The great unknown

Prior to going into hospital I didn’t really know what to expect. And I dealt with the fear of the unknown by consigning myself to the belief that “everything would be fine”.  Prior to the actual operation date, it felt as if I had to do lots.  I was compensating for the fact that for a few weeks after the op, my life would be different, slower and perhaps even difficult.  I entered a mode of organisation, making sure everything was dealt with prior to surgery.  In my mind, everyday tasks became insurmountable, overwhelming tasks post-op.  The operation loomed like an angry parent at the end of a long and tiring Parents’ Evening: I raced to “get everything done” before I was incapacitated by the horrors of the hospital experience. 

It wasn’t until other people kept bringing up the subject of being operated on that I silently came to the conclusion that “everything might not end up fine”. It was like reverse psychology.  The more friends and family kept insisting I’d be “fine”, the more I kept concluding the opposite.  Of course, with any surgery comes a percentage of risk.  My surgery was pretty routine, but still involved an element of the unknown.  Would it work? Would I recover? Would something go wrong? Would I be left crooked and pained forever?!  I kept all the worries inside in a compartment of my mind that was barricaded with all the “everything will be fine”s that people kept throwing my way.  Everything would be fine; I was convinced. 

The day arrived.  Prior to this day I had had multiple coffees with friends, cleaned, changed bed linen, collected post and shopped for groceries (mainly aided with the internet) so that I knew I’d be “fine” if I couldn’t do any of these tasks for a while.  I had carefully packed my bag with new pyjamas and a dressing gown (as advised) and had planned transport for going to and coming home from the hospital.  Everything was fine.  Other than my crooked appearance and the pain pulsing down my leg, I was the same person I’d always been.  I am pretty gung-ho about confronting challenge.  I worry and fret on the run up, but on the day I am always ready and eager to face whatever presents itself.  I suppose this makes me a bit of an ambiguous character.  Even though the fears of the unknown were there, deep in the crevices of my mind, the competitive part of me wouldn’t let them take over.  I would be fine, no matter what happened.  It was decided.

I can only describe the experiences of surgery as surreal, and oddly sublime (that was probably the drugs).  The seemingly endless pre-op questions were followed by de-robing your daily attire to replace it with the oh-so-attractive combo of surgical socks and a hospital gown.  You become a patient, a bed, a list of allergies.  You become completely reliant on the hospital staff and – dare I say it – vulnerable.  Completely in the hands of the unknown, I don’t even remember the anaesthetic taking effect.  Out for a couple of hours, I remember nothing. 

I had a few transcendent minutes of relief and reprieve before the new pain set in.  The pain of a fresh wound and a jangle of tired and worn nerves that had finally been released from their pressure cooker.  Waking up, I was confused.  After some intravenous pain relief and a dreamlike journey back to the ward, I sipped my icy water through the childish straw and water had never tasted so refreshing.  I felt as though I had regressed to being a baby; reliant, defenseless and incapable.  But I was relieved.  The unknown was now known and I felt ok, fine even.  Everything was fine.