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When I found out I would be having surgery, there was a massive, devastating earthquake in Haiti. My problems seemed trite and I felt guilty asking for help in comparison to such loss and destruction.
Never the less, I needed to ask for help, I didn't want to overburden one person, and I've never felt comfortable being cared for. However, there would be things I could not do for myself, and who knows the reaction to the pain medication, if one person was over for just part of the day during the period where I had to be off my feet...we could hang out, watch a movie, catch-up, play Scrabble. That might be ok. Some people had offered, but how many people did I trust in my home, in a compromised position, to see me vulnerable?
The morning of the surgery I woke up early to have my prescribed breakfast before 8am. The restrictions were no meat, dairy or fresh fruit. So I had oatmeal, with some sliced almonds and raisins, green tea and water. I went back to bed. Woke up and took care of some last minute cleaning. I put together my shower stool, which fell on my broken, bare foot mid-assembly and scraped it (thankfully the stool is plastic or the damage may have caused the surgery to be postponed). I drank gingerale, double-checked my meds and furniture placement. I had never been on crutches before, so I didn't know what was necessary and could only give my best guess.
I forgot to pick up Ibuprofen. efffff. I needed that for the first three days after surgery for swelling, and if I took the prescribed maximum amount I didn't have enough. I guess visitors could bring me some
I have made sure to wear loose pajama bottoms that will comfortable fit over a large wrap on my foot and have made sure not to use any lotions or perfumes. (I am allowed to wear deodorant, and take a shower, so I do)
I tried to arrange a pick-up time for a local car service to take me to the hospital, but because they were local and it was not an airport drop they wouldn't pre-schedule. I would need to call only a few minutes before I needed them. Ok.
Kate, my friend taking me to/from surgery called for final arrangements. Because of traveling complications to Yorkville and because she lived closer to me she would come up to my apartment and we would take the car together. And yes she would pick up some Advil.
She arrives, I am nervous getting my jacket together, I have made sure to bring music and my camera, the admittance paperwork, my wallet with insurance info, my keys. We call the car, I take the aspirin Dr. Ellis told me to take to thin my blood. Kate offers me to stay at their place at least for the first few days, I decline, I've made arrangements, bought food, I say, for the next surgery I will gladly stay with them.
In the car I notice Kate is really beginning to show in her second trimester, and I worry and hope I don't fall on her when she takes me home.
We arrive twenty minutes early. Just enough time to fill out all the paperwork, including the proxy care, and learn how to use the crutches and practice on some stair steps they have set up. I do fine, but find myself wishing my hands were larger so I could comfortably hold both crutches going up and down stairs.
We both get name tags, and around 4/4:30 I am taken back to be prepped by the nurse. She is cute, whispers questions like 'do you have any allergic reactions to medicine?' 'do you need to ?' I have to pee in a cup. fantastic.
The gown they give me is paper lined in plastic and has special cutouts for easy access on the upper arm, the thigh, the belly. The blankets are heated and she puts my hand in a heated pad to prep for the IV. I hate IVs in the hand. The bruises are always so much worse, and the initial stick hurts more. Also the standard grey socks. Which are both constantly removed and put back on. Everything of mine goes into two drawstring plastic bags. Do I want to watch TV?...no, thank you.
Then a stream of doctors and nurses asking the same questions over and over. One Physicians Assistant from Chicago started talking to me. He asked me how the injury happened, if I was anxious to get back to dancing. I don't how well I'll be able to continue, but I have been considering going back to school for my Masters in performance, I could teach at the college level. What about accounting?...Oh, I worked hard and fell into it...He continues talking with me and the IV is entered. what's the matter?...I don't like hospitals...that's ok, neither do I, and I work in one...and the conversation ends with you know you have 'it' the thing that makes people want to talk to you... yeah, I know...I see a lot pf patients and some of them have it and I can't stop talking, you should be a psychiatrist. It would be great, you listen to someone, say 'time's up' and go teach dance. '....'
Dr Ellis comes in..more forms. He signs my foot. Kate comes in loaded down with my coat and her coat and crutches. I remember to ask Dr. Ellis about showering-saran wrap covered in a plastic bag... Crap. Kate, can you remember I need saran wrap? A nurse comes in washes the foot. There isn't an appropriate moment to take a picture of the signed foot. damn.
The head nurse in the OR comes in and wheels my bed to the OR. I pass a number of signs that say'please take off bloody booties'. oh boy. A big clock say 5:17. Seems to be running on time.
The OR is filled with lots of machinery, dark but shiny floors and a table in the center of the room. Someone's phone goes off, 'mom I'm about to go into surgery I'll call you back'...'how do you even get reception down here?'
They level the bed with the operating table, I scoot myself over and lay down, a nurse fixes my IV and starts the sedative. Dr. Ellis comes in. The anesthesiologist lays a napkin or cloth over my legs and starts putting down one, two, three large syringes for the nerve block/the local...thankfully I don't remember anything else.
Apparently the surgery was only 30 minutes long. I woke up maybe two hours later. Dr. Ellis and Kate sitting next to me.
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