Family of One Has a Medical Procedure

The doctor told me that the lump, while definitely benign and of no great significance, would need to come out eventually because it could lead to big problems down the road. I filed this information away under things to do (along with reading Crime and Punishment, learning to make the perfect roast chicken, etc), but as I watched the lump grow from the size of a pea to the size of an egg over a year and a half, I decided to be proactive and have the lump removed on my terms, rather than waiting for an emergency.

The surgeon that I visited told me that I would need to assure him that I would have someone to bring me to the hospital for the out-patient surgery, stay there during the surgery, take me home, and stay with me while I got settled. I told him that I preferred to take a taxi. I am, after all, a Family of One. He replied that he could not allow me to leave the hospital under my own duress and would keep me in the hospital until I showed that I could take care of myself.

This prompted much soul searching. My beloved K, of course, said that she fly down from the greater Hudson Valley area to stay with me, but the procedure did not seem that it warranted such energy. I considered having the procedure done in any number of places throughout the United States where I would have any number of delightful friends to go with me. I pondered why I enjoy living in a place where I have so few folks to call on, let alone hang out with. I pondered postponing the procedure until the year 2025. But, I finally decided to ask one of my colleagues, the lovely L, because we happened to be chatting about her family and I realized what a caring heart she had. I asked her if she would help and she said that she would be honored.

Having never had surgery of any sort, I was somewhat anxious about being anesthized as well as having to deal with pain that I had voted to have. The lump was on my belly button which would make sitting and standing very difficult for a few days. I was, of course, forbidden to drive for several days because of the anesthesia. I also could not attend my beloved Biltmore gym for several weeks and had to proceed with great caution in terms of my usual energetic schedule.

The day before, I went for the pre-op interview which was conducted by a vivacious woman who asked very earnestly—“I see that you live alone. Do you like it?” Inwardly sighing, I gave a pat answer. While she was looking through my file, I tried to think of something pleasant, so decided to ponder Paris. She asked me why I seemed so far away and I told her that I was thinking about my upcoming trip.. She said, “oh, you will feel just fine by the time you go to Paris in January.” I sighed and said, “well, before then, I have three trips to Charleston, three trips to see my parents, a trip to Philadelphia, a trip to Los Angeles, and a trip to New York”. She was very quiet. Then she said, “are you going on these trips by yourself?” I explained that I was although some of them were for business. She said, “do you ever stop and remember how lucky you are to have this time to yourself? I have never been anywhere by myself, not even out of the city of Miami”. So we worked on a day trip to Palm Beach for her. And, I was reminded again that being a Family of One is not so bad.

I know you are wondering if I told Mother. I had very mixed feelings about telling her. It was like it was something horrible that she would need to accept. On the other hand, I would be out of commission for a few days and, if she should need me, that would not be the time to tell her. She counts on my being available 24/7, so I decided it was best to just let her know that I was having a minor procedure and she should plan to count on the housekeeper for a few days. She was fine at first, but then lashed out at me, saying how selfish and heartless it was for me to tell her because I knew that they count on me and what were they supposed to do if I couldn’t get to North Carolina if they needed me? There was a time that her outrage would have really stung, but I realized that she was scared and cornered and that was just her way of releasing her fear. I listened and tried not to take her words to heart.

On the day of the surgery, I called her before I left the triplex. She was almost jaunty, but then said, “I want you to pretend like you are holding my right hand. Here it is, take it.” I went along with her. Then, she said, “now, I want you to hold out your left hand and feel who is holding it. That’s God”. I was incredibly touched. I had actually thought she was going to say my father. She said, “God and I are holding on to you and you are going to be fine”.

I also spoke to my dad who said, “I have had very similar procedures done, but it’s different when I have to live through your having the procedure. It’s not so bad when I am the one having it”. An interesting perspective.

And, with that, L picked me up. She turned out to be the ideal companion for a medical experience. L did not natter on mindlessly while we waited. She worked on her computer and I worked on my blackberry and we occasionally exchange work stories. After two hours, I finally picked up the book that I had brought. L said, without glancing up from her computer, “you better start reading because you have not read one word. I am watching you and you look at the page and then stare off into space. You are going to drive yourself crazy”. I laughed sheepishly.

