December 21. One year ago today, I was taken under and cut open. One year ago, I had 1400 grams removed from my breasts by one of the best and most dreamy plastic surgeons in the country. One year ago today, I woke up feeling confident in my life decision and I skipped into the surgery center like a little girl, full of excitement and happiness.
I signed the forms telling them to resuscitate me by all means necessary. I signed the forms giving all decision making control to another, and I jumped into little skivvies while standing proud (and nude) in front of nearly 20 clothed people – all in the medical profession of course. Dr. Davison, my very cute, accented surgeon drew lines on my body and explained to the med students in the room what he was doing. Standing nude in front of them, I tried to crack jokes and make them laugh. However, 6:00 a.m. and the seriousness of surgery makes no one laugh.
The anesthesiologist was the best person in the room. He controlled my body and mind. And I was completely fine with that. Let someone else take the wheel. I have had enough time in control. It felt good to let someone else, someone else I could sue for malpractice if he screwed up, take the wheel.
I laid on the gurney and the team rolled me down the hall and out to the elevator. I had no loved one to say "I love you” to. My life is already too dramatic. Who needs more? I guess it helps when you have your ex boyfriend who cheated on you accompanies you to surgery.
So out to the elevator. It felt weird lying on the wheeled bed, being pushed by people wearing light green scrubs. They pushed me into the large metal elevator and all of a sudden, for no reason, Panic. Tears. Shaking. And then, from the heavens came Valium. No more pain. No more panic. All in life is good.
Nearly five hours later, I wake up freezing cold with several nurses around me. “Can you tell me your name?” “Do you know where you are at?” Too many questions. All I can say is burrrrr. I am freezing. I am shivering into convulsions, or so it feels like. And the hospital only has the thinnest white cotton blankets. My body temp has to be below freezing, I know it.
They tried to sit me up, but I resisted. I am in some pain and my upper body feels like it has been tied tight in a rubber band. They finally sit me up and move me into a recovery chair. I have to sit there for a while until they think I am ok to go home. So I have some really nasty tasting graham crackers and hot tea. And in walks the cheating bastard who I wish got his by a bus – my ex boyfriend. The only thing I asked him to remember was to bring my glasses to me the moment he could. Without my glasses (surgery day you can not wear your contact lenses), I am almost blind. And being in this amount of pain, you want to be able to see straight. Finally he gives them to me. I can see. And I begin to feel a little better.
Two more hours later, I am in the car on the way home. More and more pain. I have plenty of Percocet and Vicodin to last me for three years. I go home, lay in my bed, and hope for a very speedy recovery.
One year ago today. I am almost fully recovered, almost have the hospital bills paid off, and am in a much better place in my life.