I have a great deal in which I yearn to
share, but am not quite sure where to begin. Therefore, I will just
follow the waterfall of emotions in my mind and see where this
particular post takes me...
It was very much so like any other day
of surgery, with mom and dad and a bag of essentials in tow as I
entered the hospital. For the second time since it had been instated
at the opening of summer, I was placed into the IR waiting room prior
to my procedure with my interventional radiologist. I was somewhat
accustomed to these “peanut procedures” now with this particular
doctor, and was greatly anticipating this one because of the bout of
pain I had been experiencing the entirety of summer. October 1st,
in my mind, could not get here fast enough. Pain, as many of you
know, is a vile force to be reckoned with, and I was tired of not
being able to sit comfortably. The only comfortable position in which
I could muster up on any given day was that of lying on my stomach.
Not to mention, if I ever wanted to have a sex life of any sort, this
surgery would be undoubtedly be instrumental in helping me to do so.
With that said, the morning of the
surgery arrived and I kissed mom and dad goodbye with a mere peck on the cheek as the staff wheeled
me into the operating room. I was not scared in the slightest, I had
done this “process” (so to speak) too many times before. Not to
mention, my trust was placed in the attending performing the
operation. He had operated on me in much more dire circumstances
prior for several years. For me, this surgery was almost symbolic of
a new awakening; one in which I was addressing a problem that had
been bothering me for quite some time now...not just on a physical
level, however, but an emotional one, too.
I awoke in the ICU with my oxygen level
in ruins; apparently, I had a horrific allergic reaction to morphine
while under and some fancy word (relating to my breathing level) had
dropped incredibly low. What was supposed to be perhaps a 1 night
stay in the hospital turned into an 11 day one. I was dissatisfied,
but I do not remember the vast majority of what I went through
(thankfully). Nor do I blame any of the staff nor anesthesiologists,
as their skilled handiwork is what got me through that operation.
I am still, however, having a hard time
coming to grips with the fact that that operation could have been my
last day on Earth due to the unfathomable allergic reaction I endured
while under general anesthesia.
I will write more before long, however
for now I am off to retire to bed. Since returning home in
mid-October, I have been dealing with a great deal of other life
matters (some pertaining to my Klippel, others not). This, I find, is
a rather confusing time within my life but I am trying to embrace it
with both arms (with the assistance of my family and friends).
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