School Daze
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: The Wall: Pink Floyd
For all you parents, grandparents, students and teachers, this song is for you.
We left the Mohs clinic in the Morsani building, a part of USF, and drove the short distance to Moffitt and my next appointment. I was scheduled to see the anesthesia group at 1:30 to ensure I was in good shape for my operation, the next day. It was now almost 4pm. They had been called, earlier, to advise them that I was off schedule. So much for my supposed organizational abilities. But as kids say, "It was not my fault".
The staff, as always, were sympathetic to my situation. I was, after all, packaged in bandages, and struggling to find normalcy, as I know it. I was in some amount of discomfort as the numbing medicine was just starting to give way to pain. We did not have to wait long, as we were interviewed and tested, and quickly given a green light to proceed with the operation. The anesthetist would be there, waiting for me the next morning, I was told. Oh joy. What would I have done, if they had decided I was not up to the challenge. Open wounds, bandages and pain. I was ready then and there, to get on with it. But we had time to spare. Home to some dinner and a long evening, waiting and worrying, and hurting.
On July 30th, just before 7am, after another night of interrupted sleep, Kath drove me to Moffitt Cancer Center. I was on a fast, as is normal prior to surgery, and was prepared and anxious to get it under way, and over with.
We were shuffled into pre-op and I was undressed and prepped. A phalanx of nurses and doctors dropped in to introduce themselves and I was put on a drip and given some meds to alleviate some of the existing pain, and the pain yet to come. The anesthesiologist introduced herself and described the procedure, from her perspective. She ended by telling me (and Kath), that I probably would not remember her name, anyway, after the operation.
Dr. Harrington came to see us, to make sure that I was ready and to review the extent of the work that lay ahead for him, and me. We had to inform him, that the surgery to my stomach was not done, as planned, the day before. He would have to add that to his list of targets. He had not heard that news from the other doctor, and told us that he would look after it, as well as everything else already on his to-do list. I asked him how much he had to drink last night. I didn't care, so long as his hand was steady.
I said goodbye to my Kath, and told her that I loved her. I also told her, with some sense of dark humor, that I hoped to see her later, so long as all went as planned in the operating room. I do know that the possibility of problems under general anesthesia are real, and that if I did not survive, that would be the likely cause. She was not amused, but kissed me anyway, just as an orderly was dragging me away.
I was looking forward to getting a rest. Even if it was medically induced. Even better.
I signed the consent documents, and answered a number of routine questions, as the operating team were milling about, waiting for the doctor. They made certain that I was who I was, as if anyone would sneak in and take my place. Dr. Harrington entered, made a few comments and jokes to help me relax, and we began.
Count from one, slowly. One, two, three, four......
Mr Mullen? Mr. Mullen? Are you awake? Your wife is here. Would you like a drink of water or apple juice? Are you feeling alright?
I was coming out of my sleep. I was groggy. Very groggy. OK. How did we do? Was I alright? How long was I asleep? Kath?
Eventually, I returned. I would say "to normal", but then you would just laugh.
Kath and my nurse patiently waited for me to get my bearings, and in time, sit up, and then, stand up. The anesthesiologist had already been by to ensure my condition, but had left before I gained awareness, as I was too slow in my recovery. I did so enjoy the rest. Blissful. The surgeon returned to see me, and told my bride that all had gone as expected, but for the area under my ear. That had been more extensive than planned, and the cartilage of the lobe needed repair. The pathologies had been sent for testing and we would most likely find out in a week, when the facial stitches would require removal.
As much as I was there, I remember nothing of this conversation. I guess the shroud of anesthesia had not yet lifted. I was told to drink a lot of water and dinner should be something that was easy to chew. The lower left jaw was not fully functional, my lip was numb, and I needed to be careful not to break any stitches.
Way too much to think about. I just wanted to get safely home.
Readying myself to go, I said I was fine to drive. Kath and my nurse did not stifle their laughter. Kathy left, to bring the car around. Whow. Done.
Ever so slowly, on the way home, I started to feel the slight nausea of post anesthesia, and the beginning of pain, seemingly all over the place. Kat talked to me most of the way. Comforting me. I was, for the most part, quiet. Just hanging on. Waiting to feel better. Knowing that was not likely. Not yet.
When we were home, I finally had an opportunity to see myself, as Kath and others, had already done.
I was well into the lingering effects of the operation. Much of my head and shoulders were banged up and pangs of sharp pains erupted from my wounds. I took my first, and only opioid. It was wonderful.
The pathological results were to come later. In the meantime, nothing to do, but heal. And wait.
Until next week.....
Love your notes and calls.
Cannot thank you enough.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
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