Surgery

Thursday morning. The sun is bright, Angie is awake and fed and we are just awaiting the arrival of Grandma. Today, I'll have my ovarian cyst removed via operative laporoscopy at 11:45 a.m. Grandma is going to babysit Angie while Miguel and I go to the hospital. I thought about having Grandma accompany me to the hospital instead, but I thought Angie would do well to have a babysitter, and I'd like my husband to be there with me.

Grandma arrives and we go through the Angie instructions. What to eat and when. Where she likes to fall asleep and how. I'm sure it won't go smoothly, but I can hope. At 9:30, Miguel and I leave for the hospital. After signing the appropriate papers and waiting for about 45 minutes, they call my name. They're ready to prep me for surgery.

Three or four medical people pop into my room at various times to ask the same questions over and over. I know they're just making sure all of the information is consistent, but it makes me nervous. They do a pregnancy test (twice, because the first one was, apparently, hard to read) and stick an IV in my arm. Before long, they tell my husband that I'm all set and he should go back to the waiting room. I kiss him and off I go, rolling down the corridor to the OR.

Once there, I meet another half dozen medical professionals assigned to my case. My gynecologist is there, a familiar face, since she's the one who delivered my darling daughter, and she goes over the particulars with me one last time. Two incisions just at my pubic line, she says, which they'll seal with crazy glue. . .I mean dermabond. . .and one in the belly button which they'll have to sew up. I won't feel a thing, as I'll be under general anesthesia, and I'll wake up in the recovery room.

The anesthesiologist puts the anesthetic into my IV and everthing starts getting woozy and very loud. The last thing I hear is "We'll see you when you wake up!" The last thing I think is "I hope Angie is ok without me." In an instant, I'm rolling down the hallway with people yelling at me "On a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?" I'm groggy, my throat hurts, and I can bearly croak out a "six", and I'm thinking, "I hope Angie's alright." I'm shivering, apparently a reaction to the anesthetic (I had the same reaction to my epidural after Angie's birth) and that's making me clench all of my muscles, which is adding to the pain.

Before long, whatever pain medication they gave me is settling my muscles and my shivers and my aching belly button, and I'm sleeping fitfully. I don't know how much time has passed, but in a while, I'm waking up, really waking up, and I'm ready for them to get on with it. Another while later, they finally roll me of to the other recovery room, where they expect to feed me a light snack to make sure I'm not going to get sick. I'll get to see my husband again too.

Another while later, after I've peed (at their insistance) and gotten dressed, I'm waiting for a wheel chair, impatiently, when Miguel and I decide to just walk out. As the nurses object, a wheelchair rolls up for me and they take me downstairs where I hop out of the chair and walk to the car.

My belly button hurts a bit, but overall, I'm feeling good. It's 5:00. When we get home, Angie and Grandma are waiting somewhat impatiently at the door and Angie tries to jump into my arms. I can't hold her just yet, because of my incision, and she screams bloody murder as I breeze past her to the sink to wash my hands before sitting on the couch to hold her. She snuggles up and wants to nurse. I can't deny her. After a cursory nursing, just to reassure herself that I didn't leave her, she's off and playing, happy that Mama and Papi are home.

Now, two days later (or is it three?) my incision still hurts and I have to be careful how I hold Angie so that she doesn't kick me. But my insides are just fine. My cyst is gone, and I'll go back to the doctor in another week for a checkup. It was a strange experience, and one I hope I don't have to repeat.