Surgery Day April 25th 2014

     Cancer changed my life when I was diagnosed four years ago.  Surgeries, chemotherapy and lifestyle changes seemed to remove this threat.   Then a routine colonoscopy in February showed it was back.  Now in the early hours of this cold April day I would undergo Colon Surgery once more.

     I had gone through this process before, and knowing what was coming up was not making it easier to handle.   Some elements, like the familiar bowel preparation were mere annoyances.  Some possibilities scared me like the need for a Colostomy bag.  Changes in my external image were sure to impact my mental and emotional self images.  Most disturbing of all:  why is this happening to me again?  But on this day I would once again change from Person to Patient.  That process began at 5:00AM.

     Hot shower, lingering in the warmth as I was chilled by the preparation from the night before.  I shivered, knowing what was  yet to come.  My scheduled surgery would be at 8:00AM.  I needed to be at the Hospital's Admitting department for 6:00AM.  Dark, cold, wet and miserable, and this was just the start of the day.

     Registration already has people waiting ahead of me.  I'm number four.   A mix-up, someone has forgotten their Health Card.  I'm now number three.   Minutes later I'm showing the clerk my well-worn red-and-white OHIP card.   And minutes after that I'm instructed to proceed to day surgery.  The change from Person to Patient has formally begun.

Patient and impatient

    Wristband checked, paperwork transferred, now the  waiting begins.  And I don't do waiting.  I pace,  and keep checking the time.  I'm cold, tired and tense.  Time inches by slowly, and soon I'm called into the room where I get to change out of my street clothes and put on a Hospital gown and robe.   By degrees I'm becoming more Patient and less Person.  Once robed, I'm brought to the waiting room outside the OR.   My next room will  be a sterile operating room.  When that happens I am now a Patient.  But first I meet my anaesthesiologist.

      He's pleasant and does his best to make me feel comfortable.  We go over the standard questions about any allergies or effects of being under.  He asks me to open my mouth as wide as I can.  Satisfied that there's no issue he departs, and I'm left to wait.   Finally my OR nurse appears and as I can't wear my glasses into surgery, I hand them off.  I'm proceeding blindly, gently guided by her arm on mine as I enter the Operating Room.  I've left the Person on the outside, in here, until my discharge, I will be the Patient.

     Operating Rooms are cold.  Bright lights that add no heat.  Conversation between the medical staff.  I can't remember when the IV is installed but have vivid memories of the epidural installation.  For that I have to curl up and arch my back like a sideways cat.  The needle placement is delicate, I don't move.  There's sensation, but  I'm focusing on the feeling that I'm utterly powerless, my fate is literally in the hands of the medical team in this room.  My doctor is ready, the mask is on me, I'm told to take deep breaths.  The mask is so tight against my nose, and days later I would wonder about the little blister I would see there.   One breath, two breaths, three maybe four, at this point time ceases once more for me.  My surgery had begun.

     I would wake up in the recovery room, groggy and hazy.  I was told that I smiled and opened my eyes when I heard my name.  I had survived my third major surgery  in four years.  All I could do now was sleep.