That's Going to Leave a Mark

Friday morning arrives and with it comes the surgeon and her fellow (at least I assume he was a fellow). Like the surgeon from yesterday, she talks me through the procedure* and some of the variables she'll be dealing with once it starts. Unfortunately, like her predecessor, she's unwilling to make any sort of projection as to whether or not I'm likely to wind up wearing a bag, but she answers the questions that have occurred to me overnight and let's me know that the surgery is scheduled for 11:00. 

A few minutes after they leave the fellow returns to ask me if I want them to install a port given that I'll already be under anesthesia and future cancer treatments will likely require it. It's probably the wrong decision, but I decline. I can only focus on one thing at a time, and sort of want them to do the same. Moreover, as complications from a port installation figured prominently in my father's death, it's just not something I'm excited about at this point in time. 

Shortly after he leaves, my S2BXS stops by for a visit on her way to work. We chat for about forty-five minutes, mostly about how weird the situation is. A little while after S2BXS heads off to work Sib4 arrives. Sib4 has claimed the role of designated worrier and will be here for the duration of the procedure. They'll even let her stick with me for the first part of the prep before sending her off to the designated waiting/worrying room.

11:00 comes. 11:00 goes. Finally at about noon we're taken down to the surgical prep room.

The surgical prep area is a series of three walled bays, and I'm wheeled into #7 (which I stupidly find comforting). There's a computer on a tall wheelie cart, and I've soon got a swarm of nurses checking me in, confirming my medical history (there's a brief hitch when one of the nurses inadvertently hits a button on the computer and starts reading off stats for some other patient, but it gets quickly sorted out), and generally getting me set to go. Everyone involved is incredibly focused and moving at a pretty good clip. They've got clear procedures on whose demand for my attention takes priority, and pretty soon I'm grinning like an idiot. 

Sib4: What are you smiling about?
Me: This is exactly like being at the Mini dealer. You've got the people at the computers checking you in and reviewing the "medical" history, and then you've got all the technicians working on the cars/patients. This is exactly like taking the car in. 

Not sure why, but the similarities with the repair shop where I take Roadster (which sustained a few minor injuries on the recent road trip) are even more comforting than the fact that I got bay #7. 

The anesthesiologist is the next to appear and, forgive me, but I'm immediately struck by the fact that the two primary players in my procedure are both women. (Speaking on behalf of myself and perhaps at least a few other middle aged white males, can I just say, "It's about damn time.") She talks me through the procedure she'll be following when we get in the surgery room, and then asks me if I'm interested in an epidural. I've been told to say yes, so she explains that they'll run a tube down my back to a needle leading to my spinal column. A machine will pump pain killers down the tube and through the needle where they will essentially bathe my spinal cord pain relief. Sounds good to me, so she her colleague get me positioned and get the needle inserted.

Almost immediately Sib4 is sent to the waiting room and I'm wheeled into the surgical suite. There's a bit of frenzied activity and then I hear the anesthesiologist tell me she's going to give me something to "relax" me (there's that word again). 

The next thing I know it's 5:30 in the evening, I'm back in my bay, and 

I. Am. In. Absolute. Agony. 

I cannot remember ever hurting this badly. 


* I'll later learn that it was a right hemicolectomy, and find a YouTube video that shows the process in a quick two and a half minutes. Kinda gross, and a little slow to get rolling, but actually pretty amazing: