Oregon - Part III

 

Continued from Oregon - Part II

“Hi there, I’m Dr. S, I’ll be your anesthesiologist,” said a man with a colourful bandana wrapped around his head, as he walked through the curtains.

I eyed him suspiciously as he went through a list of routine questions with me. For some reason he just didn’t look like a doctor, save for his blue scrubs. With his bandana and sideburns, he resembled a leftover Hippie from the ‘60s, yet he couldn’t be older than 40-something. The thought of Dr. R being very picky with his surgical team reassured me to a certain extent. However, I was still apprehensive about going under general anesthesia. My hands clutched nervously at my hospital gown, even though this would be my third time on the “butcher table", as my sister would say.

“Have you got any questions for me?” asked Dr. S.

“Yeah, you know, I heard about this woman whose IV tube got disconnected from the anesthetics mid-surgery,” I rattled on, watching closely for his reaction. “Her doctors didn’t even notice until the surgery was over. She was in horrible pain but was completely paralyzed and unable to communicate...”

Dr. S rolled his eyes while the nurses tried to stifle their giggles.

“Any other question?” he said, shaking his head.

“Well...yeah, um...have you been doing this for a long time?”

“Honey, I am sooooo old.” He let out a big sigh and reached for the bag of IV.

And those were the last words I remember.

* * *

When I came to in the recovery room, I was shivering and feeling considerable pain. There was a soft moaning in the distance...it took me quite sometime to register that it was coming from me. As I slowly lifted my heavy eyelids and tried to focus on the fuzzy blue and green forms moving about me, it was like déjà-vu...reminding me of waking up from anesthesia during previous surgeries.

Then the question popped into my head before I was fully awake. After all, the findings that allow the surgeon to go from a pre-op to a post-op diagnosis can go either way. Despite an extreme fear for the uncertainty, I opted to find out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, I was told that the worst case scenario had not been my case. Feeling immensely relieved, I slipped back into that disorienting state of semi-wakefulness as the nurses carted me to my room.

During the next 15 hours or so, my body seemed torn between competing subconscious wills—one wanted to stay asleep so as to escape from the pain, the other wanted to wake up and feel alive again. It felt odd to be at the complete mercy of narcotics blocking the transmission of pain through millions of synapses in my brain. While grateful for the analgesia, I was deeply troubled by the loss of control over my body and mind. One moment I would be awake and literally the next I would fall into oblivion at a turn of my head.

Finally, as the third shift of nurses checked in, a lucidity began to dissolve the drug-induced fog in my head. I slowly got up and took the first tentative step that sent the whole room spinning. After a few more attempts, the spinning slowed and eventually came to a standstill. Tethered to and holding onto the rolling IV stand, I staggered toward the door that seemed unreachable. As much as the bed looked inviting, I knew from experience that the sooner I managed to walk again the sooner I would be on my way home.

With the help of my sister and my nurse, I wobbled back and forth in the silent hallway, trying to regain control of my muscles. A young nurse holding a platter of food passed by us with a smile and went into one of the rooms.

“Well, good morning sir! Are we ready for some breakfast?” Her cheery voice was clearly audible from the hallway.

An old man was mumbling something but I could not make out what he was saying.

“What?” exclaimed the nurse, her melodic chuckle reverberating throughout the hallway. “You want your teeth?! Let me see if I can find them for you, hang on!”

My sister and I looked at each other and smiled. Suddenly I felt grateful...at least I still had all my teeth.

* * *

“They look beautiful,” said Dr. R’s assistant, Dr. M, after examining my incisions. “Now, do you need more pain meds before I send you back to Hawaii?”

“Yeah, I’m almost out.”

“What are you on, Percocet?”

“No, I’m on Vicodin. I took Percocet before and had a lot of nausea. Better to stay on Vicodin? What’s the difference between the two anyway?”

“Well...” Dr. M looked thoughtful as she searched for an explanation in layman terms. “They are like...um...broccoli and cauliflower. Here, this should tie you over until the pain becomes manageable,” she said while handing me a new prescription.

“Thanks.”

“Take care, I hope we don’t have to see you here again.”

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

* *

With a prescription for broccoli (or was that cauliflower?) in hand, I embarked on the journey of the rest of my life, praying for an endless open stretch of road from this moment on...

Posted on 15 July 2007