Saturday, January 7, 2012

For the previous two days, I’ve blogged about my surgery this past Wednesday.  How the local anesthetic didn’t work—entirely—thus allowing me to feel a good portion of the surgery.  I left off yesterday with what it was like to feel the initial cauterizing of my flesh.  What I didn’t share was how my mind screamed out its protest when the smell of burning flesh—mine—affronted my nostrils. 

As that happened and I struggled to overcome the urge to yell out in pain, my mind jockeyed to find a way to cope with the harsh reality that I was passively laying on a surgical table, fully aware of what was being done to me, able to feel a good portion of it, was beyond grossed out, and was allowing all the “festivities” to continue.

What is wrong with me?

Just about the time I was going to call quits to the whole I’m-fine-with-going-through-this-surgery-fully-conscious thing, my brain found a little nugget to cling to.  A shining ray of hope that outweighed what I was enduring.  I concentrated harder to ensure that what I realized was, in fact, reality and not some perverse trick of my mind as it stretched to unimaginable limits.

As I lay there on the table, my surgeon connecting the cauterizing device to spots where he needed to stop my bleeding, there was a momentary blast of pain.  It felt as if I’d grabbed something too hot.  But that was it.  The pain lasted only a split second…and then…it was blessedly gone.

Hmmm…maybe this isn’t so bad after all.  A second of intense pain to further along my surgery…I can do that.  Right?

Thrilled that I’d found a silver lining to the horror flick I was living out, a smile of relief relaxed my face despite my still being cauterized.  My surgeon, having noticed the earlier grimace on my face had slowed with the cauterizing.  But now, seeing the smile on my face, carried on.

Once done with that two-inch by two-inch area of old scare removal, he moved on to work on another area.  This section was much longer, about ten inches in length by two inches wide.  As it had before, my surgeon’s scalpel tip touched against my flesh and then…bit in.  This time, there wasn’t a burning pain as when the blade had cut me before, least…not at first.  But as my surgeon dragged the blade through my flesh, it running parallel to another section of scar that needed to be removed, there were portions that screamed alive with an intense burning pain as I felt the knife dig in.  Those moments were relatively short-lived, however. 

Really, how short is short-lived when one’s feeling a scalpel separate their flesh, splitting it as it goes?

I managed to make it through the full length of that ten-inch incision—somehow, remaining perfectly still as I’d been asked to do.  After all, I wasn’t in a hurry to make the situation any worse by squirming and having my surgeon cut the wrong area.

Once that was cut, I had to endure having another ten-inch length cut on the opposite side of that section of old scar.

OMG.  Are you serious?  Another cut?  Holy goodness!

Just as before, there were parts I felt, others I did not, or if I did, my mind was too far caved in upon itself to let me realize how much it hurt. 

When my surgeon’s scalpel stopped.  I realized that the second ten-inch length of cut was complete.  I felt a strong tugging around that section of my body, causing me to do the most unfortunate thing.  Without thinking, I tilted my head down so my chin got ever so closer to my chest.  Then I did the unforgettable—an act I’ll always regret.  Instead of maintaining my focus on the dark speck on the ceiling directly over my head as I’d done since feeling the first sting of the scalpel, I let my gaze drop.  When I did, the horror that greeted me was all consuming.

Again, I felt the unmistakable pulling sensation, as if my flesh was being pulled up and away from my body.  Then there was a releasing sort of spring as I saw a flash of my surgeon’s hand.  In his fingertips was gripped the far end of that section of flesh he’d just cut from me.

OMG!  OMG!  OMG!  Is that me?  Really and truly…me…my flesh…not some Hollywood trick meant to fool me? 

Though I wish my eyes had obeyed my command to look away, they didn’t.  Instead, I focused on that strip of flesh—my flesh—and gagged.

Gross!  OMG!  Breathe….  In…out…in...out….  It’s gonna be okay.  I can get through this—I think.

My eyes shifted from the strip of flesh to my surgeon and then his assistant.  Each stood there, faces totally relaxed, as if they were watching the most natural thing in the world.  That was a far as I got before my next thought.

Why in God’s name am I the only one freaking out here?  This isn’t normal!  Least…not for me….

Tune in tomorrow as the saga of my nightmarish surgery story continues….