"You will wake up in ICU"

Oh. Okay.
I’m not sure how else one responds to that, but what goes through my mind is: ICU on the way in to the hospital, bad, ICU on the way out, okay.


I had my set of pre-op appointments, which turned out to be mostly an exercise in hurry up and wait. Visit with the pharmacist .... wait ... visit with the recovery nurse .... wait ... visit with the anasthesiologist ... wait ...  and the waiting room TV gives me an indication of just what daytime TV is going to be like for my recovery.  Shoot me now.   I'm accepting all offers of loaner DVDs ... TV series, movies, whatever ... just save me from Maury Povich and Judge Judy.


The pharmacist. Apparently I’m an alien. She asked,  “You’re not on any medications .... none ...  no supplements .... no vitamins ....  nothing for the pain.”.  Um, no, no, no and no.  That makes me an alien I suppose, but it also makes me an easy patient, and that can’t be anything but good for me. She signed her blank form.


The recovery nurse. She stabbed me, put sticky pads all over me, and gave me the low-down on the recovery process. Thus the “you will wake up in ICU, and they’ll probably keep you there overnight”.  I guess it’s better to know, but the term “ICU” doesn't bother me. Heck, wake me up wherever you want as long as I have the right people paying attention to me, checking what needs to be checked, and pumping me full of powerhouse painkillers.

I will get to wear the oh-so-sexy hospital gown for the first few days. You know, the open at the back, tie at the neck-and-waist gowns, made of pale blue cotton that has seen better days. Such a flattering colour for all skin types. I’ll be a sight to see … hospital gown, mens boxers and my Birkenstocks, stoned on morphine. I promise, I’ll have my legs waxed before surgery so I don’t totally look like a tree hugging, granola eating, Birkenstock wearing, pot smoking  …


“You’ll have a morphine pump, and don’t be a hero, use it”. Oh trust me … I won’t be a hero.  There isn’t anything about this surgery that is making me nervous except the pain of the first few post-surgery days. Life experience tells me that things are never as bad as I built them up and expected them to be, but it’s human nature to fuss, fret and worry.


The Anaesthesiologist.  The one person to whom you tell no lies. They have your life in their hands. You want to know how much I weight?  I'll tell you, but you have to promise to deduct 5 lbs if anyone asks .   Any allergies? Any previous issues with anaesthetic?  The usual questions you would expect.  A little unnerving to know just how many tubes, IVs, stents and other sundry things will be assisting me through the surgery process, but as long as she keeps me breathing and my heart beating ... I'm good.


At the end of it all, lots of questions answered.  Google is brilliant about finding me research papers, medical journals, and studies about ependymomas, and the surgical process to remove them (you can even watch it on youtube.com if you want), but nothing about the human element, or the recovery process. 

Thank you to the pre-op staff for adding the "people", understanding what happens after surgery, and telling me "oh, you're SO young".  Gotta love that :)