As seen on TV.
When you watch TV dramas and people go into the hospital, there’s a lot of drama and running around… if not for them personally, at least somewhere in the vicinity. It’s a hospital, after all. When they get rolled into surgery, the halls are usually clear. If they aren’t, the things that are lined up along them tend to be hospital beds and wheelchairs and medical equipment that’s mobile but not currently in use. And when they get into surgery, the room always seem fairly tidy: the operating table, lights, a tray of instruments, equipment along the edges of the room that are shiny and importantly “medical” looking.
In reality, the biggest drama checking into the hospital was that once parked in the “patient” lot there are no signs directing how to get most directly to the hospital proper. There’s no sidewalk and the front entrance is half a block around the corner. There are back entrances, but they require a key card. We ended up being let in by employees on their way to work, and they directed us in the right direction.
Once inside, it was all… quiet. Check in here, wait quietly for a few minutes, get your bloodwork, wait another minute, go upstairs, hand them this paperwork, wait less than 5 minutes, go on in for prep. No rushing, no calamities visible. Which I guess, for a hospital, is a good day indeed.
The prep was a lot of questions and paperwork and signing, and attempts to find a decent vein for the IV. And then, finally, time to get wheeled into the surgery.
And once we leave the main hallways, the stuff stacked along the hallway is a lot less “TV variety hospital stuff” and more like… like there are offices being renovated and their contents have been thrown haphazardly into the hallway. It just seems like… clutter.
Then into the operating room, where we transfer my increasingly woozy self onto the operating table, and it’s not camera-ready there, either. There seems to be lots of stuff in the room and none of it looks like the shiny and notably medical equipment as seen on TV. It looks like a room full of junk. But then the strange-looking lights overhead are in my eyes and I blink them once, twice.
The next time I blink them, I am in the post-anesthesia care unit. Slowly I drag myself out of sleep. A nurse watching over me tells me it’s okay to just rest, let myself sleep as long as I want. But there’s this annoying beeping (the measure of my own pulse), and the cuff on my arm automatically squeezes my arm to continuously check my blood pressure. It’s not conducive to sleep, and just as well… I don’t really want to linger.
My doctor stops by, to see how I’m doing. My body is cramping, but it’s not awful. I’m still medicated, she reminds me, but the worst should be over within 6 hours. Then she tells me the weird thing…
The thing that was on my ultrasound (confirmed by two different doctors) and on my hysteroscopy (and which I saw on the screen with my own eyes)?
Gone. Not there. No sign of it.
Miraculous, I say. Unusual, she says.
So anyway there was nothing to extract, though they still took another biopsy sample just to be safe (well, as long as you’re in there anyway), did the rest of the procedure, and I was all set. My parents took me home, where we chilled out for the rest of the day, until we were all sure that I was going to be A-okay.
Back to the grind.
So I worked from home today. Wasn’t sure how I’d be feeling, what the recovery might be like, and anyway I wasn’t allowed to drive until 24 hours after having anesthesia. So I worked here, and I did a ton of stuff, and still felt wholly unproductive. And I’m still not ready for tomorrow, and I’m not sure I can even get there from here. Yuck. I hate that feeling.
But otherwise fine, thanks.
On the other hand, everyone I talk to notes how remarkably good I sound. My parents call with the worried sound still in their voices, but I’m fine. I’m ridiculously fine. Even the hospital called for a followup and to see if I had any issues, and they commented on it too.
Nobody can believe how fine I feel.
So since I am feeling so much better than a person has a right to, I continue to pray for my sister, who twisted herself somehow and at last report was doing better but still hurting quite a bit. (Heal quick, sweetie. Love you.)