October 4, 2012:
My surgery was this morning. The best thing that I can say right now is that I get to miss three days of work because of this (yesterday, today, tomorrow). Here's the play by play:
I show up around 11:45am for the 12:30pm surgery. It's an outpatient procedure, actually done in the doctor's office, not the hospital. Before taking me back, the nurse, surgeon, and anesthesiologist all come in to talk to me about what to expect during and after. The anesthesiologist actually says, "our goal is to keep you breathing." I'm not sure whether to laugh or not, because I can't tell if he's being funny to lighten the mood or this is his bedside manner. Dear lord, I hope that's your goal!
They take me back into the room, get me ready to go on the table, and cover me with a nice warm blanket (and thank God for that! Why are these doctor's offices always so COLD? This is another theme that I am picking up on). The anesthesiologist, who is not my favorite person after the breathing comment, cannot find a vein in my hand to hook up the good drugs which are supposed to knock me out. I could have told him this was a bad idea, because my veins suck, but I assume that I should keep my mouth shut because he's the one with the degree. Once he finds a vein, after several sticks, they tie down my arms (not really, but it felt like it, and it's so I don't hit the surgeon during the procedure while I'm knocked out), and start the juices flowing. Suddenly there is the most painful stinging in my hand. I really want to scream, but I know that the drugs should kick in any second so I'll just suck it up. All three of the other people in the room gasp at the same time when it is discovered that the stinging I'm feeling is the vein collapsing and the drugs flowing all over my skin. Whoops!
So now we have to find another vein in the other arm, and try again. Please let it work this time!
I wake up two hours later in the recovery room, fully dressed, sitting in a comfy chair with my husband next to me. Have no memory of anything else. They are telling me some follow-up info and if they actually think I'm listening, they're on drugs, because I don't really remember any of this conversation. Except for the fact that they asked me what time I wanted my follow-up visit to be in two weeks, and I said, "whatever." Does another sick day at this point really matter in the grand scheme of things?
The ride home is painful! Every bump makes things hurt. Please stop now and get me my pain meds! Grateful today for a husband who encouraged the pharmacist to speed up the normal 20 minute wait time. However, when he got back to the car, the battery was dead and the car wouldn't start. SERIOUSLY? This is not what I need right now. Thank you good samaritan for stopping and giving us a jump!
I go home, take the good drugs, and try and sleep.