The last post was two days before surgery; now it's three days after. Before surgery, I was a nervous wreck, as usual obsessing about details that might not bother other people. Would I panic on the operating table before anesthesia as I have in other stressful situations (like MRIs), when my throat gets dry and it feels like I can't swallow? Would I wake up as I did from the last general anesthesia 12 years ago, feeling like I was trapped in a bad dream, moaning helplessly in pain for what seemed like hours?
As it happened, I had a much better experience than I'd dared to hope. The very early hour of surgery I'd requested worked well, since it meant I wasn't sitting around all day being nervous (and hungry). I wasn't a wreck on the operating table, and the anethesiologist cleverly told me he was just giving me "a bit of something to relax" before the anesthesia, which is the last thing I remember before waking up (the last thing I said was my reply, "Good idea!") And best of all, I had a far better wake-up than the awful one 12 years ago, and once I was in the hospital room, I felt pretty good and quite euphoric that it was over.
Why was my experience better? I'm not sure, but some of the staff told me that they now use propafol, the drug that killed Michael Jackson ("But he wasn't in a hospital," a nurse pointed out when I said that), which wears off more quickly than older drugs. Also, I talked to the anethesiologist, a charming young man, about my bad experience, which I learned is called "slow emergence" -- who knew it had a label? Labels are so comforting, implying that you are not alone and that someone somewhere is working on the problem. He nodded wisely, so maybe that helped.
My hospital stay was almost pleasant, since Sloan-Kettering has the whole thing, from surgery to leaving the hospital, down to a science, including "classes" on post-op care, exercises for the arm, and three volunteer ladies who enter your room and offer to sing songs of your choice a capella to cheer you up. That is, they offer various genres of songs, of which I chose "Soothing." They were sweet; I mean, how nice is that? Also, the food is great there and can be ordered any time of day.
For some reason I am recovering faster and have more stamina all around than even last January, when my surgery was only outpatient. I don't get this; must ask Dr. C. at my appointment in a week, out of curiosity. But I am grateful. Since I am also neurotic, I somehow also fear that the relatively easy time I've had so far is setting me up for more unexpected suffering down the line. This is because in my heart of hearts I believe that Someone Up There (not God, exactly, more like an unruly teenage boy on some more advanced planet) has got it in for me and will make me pay when I think I've escaped Bad Things.
This is an awkward time, of course: it's just weird going from never, ever having time to myself (the teaching, the book, the health problems, the family) to sitting around uselessly. When I feel more like myself, I'll do all sorts of fun stuff like cooking, exercising, museums, movies and writing, or at least that's the plan. But for now, I can't do much beyond lunch with friends in the neighborhood, so it's me and my tiny studio apartment, which makes me restless.
And then there's the question of my new body. Would I freak out when I saw the results of the mastectomy?
More about that later.
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