A week has elapsed after surgery and there is still pain and fatigue lingering, but that has not prevented the new crop of hair from popping out of my skin, I look like a man-sized cactus. Every time I adjust my dhothi and shirt, it feels like pulling piece of cloth entangled over bush of thorns. For a change I am thorny!
The idea of having someone help you scrub your back and douse you with mugs of water and wipe you (while you are in an adulthood) can sound “Guzzarish” but having none besides me was more like “bizarrish”. For the first time in a week I managed to give myself a bath without any help, though mom prepared the water with some antiseptic solution, and placed the bar of fragranced soap near the bucket and left the towel in the rack. The last time she had prepared something like this was when I had measles (25 years ago).
The endurance and fitness that I built through 12 years of disciplined routine won some admirers and appreciations evening the hospital but seem to all have vanished for now. Every action had to be slow and almost hitting the pause button for a few seconds, and anytime I tried to increase the pace of the activity my body reacts very differently. The surgeons had corrected the direction of blood flow in my heart but bouts of palpitations, lumps in my throat and sweat beads in my head was a testimony to unhappy and angered heart. How do I placate him?
Starring at the mirror and wiping my body after bath, I examined the wound and ran my fingers on it to register the contours and marks left behind by the serrated surgical knife. While I was wearing my Hawaiian print shirt I noticed 4 attempts made by the medical community to get a Central line in place for loads of Heparin to be pumped into the system. The needle marks from the two peripheral lines used to pump antibiotics and two arterial lines for collecting blood samples in either hands was still visible. I realize I was a voodoo doll for seven days punctured by needles, lying in a maze of colorful tubes taking and bringing fluids into my body and in the spell of doctors.
Finally when I sat down this morning after prayers, I felt like I have some conserved energy from not socializing to be used towards recording and sharing my seven day experiences (Resurrection?)
Day d-2: Bags were packed, itouch, gas tanks, car tires and snack bags were filled to the capacity for the journey, doesn’t it sound like a family trip? With my brother in the driving seat, me in the front passenger seat, while mom in the rear seat, the car cruised on NH 4 at averaging at 70km/hour. In 5 hours we reached the Silicon Valley of India. The first day was spent pretty much unpacking and giving my brother, mother an orientation of the neighborhood and discussing hospital roles and responsibilities with my friend over for dinner.
Day d-1: We waited for Rahu’s time to get over, the Mumbai Stock Market to open and a few minutes after nine am we left the service apartment. With brother driving mom and me with a packed bags and dropping us at the curb made it appear like some vacation. Before proceeding towards the admission area I took them on a hospital tour to help them familiarize with the place. At quarter to Eleven before I was given the keys to my private room on the eleventh floor, the doctors called me and my family in for a meeting to all risks related to the surgery and ask us to sign the consent forms and protect themselves and the hospital from any possible lawsuit. To live, everyone needs some immunity in this world in the name of consent. There were no surprises or chaos and everything in the hospital seems to follow a logical process.
11:00 AM: I was escorted by a hospital staff to my private room: a large room with huge windows overseeing the old airport. Atleast a hospital room with a view if not an office with a view.
The welcome kit had a booklet with all instructions for the patient’s attendant and the bed had a towel and hospital wear. Within minutes the nurse collected my earlier medical records and asked me to change to hospital gear; while she arranged the set up to measure my height, weight and other vital parameters. Soon the hospital staff parked a wheel chair outside my door to transport me to the Echo and X-ray labs. Looking at the staff I was not sure if she would be able to cart me around and moreover I was healthy to walk.
12:30 Noon: Walked over from the Echo lab to the blood bank to find out if my donors had turned up without fail. There was one no-show, but I had a Plan B! I was getting close to my lunch time and was getting tired and irritated with delays at the Echo Lab.
3.45 PM: Shortly after the lab visits the barber arrived to prepare my body for the surgery. The razor sharp blade harvested almost a kilogram of hair from all over my body and for the first time I saw my real skin hidden beneath the hair; it was wheatish and healthy. Post shave, the nurse handed over a bottle of Betadine solution and gauze to scrub my body. A few drop of Betadine was enough turn the bucket of water bloody, a 100 ml of it turned the bucket deep red and frothy.
4:45 PM: Hardly a few minutes after the wash and scrub the surgeon arrived with his junior opened up my shirt, starred at my clean, bacterial and fungal free chest and briefed me about the next day’s procedure, duration, etc. The doctor and his team seemed calm, comfortable and confident and asked me if I had any questions about the procedure. He asked me if I had some auspicious time during which I need to be wheeled into the theatre. So his last word was, “All the best and let’s see you on the table tomorrow.”
I was surrounded by friends and family and it was a good hour to gossip, discuss politics, make vacation plans and here and there make references to next day’s procedure. I was not sure who brought in anxiety into the room and it was hiding in the corner waiting for the rest to leave.
