After surgery

It's been a hard day's night...but without the Beatles music. On Friday, May 19th, I went in to have surgery. It was the end of a long, long process of waiting, one that was extended for too long. But, it finally came to pass.

I had been needing this surgery for the past three years, ever since I noticed how much my abdomen was bulging out. I had consulted with my surgeon and he acknowledged it, he said I had a massive hernia. The muscles had not closed properly, I had probably busted open the attempt to sew them back together, and it was true, I remember that in the months after my surgery in June of 2018, I had felt things coming apart inside. But it was causing a big, big problem now. My intestines were bulging out, I had lost control of the contours of my body (even more so than would evident in being simply obese), and the bulge looked frightening to anyone who saw it. I was frightened too.

It was said that I needed a consult with a hernia surgeon but then, the Covid-19 pandemic descended upon us like an evil plague in March of 2020. There was no way to even schedule my initial consultation, we were all frightened by the news coming out of New York with casualties of over 500 people per day by this plague. We were just waiting for it to work itself west to us, and I was frightened by the danger to my elderly mom. We were not going to lose another parent, she was the last one we had. The universe was being cruel to us.

Without a doubt 2020 was a cruel year, in particular, towards the end. The plague hit us despite a respite in the summer, and we thought we had a small chance of escaping, but then, the winter of 2020 proved otherwise. We had massive spikes in Covid deaths here in California, fully the equal of what we had seen in those unreal early weeks of March when we saw it in New York. We were all cowering in fear, and I couldn't imagine how we would stay safe other than to bunker down. That meant, avoiding as much contact as possible with others.

I saw the hernia specialist and the hernia diagnosis was confirmed. I needed ventral hernia repair, and it would be a big procedure. However, he put up conditions. One of those: massive weight loss. He wanted me to lose about thirty pounds before he would agree to it. Also, of course, I had to tame my blood sugar levels, they were out of control after I had binged so much on comfort foods in the period of deathly fear during the plague. I admit, I was at fault, but I was so frightened, as were my family members, and we feared impending death. I lost cousins to Covid as well as uncles and aunts. We lost friends as well, including our longtime neighbor who lived across the street from us. I had to keep my mood up, we were so depressed, and I did use comfort food to do so. My whole family did. We were weak and we needed help, and the vaccine was still some time away. Meanwhile, we were having hundreds of deaths announced every day here in California. Can you blame us?

The delay lasted for another year. Nothing was done in 2021, even though I did manage to bring down my H1C blood sugar levels to below 7.0. I did lose some weight as well, but very little. It was proving much too difficult, as had been the case all my life. We bungled through 2021, but that fall, he agreed to operate on me. 

Time moved forward and I was waiting for a surgery date. Finally, it was set for the winter of my discontent, that is, the winter of 2022. I tried to steel myself moving forward, while trying to reassure myself that nothing would happen, I would survive. However, misgivings and a sense of uneasiness was starting to corrode me inside. I have always been prone to dark thought, but now, this black thought was overwhelming me, telling me that maybe I should just be satisfied with what I had, the fact that I and my family had survived Covid. What if something went wrong with this surgery?

Also, the thought grew overpowering. I needed to know how my pancreas was doing. If they install a mesh inside me, won't that make it more difficult to operate on me if I need another operation? I still have a small speck of neoplasm in my pancreas that they didn't remove, so I was just worried, plus the vague sense of danger would not abandon me. The surgeon just seemed too jaunty, with not enough gravitas, and I didn't like that. If you are a surgeon, or a doctor in general, I want them to be the serious type, I don't want people who are smiling and laughing and making jokes. That makes me question their capacity.

So, it was originally going to take place in December, but then, they forgot to schedule the preparatory procedure, which is a series of botox injections into my abdomen. What that does, I don't know, but apparently it loosens things inside so that they have room to work with. The skin is not pasted to my organs and intestines, and they forgot to schedule it. Another postponement, it would have to be done in January of 2023, with the botox injections in December of 2022.

Well, I went in to get the injections in December and it was during finals week, not the best timeframe to say the least. When I went in, I had a quick consult with the physician who would be doing it. First, I needed a driver to take me home, but I didn't have one. Second, I needed to have the procedure explained to me. I didn't like what I heard. I would be lying on my back and big needles would be piercing my sides and an icy chemical that I likened in my mind to serpents' venom being inflicted on Prometheus would be injected into me. I would need anesthesia and it would take an hour. I would be hooked up to an ultrasound machine and he said it would hurt. That was the last straw and I lashed out and cancelled it, telling them I could not take it, the procedure had not been described adequately and I needed to have a clear head because I was in finals week and needed to still give exams to my students. So, Dr. Echeverria acceded, and it was canceled. This meant, of course, no surgery. That date of January 6th, 2023 was off. My hernia surgeon called me a few days later and chewed me out on the phone after that episode.

Finally, after having what has been the most trying and difficult semester of teaching, that being Spring Semester of 2023 (a term that will live in infamy), I was informed that they had rescheduled for May. They wanted to do it initially on Cinco de Mayo but I immediately protested, telling them that this was at a very difficult juncture in the semester. It is towards the end when we are winding down and I would still have a week of teaching plus finals week. I asked them to postpone to late May, and somehow, miraculously, they agreed. They gave me a date of May 19th. It was still not a good time for me, I would have liked to do it after I had turned in grades, but that was the best I was going to get. I had to accept ir or face another long, long postponement, maybe to 2024. I had no choice.

