When a doctor says "I accidently cut you"......

It’s been 7 months since my surgery. I can remember my dad driving me to the hospital. It felt like a 5 minute car ride but I think I was so deep in prayer I didn’t even realize the time, we got there so fast. After signing in I curled up on the long chair they had in the waiting room. I looked at my dad and said “Just another day poppa” he just smiled and continued to read the paper. I arrived at 6am and got called back at 6:35am. I looked at my dad and said I'll see you in a minute just going to go get prepped for some fun ;o)

As the nurses applied their little stickers to my body and stuck me with needles, all I could think about was did I finish my checklist? Did I make sure Adam had my life insurance paperwork ready should anything happen? Did I leave a copy of my living will attached to the paperwork? Did I remember to leave specific instructions for funeral arrangements should the need arise? Did I remember to attach my goodbye letters to my family and friends that I call family? Was I ready for the unexpected? Most importantly was my family?

I never thought writing a living will could be so HARD! It took me 3 days to complete that checklist. As the nurse’s were finishing up I had to finish the last thing on my list. I told the nurse should anything happen I want to sign a DNR should the need arise. The nurse looked at me and said “You really don’t have to”. I smiled and said “It’s hard on my parents to have to worry about me having surgery. I am overweight, female and Hispanic and you know that is a triple threat. I don’t want any surprises and I am just covering all bases. I won’t leave that burden on my parents or my siblings. I know what I am asking for and I take full responsibility. I need to sign that DNR!” As much as it hurt to say my goodbyes to my family in those letters….. that signature took the cake. I knew what I was signing and I did not hesitate. If it was my time, then let me be with God.

My dad came in shortly after and sat with me as the anesthesiologist had me sign the final paperwork. I had no negative thoughts going on in my head. I had faith on my side. This was going to be a piece of cake. Dad and I talked for a minute but then it was time for take off. My dad prayed for me and gave me a kiss on my forehead before they rolled me off. I told him I’d see him in an hour. “I love you daddy”. His facial expression was one I have seen before. Although it was not something I had ever seen him express for me, because I have never been to the hospital for broken bones or gotten stitches… For the first time in my life I saw that my dad was more worried for me then I was. I think more because I showed no fear. I talked to god and I knew whatever the outcome…. I was prepared for it, maybe even over prepared.

As I was being rolled through the hallways I noticed everyone rushing in panic for what I had no clue, and then there it was the operating room. I then started to pray for the nurses and doctors that would be doing my surgery. I knew I had to make it quick before the medication kicked in. That operating room had the brightest lights I have ever seen, nothing like the movies. It was so cold. I looked around and before I could scoot over on to the operating table that amazing anesthesiologist smiled at me and said goodnight…. And that was it… Lights OUT!..... There was no counting back from one hundred….

I felt weight on my chest and I felt warmth. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even open my eyes. My mind was racing but I wanted to scream “I want my DAD!” I felt like my brain would not function. What the heck is going on? What is wrong? I felt someone touch my left leg. My head kept going side to side. FINALLY my eyes opened for a split second, Then again. My eyes caught the clock on the wall.. 3:45pm WHAT??? What has happened? It was only suppose to be an hour surgery and 2 hour recovery? It’s been 8 hours. I kept trying to wake up and I just could not find the strength. 4:00pm My brain finally kicked in.. Nurse! Nurse! Please I want to see my dad! PLEASE LET ME SEE MY DAD! She walked away from me. I thought did she not hear me? Was my brain playing tricks on me? Oh I hate this feeling of not being able to control my actions. When the nurse came back I grabbed a hold of her shirt and said again “BRING ME MY DAD NOW!”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t understand what was going on. Nothing was making sense. Then there stood my dad. “Poppa what happened? Why is it so late?” all he could say was “Just get rest baby, everything is ok now.” I still persisted. “What happened?” He just kept saying to close my eyes and rest. I didn’t understand. The nurse asked him to leave and that he could see me once I got into my own room… I thought MY OWN ROOM? WHAT! I WANNA GO HOME! Somebody please tell me what is going on? Then it was lights out again. I don’t remember much on how I got to my room but I do remember everyone at my bedside when I finally woke up although still drugged because I later learned I was hooked up to a morphine drip.

