(Part 2 of Surgery in the Time of Pandemic: A Personal Account in Four Parts)
Part 2: Scalpel
If you have ever received general anesthesia, you’ve likely been told that once it’s administered, you enter into a deep sleep. I have always wondered, however, why people do not report having dreams under anesthesia. There is still quite a bit of mystery around what exactly happens in our brains during this time. Describing it as going to sleep is meant to help the patient feel relaxed. Understandably, that explanation is less concerning than finding out that the process is, in fact, a reversible drug-induced coma. Gasp.
This was not my first time going through general anesthesia. I was aware that the vast majority of patients seem to enter some sort of black hole while unconscious. That’s not the right medical term, I’m sure, but once those drugs kick in, it’s lights out until you slowly regain consciousness in the recovery room much later. Don’t get me wrong; if I’m supposed to be completely unconscious during a major operation, I’m not about to argue with that. And this is coming from someone who, while awake during a c-section, wished that the surgical team hadn’t set up that blue curtain blocking my view of my baby being pried out of my belly. No, the sight of blood does not bother me and, well, I wanted to see what was going on. That’s fascinating stuff!
I did mention to the anesthetist that I recall waking up once in the middle of an operation. I was eleven years old and undergoing middle ear surgery when I distinctly recall opening my eyes after the procedure had already started. I briefly looked up at the nurse, who noticed what was happening and called it out, then I quickly fell back into unconsciousness. This is a situation called “anesthesia awareness”, which, though rare, does occasionally happen. That memory has stuck with me so I was a bit worried I’d wake up during this procedure as major organs were being cut out from inside my abdomen. That may have been fascinating, but more than likely horrifying. Gratefully, I stayed in that little black hole the entire procedure. I woke up a few hours later in the recovery unit, with no memory whatsoever of the time I was comatose.
I have no idea how long it took before I regained consciousness (I forgot to ask the nurse sitting next to me who was keeping track of my vital signs). I do remember feeling an odd gripping sensation on my calves as I struggled to open my eyes. I was hooked up to an intermittent pneumatic compression device as part of the protocol to prevent blood clots in patients recovering from surgery. I couldn’t decide if it was comforting or annoying, but I knew it was necessary. These must have been for individual use as well since the cuffs looked to be of similar material as the disposable blood pressure cuffs.
Once I was alert and speaking with the nurse, we had to wait for my room assignment. I was aware that this hospital had already designated a separate floor for COVID-19 patients, so at least I knew I would be on a floor with standard cases. As soon as we received my room information, the nurse handed me a phone so that I could call my husband.
Three nurses held me steady as I took a few steps to my bed once I arrived in my private room. It is so important to get the patient up and moving soon after surgery (even if it’s just a few steps the first day). I was relieved to see my husband, who had already spoken to my surgeon by phone and was aware the surgery was successful. He was able to spend a few minutes with me, updating my family with text messages, before finally getting kicked out by my nurse.
Each time nurses came into my room they made sure to use the hand sanitizer from a dispenser mounted by the entrance. There were at least two other dispensers inside the room, disposable gloves within their reach, and a conveniently located sink. Environmental services staff came by several times a day to empty out garbage cans and linen bins.
One of the oncology residents stopped in to check on me and I asked for details regarding my surgery results. Apparently my surgeon updated me after the procedure but I was too sleepy and kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Wow. I have absolutely no recollection of that. Black holes, man; they are dark and full of nothingness.
I was given the wonderful news that based on a quick frozen section by the Pathology lab, my two sizable ovarian masses did not contain cancer cells. They were what’s called serous borderline, which could turn cancerous but at the moment were benign. Since they also removed my ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, and omentum (Is there even anything left?), the chance of recurrence was very, very low. I was out of the woods. And also a few pounds lighter. Whoop!
