I haven’t blogged in awhile. And I’m sorry. But I do have an excuse…and a good one at that! What possibly could warrant this week’s long silence?
“Now, Sarah Ashlee,” you say, “isn’t that the surgery that one has when he or she is younger?” Well, yes. Yes it is. But I was never recommended as a candidate for the procedure. But I’m glad I waited because instead of scrapping them out (okay, I’m sorry…too much information) with a scalpel, they blasted them out in this new procedure that shortens healing time and lessens pain. Pretty much a win/win, wouldn’t you say?
I’m going to be completely honest with you here. I’m a fairly small individual. Often is the day that I am mistaken for under 18. Do I get carded for drinks? Haha, that’s not even a consideration! I am convinced that I will be carded until I am 63. That’s right 63. I even get carded for rated R movies. Yeah. You read right. Rated R movies. Like Scary Movie. I got carded for that.
Laugh it up.
Anyway, I digress. The reason I was telling you I am a small individual is because I was going on to say that I don’t deal with anesthesia very well. The only other time that I have been put under was for my wisdom teeth. I was supposed to be in and out in 45 minutes. Pre-op, surgery, post-op…45 minutes. I was in there for over 2 hours. The surgeon’s office had monitors in the waiting room for the people to watch (from a distance) their loved one. They actually turned my monitor off because my lifeless, drooling body was scaring my loved ones and the other patients loved ones.
So, needless to say, I was a tad apprehensive going into this. I must have told everyone at that hospital that I was sensitive to medication…just so that everyone knew. At least if I died, my parents might get something out of it…I did warn the doctors and nurses of my “condition.”
I arrive at the hospital at 5:45 AM to begin prep work or whatever it is that they do with you for an hour. I am the first one in the waiting room…I’m not going to lie…I was shocked that there was a waiting room. I guess I just never see that side of surgeries on Grey’s Anatomy. You know, the planned kind…where you aren’t wheeled in through an ambulance gushing internal organs and screaming all sorts of crazy things.
The nurse, who is older and who had apparently spilt her perfume bottle on herself that morning, calls me on back and explains the procedure to my mom, dad and me. She has me pee in a cup and strip down into a drafty robe. The only thing I could think was how stupid I was to not come prepared for this robe thing. I came sans underwear. Yeah. Fabulous.
This shorter, pudgy and extremely jovial Indian man, who I think was the anesthesiologist’s assistant, comes in and preps me for the experience of being put under. Or at least I think he was. I couldn’t really understand but a few scatted words. Something about, weight and feeling like a 12-pack of Natty Light. One can only assume. I just pray that he wasn't saying that he drank his weight last night and could really use a 12-pack of Natty Light to cure the hangover...
The anesthesiologist enters ready do get the IV started. He was every bit the doctor type that I always picture. Tall, suave looking, perfectly groomed. All in all, not too bad on the eyes…and not to bad on my vein…
They all enter. The nurse, my surgeon, the Indian anesthesiologist’s assistant (AA), and the anesthesiologist. They ask me if I am ready. I say a few prayers silently, tell my parents I’ll see them later and speak that I am, in fact, ready to do this. And off we go. I’m being wheeled down the white, sterile corridors on my shiny hospital bed surrounded by a gangly group of people who hold my life in their hands.
We enter the bright surgery room and there are even more people waiting on us when we get in there. Who knew a tonsillectomy required so many hands?
They want to swap beds with the actual surgery bed. Fine by me, but I was thinking of my mea culpa from the morning. You know, the no undergarments thing. Yeah that. So, I’m trying to be very ladylike and watch the draft…when they start untying my robe! I grasp at the flimsy strings…Oh God! The nurse tells me that they have to be untied but fails to explain sufficiently why. Well, there it is. My pale little arse. I’m sure it’s nothing they haven’t seen before.
They strap me down to my new bed. Why? I wonder.
AA puts an oxygen mask over my face and tells me to keep taking deep, long breaths. I think about when I was younger at the dentist office and they would call it a Mickey Mouse nose to get us comfortable wearing it…like it was dress up or something. Only you feel really silly and giddy afterwards.
I’m taking my deep, long breaths like a champ when it feels like I can’t catch my breath. Everyone starts blurring and it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I can’t breathe! I panic and stop taking the deep, long breaths! Screw deep, long breaths! AA is forcing the oxygen mask on my face. I’m strapped down! Oh God! I can’t breathe! They’re killing me! It’s like a bad Lifetime movie…only it’s not the husband this time…it’s the surgery team!
In an Indian accent, “Sarah, keep breathing. Deep breaths, Sarah. Come on.” Then everything gets painfully loud.
An hour and a half later I wake up in a new room, surrounded by new people, starring out at a
“Well, well, well, look who’s up! Welcome back!” The nurse strides gleefully over to me. “We’ve been watching you because you look so peaceful when you are sleep.” I wonder how this was possible…looking peaceful with a huge ice bag around my head.
She gives me a list of beverage options, I choose Ginger Ale (bad choice, by the way – carbonation on raw tissue = not good). I lay there, dozing in and out of a drugged out sleep for probably 30 minutes. Finally, I muster up the strength to speak. “Can I see my mom? When can I leave?”
My parents get back there. The nurse dresses me and then wheels me out in a wheelchair to my parent’s waiting car.
I slept the rest of the day. Conked out in my parent’s game room, waking only for popsicles and strawberry ice cream.