6.45 PM: The last medical staff to visit me that evening was the Anesthetist. The poker faced women in a surgical garb ran through a printed sheet of questions noting down my medicine allergies, etc. finally she noted down my weight to calculate the amount of sedation required for the surgery. I looked at lurking anxiety in the corner and expressed the need for an anxiety medication for the night and the plan for pain management post surgery. she said I was going to be on Fentanyl (100 more potent than Morphine)
7.30 PM: Visitor hours was over and all my friends had to leave. I was left in the room with my mother and anxiety. Nurse came to remind me that I should finish my dinner by 10 pm and not take any fluids after 11 pm.
9.30 PM – The dinner was so unappetizing that I made my mother eat the dinner and While enjoyed a full bowl of cereals. The Nurse walked in while to check if I had finished my dinner. She handed over two pills and gave me a run-down of activities for the next morning. She collected a few more films and reports to be made available for the surgeons in the OT. I reminded that the Anesthetist consent was yet to be signed by my family.
From dawn to dusk I was physically and mentally busy preparing for the surgery. I was only hoping to have a restful sleep. Did the anxiety medication work or make it worse?
D-day:
5.30 AM: The Nurse knocks on the door and I answer it. Before she hands over the bottle of Betadine scrub, a set of new clothes and a towel, she verifies the last time I consumed fluids. I asked her if she heard back from the doctor on the surgery time. She said she was awaiting a response.
6.00 AM: I came out fresh and clean from the toilet and sit on the freshly made bed. I complained to my mother that I hardly slept after having taken over by anxiety and nightmares. I cursed the poker faced anesthetist and I hoped her cocktail to work today. But then I had to be positive
7.00 AM: A few doctor friends of mine arrive; we read the newspaper and exchange some banter and gossip from the newspaper. I switch off my mobile phone.
9.00 AM: My stomach starts to growl and I walk up to the nurse station to check on the surgery timings. I wish they had let me sleep a little longer. Anand’s mobile burps, my friend Stephanie sends a message to check if the procedure had started.
10:00 AM: Nurse comes over and announces the earlier surgery has run into complications and is taking time to wheel me in. I complain that I’m thirsty and hungry. I know how much ever I complain I would never ever get to see water. To stop me hunting for a waterhole the Nurse starts me on intravenous. I remind her that a consent signature is due on the Anesthesia form.
10.45 PM: I was tired of handling the anxiety and wait though I know I was going to transition them to my friends and family as soon as I enter the operation theatre. But for now I was restless and wanted to be rushed into the theatre. The junior surgeon in surgical attire, shows up to check on my condition and says I will be wheeled in at noon.
12 noon: Finally the much awaited stretcher arrives, the room turns quiet and family and friends stand up to give me a fitting farewell. It almost feels like I’m headed to the execution chamber. I asked the nurse if she would allow me to walk to the theatre, but she insisted that I should lie down on the stretcher. L I still don’t feel like a patient! The old patient identification tag is now replaced with the broader tag that gives more details (blood group, type of surgery, doctor’s name, etc.) 12.10 PM: We are still on the 11th floor waiting for the elevator. I put my head up from the stretcher, while rest of them stand away from me. I keep smiling while the rest and stare at me as though I’m some museum piece.
12.20 PM: I being pushed in the OT area and for the last time I wave back to my followers. I enter the theatre complex and the anesthetist asks me a few basic questions to ensure that I am the right patient. He realizes that a consent signature is missing and calls for my family again. Who would turn up? Will it be my mother, brother or close friend?
12:25 PM: My doctor friend shows up and swears he is my cousin and signs the consent form. He walks upto me and says a final bye. Then the theatre staff asks me to scoot over from one stretcher to another.
12.30 PM: The stretcher makes a left turn and I notice the first theater to my left was busy and a bright red bulb indicated the same. To my right I see a bunch of doctors enjoying their cups of coffee after the surgery. None of them were smiling, but I wanted to wave at them. We skipped the second and then enter the next theater.
12.31 PM: The anesthetist walked ahead of me and gave me a warm reception. I surveyed the surgery room and it was in no way close what we see in the movies. I was well lit, clean, spacious, mobile shelf packed with surgical instruments, while those to be used for today was sterilized and packed in a green cloth and kept ready. I was once again asked to scoot over from the stretcher to the operation table.
12.32 PM: The table was not very spacious and the doctor asked me move up a little more. They gave me a little head rest that was no very comfortable. I was sure I was going to sprain my neck from using the head rest. The chief surgeon was yet to arrive.
12.33 PM: Anesthetist stood to my right and briefed about the procedure for a few seconds. He said he would inject a mild sleeping drug for me fall asleep. I looked up at the clock again while the drug was injected through the arterial line. The assistant held the oxygen mask at a distance and before the LCD display moved to the next minute I was knocked out.
Did I wake up in the middle? How long did the surgery last? Was it a simple surgery? Come back soon for more updates.
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