TAKE ME AWAY...

For me, there is nothing quite as wonderful as being wheeled into surgery, completely naked save for a flimsy bit of cotton they call a ‘gown’. 

Now, my idea of a ‘gown’, involves layers and layers of beautiful, shimmering fabric that stylishly highlight your bodice, whilst flowing freely and elegantly to the floor.  THAT, my friends, is a gown.  A pair of co-ordinating shoes, a nice up-do and some bling to complete the ensemble would be appreciated.

Not this oversized handkerchief that I was desperately clinging to in a vain attempt at preserving my dignity.  I wasn’t even allowed to wear a pair of those horrendous, disposable knickers.

Sure, when I’m under anaesthetic, the surgical team go to places that my husband doesn’t even go.  I understand that.  However, at least I won’t remember it, and can still look the surgeon and the nurses in the eye afterward.

So, they comically ask me to slide from my bed across to the operating table, which is about as wide as one of my butt cheeks, and is as cold as a fridge.  Great.  So, I slide across with as much elegance as I can muster, whilst clinging to the handkerchief and the narrow table, and collapse onto it from the enormous effort that rescuing my dignity requires.

I look around the large room, and there are about 10 people in there.  Seriously, how many people need to look at my clacka?  Particularly when the majority of them are men?

The nurse starts wiring me into the ECG.  Good to know I’ve got a heart and it’s still working.  They confirm my name and date of birth, and what I’m in here for.  Thank God they haven’t given me any pethidine, otherwise I would tell them just about anything, and would come out with an amputated limb or something…

As the majority of them quietly go about their business, I see the surgeon organising his instruments.  He introduces himself to a nurse, and they start chatting about the equipment, and his procedures.  Great; they’ve never worked together before.  That can’t be good…

On the other side of the room, there are two orderlies chatting about what they’re having for lunch.  You’re kidding me, right?  I haven’t eaten for nearly 18 hours, and you’re talking about lunch?

Then I notice one of them is wearing white gum boots.  Gum boots?  ‘Why are you wearing gum boots?’ I ask, and just about everyone in the room snaps around to look at me.

‘Um… I come in and clean up after surgery, and because I use chemicals, I have to wear the boots…’ he answers quietly…

‘Good, because for a second, I thought you needed them to wade through the sea of blood that will be flowing out of here…’

They all found that amusing. 

I was serious.

Then the anaesthetist calmly pats me on the shoulder.  ‘Everything will be okay’, he says with a kind smile.  The nurse shoved an oxygen mask on my face and asks me to take some big, deep breaths.  I happily oblige, and feel my body dutifully relaxing, whilst wondering if gumboot boy would have a nice lunch…

‘Okay Lee… you’re going to have a little sleep now, and we’ll see you again shortly…’ the nurse says reassuringly…

I see the anaesthetist inject something into my drip, and I wait. 

Wait to be taken away... 

You can feel it rolling over you… your body relaxing and getting heavy… you fight to keep your eyes open – Lord knows why – but it’s a battle you quickly lose… then lights out. 

Gone.

Only to wake up - what seems like - an instant later to the face of friendly nurse saying your name and telling you that you’re in John Fawkner Private Hospital and surgery went well. 

Great, let me go back to sleep now…

Apparently, the massive boulder in my urinary tract was successfully lazered (‘lazered’ makes me thing of Dr Evil from the Austin Powers movies), and a stent was placed in there to hold the tract open whilst it healed.  Awesome.  I love the idea of a foreign body in my body.

Not.

And I was to find out later that my body wasn’t happy about it either….