Fear of Surgery

when I was sixteen years old and had my first cosmetic surgery, the thought of this did not alarm me one bit. I did not worry about the surgery itself, no concerns about being put to sleep nor the pain...nothing! I checked myself into the hospital as if I was going to the spa. With my little overnight suitcase and book under my arm, I had not a care in the world. After all, I was only sixteen and had forever.
Several minor operations proceeded and as always, I would check myself in and check myself out. Whatever the surgeon was doing to me was like putting God in control. I trusted and had faith. Not a worry about never waking up nor a concern regarding recuperation. This attitude stayed with me for many years until...
A hysterectomy! My female reproductive organs were going to see the daylight and examined by a complete stranger who would probably slice and dice the rejected organ and throw it into a freezer. My baby pooper was pooped out. To console me, I thought that it had served its purpose and was no longer in demand. I was older now and my children were having children. Forever, I would be void of my creative organ, life producer, friend and monthly foe.
I have worried about every single overlooked combination of life threatening outcomes that could possibly result from this surgery. I was not taking this lightly this time and did care. I was decades older than when I had my very first surgery and yet the closer I approached death, the more I feared it. Why was I such a nervous wreck about a common procedure? And then this possibility dawned on me, that once I watched a PBS program about people never waking up from their anesthesiology. This was rare and unusual but I thought everything seems to happen to me, why not this fate?
I called the nurse with a shaky voice seeking comfort in my pain. I had hoped she would either talk me into it or better, talk me out of it. She did neither but explained to me in some details what would be the procedures as if I was taking in my Audi for repairs. And what about an oil change while you're at it, I said? She did not laugh, nor did I. The nurse continued to explain in greater detail than I would have ever not hoped for. I listened to her detailed list of what would happen as my mind drifted off into a completely different scenario....shopping! Are you comfortable with that or do you need to talk to the doctor? she shouted out at me...I said no and hung up.
Foolishly, I had to call the nurse back to reluctantly ask her when and where since I had hung up too soon. Then I asked her if they could just put to sleep the bottom half of my body so that if it never wakes up, I will have at least the top half alive! Sounded great to me, sounded stupid to the nurse. She tried to reassure me that I will be just fine but, I could detect a hint of irritation in her voice. I thanked her and hung up. Visions of me strangling her put a smile on my face.
So, I am off to surgery in two weeks time with a very heavy suitcase in case there are complications and I must stay a year or two, plus my book of life insurance policy under my arm. This is not going to be easy this time! I will write about this experience, so keep in touch with my website. Next week is blood work. Why it is called 'blood work' puzzles me. Why can't they just call it a blood test? Blood work sounds like they are going to hook your veins up to a running machine and count how fast it goes. I am also going to talk with the anesthesiologist who is going to put me to sleep and will probably spend more time with him than anyone else. My life will be in his hands. What if his mind drifts off like mine, while the oxygen tank runs out of oxygen? Remember the movie COMA when a deadly gas is replaced in the oxygen tanks and kills the patients during surgery? I had to make sure this one was not going to do that! However, after all of this, my fears will hopefully be replaced with the positive outcome of this surgery. What will it be like afterwards. The thought of this is a relief. It would be over. The evening of the 22 September 2006, I will wake up in my hospital room and scream. "I'm alive!".
The best part is that I will be able to run and jump and laugh without having to say, "Oops, that darn lemonade I keep in my pants pocket keeps bursting!" I will be able to run on the beach with my son and see a funny movie without running out of the theatre before the lights go up. I won't have to run home to the toilet and never make it again..this is a dream come true, a life saver. The doctor said I will feel twenty again...still have not figured out what he meant by this but what the heck, I'll feel twenty again!
If I write another story after this one can only mean that yes, I woke up!

This is an update. I woke up! I am alive but I am sore. Thank goodness for morphine! Visitors come to see me and even my sister all the way from Paris takes a peak at me. She had this same surgery last year and knew what I was going through. But, the morphine had an affect on me. It made me happy and carefree! I told all the nurses I had to put makeup on before the surgery because at least the surgeons can look at my face when they get sick and tired of my other face! I even took a shower with tubes in my arm without any help. I walked around the hospital room with so much energy it even surprised my doctor. I think they were glad to get rid of me because the following morning, I was dismissed! Now, I ready for a liposuction! Find out more soon......

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