COMPASSION – UP CLOSE & PERSONAL

For those of you who dread the after-effects of anesthesia, you will appreciate some of the details about this post-surgery scenario.  Now I realize that some people can awake from anesthesia and are slowly cognizant of their bearings, but I am not one of them.

The story will be short and sweet (poor word used here, I know), but the kindness of one friend simply overwhelmed me with love until I collected myself during the moments when most people would have already left the recovery area.

I know, ahead of time, that after any surgery, I’m not going to feel well.  My stomach seems to revolt at the invasion of sharp items on, and in my body.  I won’t go into details about the eruption of events.  Your own imagination can take over quite nicely.

For any of you that have had surgery, you know that you need to show up about two hours prior to “getting your repair work” done in the surgical room.  During this time, you’re adorned with an “almost gown” that has been out of style for some time, then a nurse arrives to play pin-cushion in an attempt to get an IV started in your arm.   All is well at this point.

If you’re alone, your eyes are scanning your personal horizon taking in all the details of your waiting room.  Then Mr. Anesthesiologist enters your domain and announces his arrival and title.   He usually asks if you have any questions.  At this point, your memory has gone on vacation and forgot to take you with it.  I appreciate anesthesiologists, but they sure are “powerful people” in their ability to night-night you at their chosen moment.

Prior to speaking to this “night night physician” I usually carry a piece of paper into the hospital with me.  I’ll tell you what’s written down:

DON’T FORGET TO GIVE ME THE ANTI-NAUSEA MEDS

For the surgeries I’ve experienced, my husband has always been allowed to remain with me until they take me into the surgical area.  Just before I’m about to be transferred via the hospital limousine, the gurney, I announced a critical request to my husband.   It is the following:

When I’m brought back to the room, make sure you have the ice cream bucket ready for me.

The attending nurse encouraged me with an affirming nod that everything is ready.  That means, you’re going to go “night night” shortly.  Some anesthesiologists give you a math test.   They invite you to start at the number ten and count backwards.   Of course, you’ll fail their test, as you can only get to nine and “out you go.”   At this point, I’d have it no other way. 

Not long after the “put-you-out-doctor” leaves you presence, your surgeon makes a prompt appearance.  He’s all dressed up for you in his best “all whites” or “all greens,” depending on the fashion color chosen by the hospital staff.    “We’re all ready for you,” he or she announces.    And you know what that means!   There is a reception waiting for you in a bright little room.   You probably won’t see the room, but you’ll be fully present in just a few minutes.

From this point on, you know nothing — and you’re quite happy about that.

Several hours have passed and the limousine trolley is transporting you from the intensive care area to your room.   Now here is where you’re alert enough to know that the surgery is over, you’re alive and grateful; but your tummy is beginning to announce that’s things southward aren’t peaceful.

It’s now that I’m urgently requesting the “ice cream bucket.”  My husband assures me that it’s right by my side.   My predictions are coming into focus, and I’m not a happy camper.  This particular time I knew my husband was present as well as a dear friend.  I could see her in the background.  Then, as predicted, my insides displayed their unhappiness about the event. 

Here is where I needn’t be detailed.  But there is one detail that I will forever remember.  In my attempts to rendezvous with the ice cream bucket in an up-close and personal manner, the  appearance of my lovely friend came into focus.   She knew I wasn’t feeling well and as I was doing some “releasing….shall we say,” she was saying things like…..”It’s okay….try and get it all out, and I’m here. 

She would gently pat my shoulder.  During all of this time, she was only about 6 inches from my face.  She wanted to assure me that I was “not alone.”   Her presence meant the world to me.   Even to this day, I can close my eyes and see her up close and personal giving constant assurance.   By the way, she had a great grip on that ice cream bucket as well.

She continues to be a dear friend to me; one that I don’t have to be at my best for her to love me.   The experience was as if God Himself came close and held me.   And He did…..through the eyes and arms and tender words of my friend.