The Big Day, Part One

The Big Day, Part One
Upon arrival at the San Leandro Surgery Center and filling out a million forms (more later on the great staff of SLSC), I was whisked back by the no-BS Monica who I adored, and was suited up in a gown, booties and “hat,” had my correct ankle marked in ink with the doc’s initials, was put on a heart monitor, an IV drip, etc. The anesthesiologist checked me out and was about to start administering my meds when he noticed an abrasion on the top of my foot… the post-pedicure flip flops I wore home the night before rubbed too close to the joint for their comfort, so we had to wait for the doc to arrive to ensure his incisions wouldn’t intersect with the abrasion – there was the chance of them sending me home due to risk of infection. So that caused what felt like a very long delay. I told the nurses, “This place is like Las Vegas! Extra oxygen and no clocks!” which got some good laughs. These ladies, they were fantastic.

The doc arrived (I think I have to try to introduce him to a girlfriend of mine…) and gave everyone the thumbs’ up. By then the anesthesiologist was busy with another patient and we had to wait some more. I dozed off… but heard the doc say, “oh good, ok, she’s out, let’s go” and my eyes snapped open to see him walking out in full scrubs… I yelled that I was NOT OUT and finally got some sleepy med drip that made me verrrry happy and comfy, then an oxygen tube in my nose, then they rolled me over and jabbed the back of my thigh with a ton of needles (OMG OUCH) and administered some anti-quease stuff at my request… I barely remember being wheeled in, trying to delicately hop/slide to the next gurney in my open-backed gown while now paralyzed from the thigh down (try to be ladylike, Christen). The anesthesiologist told me that if I “wanted more” to just tell him. I woke up a few times but my arms were strapped down so I tried hard to open my eyes a lot to get their attention… his voice “do you want more…” was eerie and soothing and I said yes, at least three times, that I remember. I did hear the docs talking, the drill, the music, but was not scared or bothered by any of it, I passed right back out.

I was gently woken up but couldn’t really open my eyes, and was moved back to the other gurney (surely not so politely this time) and was shivering with cold to the point of my teeth chattering. They wheeled me off to the recovery area, where I was covered with a giant paper blanket that they plugged a hair dryer-like thing into, and it poofed up and warmed me up right away. I was pretty stoned and comfy at that point. Once warm, they propped me up and urged me to consume some apple juice and crackers. The. Best. Apple. Juice. Ever. The sweet nurse Lina helped me get dressed and into a wheelchair. I have no idea how long I was in recovery, it was probably a lot longer than it seemed. Truly there was no concept of time from the moment I arrived at 8am until I was discharged just before 1pm. On the way out I had the bright idea to ask Lina to stop at the restroom… a wheelchair-accessible room with a nice nurse lady helping actually seemed better than what would surely be more difficult/humiliating once home with my husband. I was wheeled out a side door where my husband was waiting beside the car. That was the best part of it all. Yaay! It was over!

Smurf Foot, Day One:

(Note: I drafted an email version of this post to a friend yesterday in my Vicodin-induced haze… the above is much more coherent and slang/swear-free… it was a pretty funny read, I must admit).