Surgery II

I sat in a wheelchair in the center of the waiting room, dressed in my snap-shoulder gown clutching the hands of my family, making idle chit-chat while surrounded by those waiting for news of their friends/family. After what seemed like seconds, Timmy came to claim me. I remember the fear, my unwillingness to let go, my hesitancy. I didn't want to leave Michael, Lily, and Patrick. I didn't want to be cut. I didn't want to know the size of my tumor. I didn't want to be a statistic. I didn't want cancer! Lily grabbed me and we joined hands, Timmy, too!, and prayed for a positive outcome. With tears in our eyes, I turned to the doors of the surgery center, and without looking back, allowed Timmy to wheel me away. My first stop was a slice of heaven. I was seated on a recliner and dressed in a large paper robe that was connected to a machine not unlike the hairdryers of old-fashioned beauty parlors. A switch was pulled and the robe filled with warm air, heating and relaxing and soothing away all cares and worries. It was bliss! Next came the anestesiologist, Dr. R. He looked over my chart, asked me the common question, confirmed my height and weight, asked about any allergies or previous surgeries and started an IV. Then Timmy reappeared and wheeled me to the operating room. I met Tony and Elisa, my nurses, and in walked Dr. V, my surgeon and Dr. R. Timmy shook my hand, told me I was in good hands, and left. As Tony helped me onto my back on the narrow gurney, Dr. R added a syringe to the IV drip. Next thing I knew, I was in the recovery room, sitting in a recliner, and a gentle nurse, Nancy, telling me that all was well and that my family was on their way. Within seconds, the faces that I love most were there, kissing me, rubbing my face, and grinning. I was there. I pulled through. Michael said that Dr. V felt confident that the surgery went well and that the lymphnodes looked good. Dear Nancy asked how I was feeling. I told her that I hurt. She gave me two tablets and told Michael that I may need another dose in 4 hours. She checked my blood pressure and after giving Michael all necessary directions for my after care, said I was good to go home. Lily and Patrick helped me dress while Michael got the car to the patient loading zone. Nancy wheeled me to the exit and off we went. Michael, taking Nancy's words of gloom about the seriousness of post-operative constipation, prepared a large glass of Metamucil as soon as we got home. After two humble swallows, I responded with Nancy's second most feared post-operative complaint: I vomited. I begged for bed, a blanket, and a nap. I got all three.