I was frightened and anxious because I had absolutely no idea what to expect. I have probably experienced most feelings—broken heart, badly sprained ankle, family death, emergency landing on a plane—but I had never experienced being put to sleep and I was very nervous. Not terrified, just concerned.

Finally, I was called back to a room where I put on the ubiquitous hospital gown and laid down on the bed. Within minutes, a very nice nurse came in and said, “For goodness sake, you don’t even have a pillow—didn’t you know to ask for one?” I said, “No because I thought you just had a lot of cost-saving measures in place”. Indeed, I was lying flat on my back holding my book up over my eyes—tres uncomfortable.

The surgeon came in for last minute questions. I asked, “can I have sex?” His reply, “can you?” My retort—“I am not asking for a recommendation, but an authorization”. But, I did confess how frightened I felt. I heard him say to someone, “Please make sure that you really knock her out because this is her first time and I don’t want her to be scared at all”.

I remember a couple of exchanges with the ever faithful L who was sitting by my side, then the next thing I remember is one of the ten worst moments of my life---the coming to. I guess no one can explain to you how horrible it is to slowly awaken with terrible shooting pains and no idea where you are. Unless, of course, you have attended a sales meeting in college publishing and stayed out too late after the awards banquet. Nah, this was much worse. I felt like my brain was stuttering and why did it hurt so much when I had been promised all this wonderful drugs?

The nurse came over and smiled, “oh, you’re finally coming to”. I bleated out, “have I suffered brain damage?” She turned away, her shoulders heaving. Christ, this was worse than anyone had told me. She couldn’t even face me. She looked at me and I tried to smile in a way that showed I could take any news, but my mouth wouldn’t move. I said, “please just go ahead and tell me because I can’t make a smile, so I know that I have brain damage”. She turned away again. This was worse than a Very Special Episode of Gray’s Anatomy. She walked back to my side and said, “your daughter will be here soon”. Then, I realized that she had been laughing, not crying, so I felt a bit better because surely she wasn’t one of the sadistic nurses that you read about in the New York Post metro section.

L came in and I tried to think of the kindest, dearest thing that I could say that would express my eternal gratitude to her. After all, it was now 8:00 and we had been told that we would be back at the triplex by 5:00. We still had hours to go. “I am going to buy you a television,” I announced.

I had to go through the horror of being moved from one bed to another, possibly one of the most painful moments of my life, but then the drugs started kicking in and I cheered up. Also, it was confirmed that I did not have brain damage and I could start to make a smile.

As we settled into the recovery room, L leaned close to me. “Stop saying that you are going to get me a television. You have said it about ten times. The nurses think that I don’t have a TV and you are making me look bad”. I thought about it for a minute. “OK,” I said, “then I will buy you a radio”. Where in the name of Jack Benny does anyone even get a radio?

After a little while, I called Mother although L had called her when the doctor gave the all clear. I immediately shouted, “please buy L a television” followed by “I have not sustained any brain damage”. The next day, Mother left me a plaintive message asking me to assure her that I had not really had brain surgery and also asked if it would be OK for her to send me the money for the TV for L because she wasn’t sure how to get one delivered to her.

Within two hours, I was walking out of the hospital. I told L just to let me out at the gate of the triplex and to get back to her life. She, wisely, said that she would leave the triplex until she saw that I was in bed. I came out of the bathroom and L had arranged on my nightstand a plethora of things that she thought I might want—Coke, water, blackberry, book, Lance’s crackers, and Reese peanut butter cups. I climbed in bed. L walked over and looked out the sliding glass door at the palm trees. She quietly said, “If I find out that you have walked down those steep steps, I’m not going to say something like I won’t help you again. Because you know I will, but, what I will do is come over and beat you up”. This is the kind of approach that I appreciate—direct and without sentimentality. As she walked down the hall, I called out, “I love you, L”. I heard a soft voice, “Love you, too”.

My recovery was complicated by, of all things, a terrible cold, which left me feeling cranky and tired. It took awhile to get the anesthesia out of my system, but, after 24 hours, I was not in any real pain. And, now I know what to expect from being put under, so I’ll cope better next time. And, as always, the wonderful doors that open when you least expect it reminded me that God or whomever you believe in will always see to it that you have family when you need it.