the hospital??

Esther met me at the front door and, after a quick stop at Admitting, we walked up 4 flights of stairs to Day Care Surgery. The ward is run rather like an assembly line, with three distinct holding areas -- chairs, beds, and "on deck"-- before one actually hits the bright lights and frigid temperatures of the operating room. Usually, I've had about a 10 minute wait in the "chairs" section of the OR assembly line, before being taken to gown up and climb into bed for the long wait to be called. Yesterday, we waited in the chairs for over an hour -- agonizing! Somehow, just getting called to stage two (the beds) makes it seem like you're making progress towards the OR. My wait was so long, I began to think they may have lost my paperwork or forgotten about me -- or were the nurses also part of the well-laid plan of avoidance?? Thankful for Esther's company, we livened up the waiting room with laughter and catching up on each other's week.

Finally, the call came. After being weighed and measured, it was time to gown up and have my vitals taken. The nurse told me my blood pressure was through the roof -- likely due to my nerves and pounding heart. Right on time, my OR time was still slated for 12:35 p.m. To my surprise, about noon the nurse asked me to visit the washroom since the OR had already called for me. What?? I wasn't ready! I needed more mental preparation time. The OR waits for no man -- or woman, apparently. Just as the orderly was starting to wheel me away, my plastic surgeon, Dr. M arrived for some "before" pictures and to cover my chest in intricate black felt marks, charting out the course of his work.

David and Esther accompanied me all the way to the "on deck" holding pen, where I got my IV and chatted with the anesthetist. He promised he would load up on the anti-nausea meds this time around, to avoid the experience I had after having my port removed. Time to go ...

... I HATE the sensation of the lost time -- in this case 1.5 hours in the operating room, and then recovery. It will always be one of life's strangest non-perceptions. Waking up seemed to be less groggy, less affected than any of my other surgeries. Perhaps the anesthetist did find a magic new concoction that my body and brain likes better than the last option. Esther and David came to check on me, and I was out of the hospital within one hour.

Although I had a virtually sleepless night (for reasons not connected to my sore chest), I feel pretty darn chipper today. My pain is very manageable with one T3 every 5-6 hours, which is a much lower dose than the doctor recommended. I've watched Olympics, paid bills, enjoyed carrot ginger soup (thanks David!), and talked to several family members on the phone.

All in all, a much less traumatic event than I was anticipating. 
And, what a HUGE relief to have it over with.
Last box, checked!!