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Tuesday, December 31, 2013

The Evacuation of Sid the Cyst

Surgery is over!!! The new women's hospital is absolutely beautiful. It's where I want to deliver our child (when I was fixed on having a home birth and Nicole was terrified at the concept, I had told her this hospital would be a way to compromise) so it gave me great comfort when I was told my surgery would be there. They have an entire floor for gynecological surgery and it's a new building with beautiful amenities. Beautiful cozy waiting areas, plants, modern tiling, a cushy chair with a footrest for me to wait in, and just a handful of beds per area so you have a lot of privacy and nurse attention. As soon as I passed by the beautiful tree that looks like a synagogue's tree of life, the only decoration in a long hallway, I knew I would be okay. It also didn't hurt that the first nurse to attend to me, a scrappy, cheerful middle-aged woman with a big personality, had the same uncommon name as my mother. I was comforted and reassured without anyone needing to do so for me.

I tried to focus on each step one at a time rather than the larger picture so I wouldn't begin to get anxious, but when I was led into the OR and it looked just like on TV, I started to freak out. There were about five or six people in scrubs prepping in different areas, machines going, and all kinds of sterile-looking equipment. The idea that all these people were in here to knock me out, open me up, and operate on me was suddenly pretty terrifying. I lied down as instructed and both my doctor and the young resident who'd introduced himself earlier were right by me. The resident must have seen the fear in my eyes as everyone else just flew about (I imagine still being new to it all makes you more sensitive to that), and he squeezed my thigh with a smile and said, "Don't worry, we're going to take really good care of you." Well that's all it took for the tears to start rolling, and he tried to distract and comfort me by having me talk about other things. And meanwhile, my Finnish surgeon, whom I'd only known so far to be pretty stern and matter-of-fact, smiled warmly as she used gauze to wipe the tears out of the corners of my eyes. Then the mask went on with the blessed gas and that was all she wrote.

I had no idea that my cyst ended up being a rare, disgusting type (dermoid - don't look it up while eating) that is soft and falls apart so it took two extra hours for the surgeon to take it out piece by piece. I had no idea that my asthma complicated things during recovery and that I had all kinds of machinery monitoring my oxygen levels while Nicole wondered why I had still not woken up. I didn't know that the surgeon came out beaming to Nicole to tell her that the cyst was the only issue and that I have a beautiful, healthy reproductive system. I just remember hearing someone calling my name, telling me to wake up, and me rasping (from the tube down my throat), "Nicole" a few times til they understood what I was asking for and brought her to me for just a few seconds before rushing her back out.

They almost admitted me because I couldn't keep my oxygen levels up. They had me on some very strong drug that they almost never give out, but had because I seemed to be in such pain after surgery despite whatever else they had given me. This drug kept me knocked out, and every time I started to fade back out, I would make crazy moaning sounds as I struggled to breathe and the machine would beep, warning that my oxygen levels had dipped below 90 again. I would whimper, "Oh no, I failed again, they're never going to let me go home!" and then try valiantly to stay awake and breathe in deeply for long enough that they'd release me, before inevitably fading back out again.

Those kind nurses stayed for an hour and a half after the unit was supposed to close in order to try to stabilize me and get me home, where I made the mistake of taking the prescribed extra-strength Motrin and spending all night struggling to breathe again. Apparently I DO have a medication allergy.

I tried to eat at home, since I had been on a liquid diet all day Thursday and then had had nothing to eat or drink on Friday, but even homemade chicken soup made me feel nauseous. I tried to eat a biscuit, thinking something bland would be better, but my mouth was so dry that it was like chewing paste so I had to stop. I gave up and went to sleep.

As much pain as I was in and as hard as it was to breathe, move, do anything, I have such a sweet memory of that first night. I stayed on the couch downstairs, and Nicole made a bed out of blankets on the floor next to me so she could watch my breathing and help me if I needed to get up to use the bathroom. We had Shabbat candles burning on the mantel. Our cat Lily curled up on top of her cat tree, and Jack curled up on one of Nicole's blankets. It was like a little family slumber party.

Nicole has been an amazing nurse to me. She has gotten me everything I needed, sponge bathed me at the kitchen sink, held me when I cried from pain after standing up, has taken on all of the household chores without complaint, and has just been so sweet and affectionate.

She has also been taken into the grip of baby fever. The idea of me going into surgery had been scary enough to her for her to not be able to think of the long-term goal very much. Babies were inextricably linked to the idea of her wife going under the knife. Now that it's behind us, she keeps reminding me that we need to ask at my post-op how soon we can start trying. She is so excited and that has ME so excited and now there is no one to rein us in!!

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