So, as loyal readers know, I had surgery last week. The tl;dr version of what I had done and why is this: due to PCOS it was in my best interests to firebomb my lady bits. More info can be found at that link. Anyway, I wanted to tell you all about my experience (because documenting life is what I do, and also because it was the most positive hospital experience I’ve had that didn’t involve a baby coming home with me.)
(As I write this, the painkillers have kicked in, so if I randomly interject “I love you”, or commit egregious typos, you will no why. I’m so mellow right now, my aura is tie-dye.)
So, Wednesday morning I arrived at the Greenbaum Surgical Center in Scottsdale, Arizona. I mention the place because as you’ll see it was just that damn good and I recommend it to anyone needing the services they provide. No food or water after midnight, so I was thirsty and nervous enough to not be hungry. One woman checked me in, and she was super sweet. This would set the tone for the rest of the experience. Every nurse, every doctor and every receptionist at this place was fantastic. My comfort was first and unless it was something I couldn’t have (like water before surgery), they were very accommodating.
After a short wait in the waiting room where my brain cells died a slow death at the hand of the Today Show, I was escorted back into the prep area. My vitals were taken (my blood pressure rocks! Thanks, Grandpa!) and I was given a purple hospital gown. I had just been lamenting the fact that kids get superheros on their gowns and adults get crap. This gown–while it didn’t have TARDISes or Loki–was pretty nice. Purple with straps that wrapped around the body rather than tying in back and leaving my lesser virtues out in the breeze. And there were slits in the sides and shoulders to accommodate the telemetry wires. Also, there was this tiny pocket on the front. I found out later that it wasn’t for M&Ms or anything…
…the nice nurse led me to my pre-surgery bed where she hooked up a hose to that small pocket. Hot air was blasting through it to keep me warm in the very chilly hospital. SCORE!
I hung out there fore a while, eschewing the television they offered because I was giggling on Twitter or with my mom. Another nurse came to take a bit of blood and test my blood sugar. She went through my name and birthdate for the 30th time that day, verifying that I am who it says I should be on the chart. She also set the IV line and told me what to expect with the upcoming procedure.
Next I met the anaesthesiologist. We talked about my history with surgery and how I typically don’t wake up well from a general.
“I tend to come up swinging punches.”
“I’ll be sure to stand far away, then,” he answered.
He didn’t have to. He set me up with some nice shit. But I get ahead of myself.
So, he injected a clear fluid into the line and within a minute I felt it going to my head. It was, he said, something for anxiety. As they wheeled me into the operating room, my head was spinning inexorably toward bliss and I was ready for anything…as long as it involved kitties and soft meadows and Tom Hiddleston. They were playing country music in the OR and I didn’t even snarl! They spread my arms out to my sides and started putting blood pressure cuffs and other monitors on me.
Then it all fades to black.
Then I’m dreaming for about 10 seconds before opening my eyes.
“How do you feel, Jamie?” a new voice asks.
“Cold,” I say from behind a mask.
That was it. No thrashing. No confusion. No panic. Just cold. She cranked up the heat from that hose and put a warm blanket over my bare shoulders. She checked my pain and gave me some painkillers in my IV line before removing that tube. As I woke up, we chatted and she gave me some ice, then eventually some ginger ale.
I was out of the recovery room about 15 minutes after I woke up.
I felt fabulous the rest of the day. I mean, yeah, I hurt a bit or had bouts of sleepy, but considering I’d just been laproscopically spayed, that was amazing. I’ve got a small incision at my bikini line and one in my bruised navel. No stitches. There’s surgical glue or steri-strips.
Over the past few days I’ve been up and down as far as pain is concerned. I’m exhausted after showering, yet feel like I should be doing more. I’ve only got these two little incisions, right? And everything is still in there. It’s not like I had pieces of me taken out.
Anyway… all in all, this has been positive. The pain I’m in is on par with the worst menstrual periods I’ve had in my life, but manageable. I’m taking minimal amounts of the prescribed painkillers and resting as much as I can.
So that’s been me these past few days. I go back in 2 weeks for a follow-up with my doctor.
This weekend I’ll be at LepreCon. (You can read about that here.) And until then I plan on resting up, healing and playing ungodly amounts of FIFA13 on the Wii. (Getting that game into my hands has been an odyssey.)
How are you?
Jamie Wyman is a pyromaniac who drinks too much chai. She enjoys writing, circus history, tattoos and has an unholy love of Tom Hiddleston. She also thinks you're pretty awesome.