I arrived in the preoperative room which turned out to be the postoperative room too. A young Spanish speaking woman and her husband huddled behind a curtain as she recovered from an apparent emergency c-section to deliver twins. I could feel the anxiety and anticipation rising in my throat as I knew in minutes, I would be wheeled into the surgery room. The Good Prof had dressed in his gown, hat, and booties for surgery so of course I had to take a picture. Everything must. be. documented. The very handsome and dashing anesthesiologist came into the room and discussed the risks of a spinal. All I heard was "you might feel like you are not breathing." WHAT!? I might feel like I cannot breathe. Really? Fabulous. I'm sure I'll handle that swimmingly. After signing some papers stating that I understand I might die or die a lot, he gave me some bitter lemon drink to prevent me from regurgitating or something fabulous like that. Tasty.
After what seemed like eons they wheeled me into the surgery room where if I recall, I noticed a bad painting Jesus. I wonder if the surgeons ever say: I wonder what suture Jesus would use? Probably not out loud. I hauled myself up onto the most narrow surgery table I had ever seen. Now remember, this surgical room is used to do surgery on big pregnant women. At this point I had new worry: falling off the table mid-surgery. Oopsies! Patient slipped off the table! We'll just work on the floor. No biggy!
The anesthesiologist prepped me for the spinal and administered the happy drugs. I felt my legs start to tingle and lo and behold, the whole breathing thing. Casually I announced, "You know the breathing thing you were talking about? I'm feeling that." The doctor told me to squeeze his finger and said I was fine. Then, I started to feel my throat tighten. Oh no it di'nt! Again, I mentioned this like it was no big deal and again, he had me squeeze his finger and told me that it is the same sort of sensation as feeling like you cannot breathe and I am fine. Two minutes later I told him in a very matter of fact manner that I thought I was going to vomit. I guess my blood pressure dropped a bit and that happens. Thankfully, no puking and about this time The Good Prof arrived in the room along with three surgeons, various nurses, and of course, Jesus hung with us on the wall. Did that sound sacrilegious?
The Good Prof stood next to me and stroked my head because apparently I looked like a deer caught in the headlights. After a few minutes, the surgeon made the incision. She made it through the layers of Wessy Mama parts and opened what had been Wes's home for the last nine months. She announced that it was good that we did a c-section because the umbilical cord had fallen below his head. Next the doctor told me that I would feel some pushing and pulling. No kidding. This is when I thought for sure they could not possibly keep me on the table and surgery would now be moved to the floor, thank you very much!
Well apparently, they are professionals and kept me securely on the operating table. The anesthesiologist told Jay to stand up so he could watch Wes be pulled from me. And then BOOM. Okay, not boom. Tada! He was out and yes, he wailed. I mean pissed off, what the hell it was WARM, and cozy and oh yeah, WARM in there pissed. The doctor brought him around for me to see and he was there and he was mine and I loved him instantly.
The nurse took him to the warming table, wiped him off, and The Good Prof joined HIS SON to take photographs of him. I cannot tell you how much I wanted to get off that table and be right next to him. Unfortunately they do not give you that option when you have an open incision. They said something about organs falling out. Yeah whatever, don't thy know about duct tape? While The Good Prof went off with Wes to the nursery, the doctors began the process of closing me up. At this point, I looked up at the surgical lights and realized that I could see what the doctor was doing. Oh hai internal organs! You look like cheezburger? Again, I announced my observation but with less tension in my voice. And then I added, well if I had known I could see myself there, I would have watched Wes be pulled of me. How inconsiderate of them not to let me watch them cut me open. So not traumatic or anything.
Finally, about an hour and a half after I entered the surgery room, I was done and brought to the recovery room where it seemed to take for-ev-er to warm up. But guess what. They have this awesome thing called a bear hugger which is basically a blow up blanket with hot air. I could not convince the nurse to let me take it home with me. Some people are just not considerate.
After what seemed like many years and weeks, and days and hours, I returned to my private room, thank GAWD, and my sweet boy was brought to me. My beautiful, sweet, boy who is the light of my life.