My surgery went very well. I know one thing, to sleep like that, to be put under was Heaven. My mother says, "Yes, dear, that's a serious cocktail."
The day began great. The magnesium citrate the night before was the worst the part. Gera laughed at me several times, during several trips to the ladies room. I never felt so empty and dry. But it was necessary. I had a hard time not turning on the coffee pot the morning of because it's habit, somewhat, and I really love coffee. I could not eat a thing and that sent my personality into turmoil. I love food, always have and not being able to eat made me feel weird, mad. Luckily, I registered early and so my wait time was very little. I undressed. The nurse couldn't start my IV because my veins were flat and dehydrated so she left it up to the anesthesiologists. From this little room, I am rolled in a wheelchair, something I didn't dig at all and even told the lady, "Really, it's okay, I can walk upstairs." She said, "No, Ms. Osborne, I have to take you myself." I'm so stubbornly independent and am extremely uncomfortable depending on another person to help me physically. I didn't know that about myself until then. And Gera was watching her push me in the wheelchair. He frowned; I rolled my eyes. Off we went. The lady was fluent in Spanish and English. She heard me speaking to Gera and was surprised. Gera and I kissed good-bye and then the questions came. "Where is your husband from? Where are you from? Where did you learn to speak Spanish? How long have you two been together? You speak very very well?" We get that a lot.
I am rolled into a room with others waiting for a surgery. Everything is clean and organized and there was no smell of anything, not even "hospital." A nurse kindly covered me with warm blankets. I wasn't really cold, just a tad anxious. She saw I didn't have an IV and said, "Let's just get this out of the way now." She tied, and tapped, slapped and slapped at my veins and found a nice one on the inside of my wrist instead of the back of my hand. That was done. Transports rolled in another girl beside me. She was pretty, young, American hispanic, 28 years and ironically getting her tubes tied and burned on the ends. Ouch! I tried to talk her out of it, but she would not budge. She has two children and said "We're done because children are too expensive." I still didn't see the logic, but how could I--tubes tied, especially at the tender age of 28. She was in for a 3rd out patient surgery. A gallbladder and something else. Her nurse came over and was about 5 mos pregnant (I'm sure I'll start to notice pregnant ladies even more so now that I want to be). She too was going to get her tubes tied and burnt after the latest. She was on number 3 and had step children. My doctor came strolling across the room and loudly said, "Hello gorgeous! You ready to rock n roll? How are you feeling?" I responded and told him to be creative! I was ready. We chatted awhile and he knew the young woman next to my bed. He told her she was putting him out of business. We conspired to undo her IV and roll her out.
Next, the nurse came back. She shot something into my IV and boy did I feel great. I was there for another 5 mins and off I went. The last thing I remember was a nurse standing over me with a soft mask saying "Take deep breaths Ms. Osborne". Heaven. I woke to another nurse saying, "Ms. Osborne, your surgery went well." Within a few more minutes I was off again to another little room. My love was there waiting for me. I slept; he took a picture of me; luckily I wasn't drooling, but I did have a sorrowful frown on my face. May or may not post that picture. My hair was fortunately braided in two. It was fine.
I took a few days to recover. My first night of sleep I felt like I had been exercising and was sore all around. Stitches look great; navel looks normal. I still can't believe he made an incision there. I was back at work lifting books, pushing carts and of course working the desk within one week.
Stay tuned for my results...
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