Breathe easy...

The last time I had a surgical procedure done I was eight – I was a little out of practice last week.

For the past three years I have battled sinus issues and I finally bit the bullet and had it taken care of surgically. I was actually looking forward to it because post-surgery promised the ability to breathe. That was something I could live with.

The day of surgery I made my way to the surgical center with my parents in tow. One of the upsides to being single at this age is having Mom or Dad to take care of you. I signed my life away with the nurse and she directed me to wait to be called in the waiting room, or should I say the mixing pot of crazy. You know how your Moms or Dads always say you shouldn’t talk to strangers? Well, the guy in the waiting room was far from a stranger and it took only ten minutes for his “stranger danger” status to change. Everyone within earshot got to hear about his cousins, his cousin’s cousins and then some cousin’s, cousin’s cousins. Someone named Max had twelve cousins and they were all, well this was the part I tuned out because they came and rescued, I mean, called me back to the pre-op area.

The pre-op area was fun. Here they asked me to spell my name fifty times. At first I wondered if they were trying to be funny, and that maybe somebody slipped me something that was supposed to make me goofy. Then I realized I hadn’t been banded yet, and when I correctly spelled my name for the nurse for the fifty-first time she labeled me. I was pretty glad they labeled me too, I didn’t want to be part of some hospital switch where ten years later parents realize they have the wrong kid. It could happen!

Most that know me know I have a slight phobia of needles. Especially ones resembling meat injectors, but I made it through the IV installation without a hitch – or drugs. That’s when I figured I was in a) pretty good hands and b) in the right place. I got to watch my own flat screen TV (ESPN) and then Mom and Dad showed up.

Then some girl got wheeled by, obviously on something. The nurse called it “happy juice” and I was wondering where mine was. I guess they thought I didn’t need it. The Asian nurse anesthetist came over and asked me some questions. I answered all of them because I could completely understand the questions. Dad, on the other hand, got nothing. Good thing Mom and Dad didn’t have to answer for me; God only knows what they would have shot me up with.

Once I got into the operating room they asked me if I was cold, about five times, and then the guy with the good stuff put some oxygen on me and told me it would stink like a shower curtain. I couldn’t smell it anyway, but I appreciated his detail. He then told me I would feel a sting and that’s when I started seeing double. This stuff was awesome. Then the last thing I remember was hearing the guy tell me to “pick out a good dream,” but I didn’t even have time to pick anything out.

When I woke up I was in one piece, had all my extremities and I could breathe…through my nose, and that was the best part of the day.