As I lay in bed going in and out of a daze, I could see the fake smiles everyone was giving me to mask their true feelings. I didn’t know what was going on. But what I did know was that they were worried for me. The nurses made sure that I was more than comfortable. As everyone kept talking I was coming out of that comatose feeling. I started talking and laughing. I still didn’t understand what was going on but it didn’t matter I was so blessed to be in a room full of love. I called my grandma told her I was ok and I would see her soon. To not worry and that I loved her. She was a little upset that she was not there but only because I told her that I would be home the same day. It was going to be an easy in and out procedure. My fault I’ll admit it. If not she would have been there every step of the way. The night continued with laughter until the doctor walked into the room.

Now I can't imagine what my attitude would have been like had I not fallen in love with Jesus. My surgeon had tried to explain what happened in the operating room but when he said he accidently cut into my large intestine, faces changed from smiles to judgment. He continued to say that he had to cut me open from bellybutton down about 10 inches to go in and fix my large intestine. (My facial expressions did not change) He proceeded to tell me that I had 28 staples in my stomach and that I would be allowed to rest today and but that I would have to start walking tomorrow. I wasn’t impressed with the walking but if it allowed me to go home faster I was all over it.

I could have easily been upset even angry. I’m sure the old me would have had ugly nasty words flying out like a quick whip. Even though I had morphine drip in my veins, the only words that came out of my mouth was “Thank you”. My mom and dad were not so happy with the “accident” and their facial expressions were not so kind which is understandable. Although in my heart I believe the surgeon did his job regardless of the accident. Thanks to him I am alive. I can still breathe on my own and I can move and I can still walk. He did not give me a worse quality of life. I still have my chest pains and on occasion I have some abdominal pain that wasn’t there before but so far I have been able to deal with it.

I don’t think the surgeon was ready for my positive attitude. To be honest I think he had forgotten how to smile. Our prior appointments before surgery had seemed so cold. He was very distant with his responses when I asked him a question. The next day in the hospital my surgeon came to check on my wound and pulled out packing from in between my staples… I know I know eeeewwwww right! Well How do you think I felt when I saw them being pulled out of my stomach! Not so fun but didn’t hurt. It was weird but I assume a necessity. I asked for water or maybe something small to eat but the doctor informed me that due to the trauma to the intestine I could not eat anything for a few days I was only allowed ice chips and only a spoon full every few hours. I really wasn’t hungry but some jello would have been nice. EVERY HOSPITAL HAS JELLO!

The next 2 days was not so fun. I really hated the morphine drip so I asked to have it removed. The nurse said that I had to have the medication and that she would change the medication. I hated feeling like I was going in and out of a coma. I didn't feel normal. Even though you could not unglue the smile on my face I was still in great spirit and ready for what this journey had in store for me. By this time I have already started to walk up and down the halls with this tummy tucker thing wrapped around my body. I have also made a midnight friend who had just had her gastric bypass surgery. We were walking buddies :o) I have just been smiles and laughter since this whole fun began. On the third day my surgeon came to check in on my wound and when he ran his finger down along side the staples of the 10 inch incision I clinched grabbed a hold of the bed frame and started to cry. My dad came rushing in and wanted to hurt that man but it had to be done to make sure that my stomach nerves were starting to work again. He apologized and said everything was looking good. I sucked it up and smiled and said good! My surgeon still amazed with how well I was taking everything.

On the fifth day still with only being able to eat ice chips not that I was hungry because I was to afraid to eat thinking that I would tare open a stitch on the inside, I was told if I wanted to go home I had to fart. I thought to myself sweet… that’s going to be easy. So I thought. Just as I was afraid to eat I was afraid to pass gas. I didn’t want my insides to come out. It wasn’t until the end of the sixth day when I farted and I was so excited I couldn’t wait to tell my surgeon. Once I did I said “Can I have a (yes just one “A”) cracker for passing gas?” He laughed and said “I got something better” The nurse came back with a red Popsicle. Oh my goodness I was in heaven. Yes it was still ice but this time it was flavored. I had the biggest kool-aid smile on my face. When my dad came to visit me I was like “I got a popsicle today poppa!” He laughed at me because he knew that I was ready to come home. But no luck doc said one more day.

When we started this game I was told one hour in surgery and 2 hours for recovery time. I would be back to work in no time. As the lord would have it I spent a week in the hospital a month and a half out of work. I spent that next month and a half in a wheelchair. I visited my surgeon every week. And NOT once did my smile tarnish. My friend who visited me in the hospital could not understand that even at my lowest moment that it was I who still comforted her when I was the one who needed the comfort. So she thought. I told her that the lord has given me a strong back to carry the heavy load, for had it not been for him I would not be alive today.