SURGERY

The end of December I will have the sixth surgery of my life and it’s undoubtedly the most scary one to date. Scary because, quite possibly, I didn’t view the other surgeries as major changes in my life…at least at the time.

Two of the surgeries were performed while I was under the age of five, but I remember both quite well. The first surgery was to remove my tonsils. These days, it seems very few kids have their tonsils removed, but back then it was quite common. I have two memories from bad tonsils was the nonstop coughing. The first is my daddy coming home from the mine in Burke Idaho, washing his hands and then pushing a thumb’s worth of Vicks Vaporub into the back of my throat while my mom held me tight. Probably wasn’t a highly recommended treatment, but it did stop the coughing. 

The second memory is at the hospital in Wallace Idaho. I was potty-trained by then and one morning (I have no memory of how long I was there or if the surgery had been done by this time.), I really needed to pee. A nurse was bottle-feeding a baby and I was in a crib from which I could not escape. I begged and pleaded to be allowed out to the bathroom; and this nurse put the baby down, came over, paddled my behind and told me to be quiet. Of course I peed my pants because I couldn’t help it. When my mom found out what happened, I think that nurse was close to peeing her own pants by the time my mom got through being angry and having her say.

The second surgery was the result of two falls. Somehow, I managed break off an upper front tooth each time. The roots remained and the decision made (without my input of course) to put me out and have them removed. I knew this time what was up and fought with every bit of my strength to avoid the ether. In the process of trying to keep me still, some ether went into one of my eyes. 

Following this surgery, my eye had to be covered for a few days to allow it to heal. I remember laying on the porch swing behind the hop vines, my head in my mom’s lap while she stroked my hair. The other disappointment of this surgery was not getting red shoes. Mom promised that once the surgery was over, she’d buy me this beautiful pair of red shoes. She followed through on her promise, but they were too small and the store didn’t have a larger size.

Going forward, I didn’t experience another surgery until 1980. I was supposed to have my fallopian tubes tied with the birth of my second child, but after seriously hemorrhaging, my doctor told me I would need to return in six months. He also highly recommended I do so because having another child just might leave my husband with three children to raise on his own.

There were a couple of funny (to me) incidents with this surgery. Prepped and outside the OR, I was told my doctor would be along as soon as he finished delivering a baby. I opened my eyes to see my doctor bending over me. Thinking he’d arrived to perform the tubal ligation, I asked him if it was a boy or a girl. The look on his face was priceless because he knew he’d completed my surgery while my question made him think perhaps he’d gotten it wrong. It was only a couple of seconds before he made the link, told me it had been a boy and that my surgery was complete. I still smile when I remember the rather horrified look on his face.

The other incident was later back in my room. I had to spend the night and woke up to hear the woman on the other side of the curtain ask me a question. I answered and we had quite a chat until I realized she was on the phone and not talking to me at all. To add to my embarrassment, once she hung up the phone, I pulled the curtain aside and apologized only to learn she hadn’t heard me at all since my voice was so quiet due to the tubes that had been in my throat. 

Being an extremely fast typist and doing that for hours at a time led to carpel tunnel syndrome. Again, the surgery in 1989 wasn’t a big deal. A local anesthetic, a few cuts/snips, the tendon release was done and once healed, my hand was as good as new. The only disappointment with this surgery was they would not let me observe.

In 2000, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and scheduled for a lumpectomy. It was to be performed with a local anesthetic. All that morning while they prepared me, I kept asking if they were taking any lymph nodes. At the door of the operating room, the doctor finally informed me they were not. My response was he really had to take a couple to make sure they were clear. I believe he was rather annoyed at having to switch me from a simple local to general anesthesia. The surgery went well; however, the tiny cancer that was removed was extremely aggressive, so I got to experience the whole cancer treatment enchilada…eight chemotherapy treatments, 33 radiation treatments and five years of Tamoxifen. But, the cancer hasn’t returned and I’m alive, right…right. 

Now I’m scheduled for surgery number six. My left hip is bone on bone (and maybe my right hip too), and while I am not in pain 24/7, there are some activities I can no longer do because they do cause pain. One of them is sleeping in any position besides on my right side with my knees bent and a pillow between my thighs. Currently I am and have been on a regimen of Tylenol and an anti-inflammatory on a daily basis. There are what I call “Vicodin days” (or nights) when I’ve done something that seriously annoys that left hip…only took once jumping in the air to grab something up too high to convince me jumping was no longer desirable.

My fear with regard to this surgery most likely was generated by the 84 page booklet the hospital sent to me once the surgery was scheduled…”My Total Joint Replacement Journey.” It provides so much information about what I need to do between now and then, what I can and can’t do after, and I'm even required to attend a 1.5 hour class with my designated caregiver. I’m sure after this class I’ll feel much better about what’s coming.

Another additive to this fear is the fact I hate being dependent and unable to do what I want when I want. To help with this fear, I’ve begun putting meals in the freezer so my husband (caregiver) can easily feed us although he’s perfectly capable of cooking. I’m also going to re-read the “journey” booklet and highlight anything I either don’t understand or about which I have questions. 

Finally, I must choose to concentrate on the positive aspects of this “journey.” Next summer I will be able to kayak and garden without having to resort to a “Vicodin Day and/or night.” Beginning some time in the new year I should be able to sleep in a different position than the one I’ve been in for what seems like forever. I may even be able to make my walks longer, my exercise more rigorous, and no longer be surprised by a sharp, shooting pain whenever I maneuver my body into some position that’s no longer possible right now.

All in all, this surgery should be a piece of cake too. And, who knows, maybe I’ll walk away with results just as good or better than #5 or funny stories like #4. It’s up to me to choose to be fearless and positive as the “journey” moves forward, forward to my life changing for the better and the elimination of pain.