So, it was difficult and added to all the other stress I had this semester, what with losing a class, with fighting union battles at work, with my usual stress with my health conditions, including a painful sore throat that won't go away and that has lasted for over a year. Plus, the overwhelming stress with my students. If I didn't have the most stressful group I have had in a long time, it would have been better, but these students, they sense when you are stressed and they circle around you like vultures waiting for a kill. They sense your weakness and want to take advantage, and of course, I can't lose my temper although I was sorely tempted many times.

But finally, the time came. I gave my four final exams and corrected three of them. I would leave one set "on the docket", waiting for me for when I recovered and returned home. There was no way around it. There were the usual problems with students, I was on online mode for the last two weeks, but I made it it here. I had my sister go with me and then, I was called into the room. Take off all your clothes, including your underwear, say goodbye to any shred of self dignity and put on the gown. They put this patch on the small of my back and I felt so bad that the nurse had to see my bare bum.

The waiting was long, way too long. I knew it was going to get to me, and the longer I waited, the worse I felt. How do I react? The way I usually do. I need to urinate, frequently but no copiously. But it still feels overwhelming. I started asking for urinals, and I wanted to keep it by my side while I waited, but they insisted on taking it away from me to empty then not replacing it. So, every fifteen minutes, I was urinating and asking for the urinals. I asked for three, and the third one was the one they let me keep by my side. I guess they see I needed it for mental stability. I was just panicking as they waited to wheel me into the table. Would they be playing loud classic rock music the way they had when I went into the room for my pancreatic (Whipple) surgery? I though, since I am so heavy, they are sure to want to keep me awake, they will want me to help to maneuver myself onto the table. But no, they started wheeling my gurney and telling me it was time to get started, and then, I was waking up and they were asking me how I felt.

It was a long procedure, about five and a half hours. I had known it was going to be this long, and that was another thing that was worrying me. I kept on asking them, will it really take that long? That seems like such a long time, and they had told my dad back in 2019 that his bypass procedure would take that long as well. Surely mine should not take that long, since mine was not supposed to be as delicate as the surgery my dad was having? They said, sometimes they overestimate the approximate time they anticipate people will need. But I ended up needing it all.

I was put completely under, but even though I was confused and didn't have my dad's worried face to greet me the way I remember from other procedures, such as the colonoscopy I had had, I still felt so much relief. It was over, but it felt bad. I had a tight, tight binder around my torso that was almost choking me, but my stomach was not jutting out so grotesquely anymore. It felt as if I had been run over, but it was manageable. I was groggy but I did my best and, yes, I needed to ask for another urinal to pee. Then, they were helping me dress, even though I was extremely wobbly. I tried to be brave but would have been very easy to fall. 

Then I was being wheeled out and it was fast. I went out the front of the emergency room entrance, and there was my sister waiting in her car. Another sister, not Christina, it was Irma, and my mom was there too. So, I was able to get into the car and go be whisked away. I just felt the most intense relief that I was on my way home, even though it hurt.

It took a while for the sense of grogginess to go away. I was able to take some Ibuprofin, but afterwards, on Saturday and today, Sunday, I needed to start taking the Oxycodone. This is the powerful pain medication that caused such a swathe of destruction in the US, especially in "white" areas of the Midwest, the deindustrializing zone where the white working classes are losing their spirit and they are going for pain med addictions. But I need to take it, I could not go without it.

I had a bowel movement as soon as I arrived home on Friday, and it was regular, no longer loose. Then I had a small bowel movement on Saturday. Nothing today Sunday, though. I am taking Exlax chocolate wafers and waiting for the diarrhea to kick in but no such luck. 

It was hot today! We had a gloomy day on Saturday and Sunday, but the gloom dries up and dissipates by 2 p.m. and it gets very hot. However, what has been tormenting me is my sore throat. It hurts me right now, and it is this same throat pain that has been tormenting me during the last few years, but is getting worse. Sometimes, I can't even talk, it leaves me with so much pain.

And we are here, waiting for something to happen. I was sleeping very fitfully, I keep on waking up at 1 or 2 a.m. and can't return to sleep. I feel so much pain in my abdomen also. I think I know what it is. It has to be all the air from flatulence that can't be released. I am trying, but it won't exit. I feel bloated like a balloon, and since I can't shower, I am feeling dirty too.

I did get up today (Sunday) and decide to check my university account so that I could stop procrastinating and go ahead and finish my grading. It was, sincerely, the last thing I wanted to do, but I got in and forced myself to do it. No use having it handing over my head, it just weighs on me and depresses me so much. It took me a long time, from about 9:45 a.m. to about 1:45 p.m., so it was four hours of hard work, but I grated those final exams. Then, I checked scores and started modifying and making adjustments, and finally, I had my sheets with the grades I will turn in. I will do on on Monday.

And that is where I am, waiting to finish up. It feels like such a relief to have gotten that off my back, but my throat pain and my abdominal pain! I am especially scared about my throat pain. It just feels as if my throat is being sawed off. But I am done, it is almost 8 p.m., although there is still light outside. The temperature is more bearable now, I am just waiting before I do to bed. It will probably be more of the same, two or three hour naps before I wake up at 1 a.m. and can no longer go back to sleep. But I will hopefully have made some progress. My throat pain, however. Could it be strep throat? I am so scared to think it might be something so much more serious.

That is it for now. I'm going to upload some cellphone photos from the last few weeks.