Surgery

June 1st 11:15pm -I sit on the edge my hotel bed, staring down at my chest binder, almost saddened by the thought of never wearing it again. For the past nine months it has been a safety blanket, a tight hug of comfort and security that would only come off around those I trusted most in the world. As I pull it down over my jeans, I admire the ghastly rips, and loose strings in nearly every stitch; I compare the oil, blood, and sweat stained white against the pure white of the hotel bedsheets. Ceremonially and with respect, just as one says grace before thanksgiving dinner, I hang my trusted binder up for the last time.

June 2nd 7:20am -As per family tradition, we are wildly early. Cut time is 10:00, Dr. G ordered to be here at 8:00. Luckily, the surgery center operates quickly and efficiently. We are in the waiting room for no more than 15 minutes before I am called back to register and pay. Then another 15 before I am whisked away to pee in a cup and report to a nurse for the thousandth time that no, I do not have food allergies, nor am I unable undergo anesthesia.

Their were two other men in front of me, and one boy still to go after me, ergo we waited another two hours with an IV in my newly found hand vein. I managed to sleep for a good amount of that time, and I’m pretty sure my dad spent the whole day migrating from room to room like a zombie just to all back asleep in the next chair a nurse assigned him.

Side note: My dad is the greatest. This man drove 4 hours down here, just to watch me sit around all day and occasionally eat with him, then sat in a waiting room all day, and is now tending to my every need, just to drive another 4 hours back home. All with no reward or reimbursement. After thanking him and telling him he was appreciated, he quoted Ice Age and said “That’s what you do when you’re in a herd.”

June 2nd 10:00am -One by one, every surgical nurse, anesthesiologist, and the man himself Dr. G, come by to check in before cut time. My dads notes this very American practice of “meet the staff” before surgery. My nurse was very pretty and her firm eye contact slightly off-putting. Dr. Leebowitz, the head of anesthesiology, is curt and kind as he recites his spiel. My surgeon instructs me to stand up straight, and be still while he draws his lines on my chest; possibly the most important marks ever to be drawn on my skin. I oblige. Dr. Haleem, my anesthesiologist, is pretty like the nurse, and smiles when instructing me that she’s about to start the “happy juice”, which I guess is the medical term for it.

My nurses name was Jackie, her voice was the first thing I heard coming to, “Christopher?” she repeated as my bed was rolled into the recovery ward, “Christopher”. I groaned at her, one eye barely managing to open before falling back asleep. I awoke again to her blurry figure at the end of my bed, “How are you feeling?” she inquired. I simply answered with a big smile and thumbs up, and of course, another groan as words were something I had not yet mastered. When I opened my mouth to speak, I realized my tongue was made of sand and every frog in the world was throwing a party in my throat, “tired” I gurgled. It took about 30 minutes, I’m guessing, for my eyesight to fully recover, every time my arm squeezer squeezed, I would look up at the screen to see how my blood pressure and heart rate were doing,. There were also these lovely leg compressors that would intermittently squeeze my calves. These and the wearing anesthesia made me one happy camper; apparently noticeably happy as my nurse would not stop telling all the other nurses how cute I was with my big smile.

“Whas yur name” I groggily gurgled.

“Jackie” she responds with a smile,

“I like you Jackie, I like you a lot” and she laughed and said she liked me too. She injected some pain meds into my IV that just made me like her more.

So there I lay for my recovery hour, smiling, liking Jackie, and listening to the nurse drama of the day. Apparently the boss told everyone to park somewhere else and it was causing quite the melodramatic uproar.

Now I’m here. Laying in the hotel bed. My pain is not bad, it’s centered around the drain holes in the armpits. Standing is not my friend, but I am able to get up. My dad has kept me well fed with Boston Market immediately post-op, and pizza later on. (Side note: I know my girlfriend is going kick my ass when she hears about my diet, but it was worth it). I sleep in one hour intervals at night (waking at the twenty minute mark almost every hour, I shit you not), not my favorite but I least I’m managing to sleep at all. My right drain was going fast for a few hours yesterday but it has since slowed own and brightened up. It was likely due to too much activity, you see, I drank a liter of water post surgery, and consequently peed 4 times. While I wasn’t awake for being intubated, the dryness and throat pain it caused have lingered.

Today, June 3rd, my voice is almost back and I’m currently waiting on my dad to bring back food from the continental breakfast downstairs. I feel okay physically. Aside from the bandages, I am elated. I cannot wait to see my new chest in less than 5 days. I can’t wait to see Emily, and my brother and Annie, and my other friends who are coming by to see me during recovery.

I did it.