Worrying about Surgery and Anesthesia
On December 22nd, 2014, I found myself heading into uncharted territory as my mom and I climbed into our Blue Toyota Camry. We had to drive from our house in Springfield, MA to Mass General Hospital in Boston MA. Where they would be giving me a powerful amount of anesthesia and then putting a breathing tube down my throat in the OR to knock me out and remove a tumor.
That’s all that I could think of during the whole trip across the state, which took a little less than two hours.
I was about to have major neurosurgery to boot out a pesky tumor that had rented space inside my brain. This was going to be the most major surgery I’d ever had. At age ten my intestines had ruptured and I was raced into emergency surgery, but this scared me even worse.
Other Emergency Surgeries
For most of my life, I’d been sick. When I was eight it started with muscle fatigue and loss of appetite. By the time I was ten I had my first hospital visit. I had gotten down to 38 pounds and passed out in an elevator after my biweekly blood draw.
Everyone tried to tell me I had an eating disorder until my gastroparesis that everyone tried to pass off as an eating disorder until they put a tube into my stomach to feed me, and my insides literally exploded. That was when I had that emergency surgery I mentioned.
“Magic Medicine” Anesthesia
During that surgery, the anesthesia doctor just had to poke me once in my arm to put an IV in. After the IV was in he told me that we was going to give me “magic medicine”. He said that when I opened my eyes the next time it would be hours and hours later. When I opened my eyes the next time it was almost seven hours later.
My belly had what looked like a thin pillow taped to it with real staples underneath it and some black wiry stitches. I remember being in agony and still also thinking that it would be a good Frankenstein Costume if I just wore a bikini.
Throughout childhood, and adolescence I had at least 20 to 30 different NJ tubes as I couldn’t eat or digest food properly due to my gastroparesis. Most of the time if you couldn’t find me, I was busy bed surfing at the adolescent floor of my local hospital.
This brain tumor felt like it paled in comparison to all that. I was scared.
Buzzing With Anxiety
As we started driving my nerves were bees buzzing around my head so fast I couldn’t see or hear clearly. My poor mom was caught up in my storm.
First I kept thinking of things that I had meant to bring with me for the hospital stay. About half the things my mom had actually packed for me when she realized they weren’t already packed. The other half my mom either assured me as to why I wouldn’t need it. If it was something we really would need she promised to bring it up the following day or buy it from a nearby store in Boston.
Then I kept second-guessing myself about which meds I had been told to take and which to hold that morning. My mom had the list on her and showed me we had done it right. I also kept needing bathroom breaks because my nerves were so bad it was making my bladder overactive.
Arriving at Mass General Hospital
When we finally arrived at the main entrance to Mass General I don’t know who was happier, my mom or me.
We pulled up in front and asked the valet guy to get me a wheelchair.
At that point in my life, I could still stand, transfer, bear weight, and even walk, but I got tired fast. My disease processes were getting worse, and i would have trouble catching my breath. Every time we took a big long walk we used wheelchairs. Mass General is a huge hospital, there would be no way I would be able to walk all around there without passing out.
At Least Mass General Has Good Valet Service
The valet guy returned with a wheelchair and opened the front passenger door to my mom’s car so that I could climb in.
“I’m just going to go park the car in the garage. Can you bring her into the main lobby to wait for me?” my mom asked him.
“Sure thing ma’am,” he said and rolled me into the hospital
Thinking About Anesthesia and Surgical Tools in my Brain
I could feel my heart hammering out an escape route from my chest through my thin unicorn t-shirt. Trying to do the deep breathing exercises I’d been taught by Partial hospital, therapists, and pain management over the years, I made a valiant attempt at calming myself down. I was, however, having a tough time.
All I could think about was the fact that in a couple of hours they would be shooting me up with “magic medicine” anesthesia, dropping and breathing tube down my throat, and then there were going to be a bunch of surgical tools going through my nose and into my brain.
Heading to the Pre-Op Neurosurgery Area
Mass General’s lobby was a hub of action. There were lots of people in wheelchairs with the hospital’s green plastic patient property bags and ID bracelets on their wrists waiting for their ride out to freedom. There were scrub-clad people and people in white doctors’ coats speed-walking through on a mission to go get coffee or save a life.
The lobby was huge and I was swarmed by signs directing the patients to various buildings and elevators. My mom met me in the lobby after what seemed like an eternity later. We turned left and entered the Lunder building where we checked in and then were directed to the Pre anesthesia care unit for neurosurgery.
Neurosurgery Pre-Op Procedure Unit
They had me change into a hospital gown and take everything off. They had me take off my bra, my underwear, my t-shirt, my leggings, my jewelry, my medical ID bracelet, and my socks. Then they had me lay down on the stretcher and cover my hair with a blue scrub cap. My mom came into the room after that to sit with me.
First, the nurse came in. She took my vital signs and hooked me up to the heart monitor and then three nurses and 7 sticks later I had an IV in my left forearm. They hung a bag of Lactated Ringers. The first nurse came back in to ask me about all 22 medications I was on and when the last dose of each was taken.
Hospital Jail; Getting Prison Tagged With Their ID Bands
She put a hospital ‘prison tag’ on me and then after going over all my allergies and what happens with each one, she put an allergy band on me as well.
Next, the doctor who would be regulating my anesthesia came by. He explained that they would be using general anesthesia that would be put through my IV.
Listening to the Anesthesiologist
“We’ll be putting you to sleep and then putting in a breathing tube to breathe for you doing the surgery. We’ll also be putting in a foley catheter and probably a second IV line. I’ll be in charge of one thing, and one thing only; that is keeping you safe during this surgery. I’ll make sure you’re safe, comfortable, and breathing. Have you had any difficulties with anesthesia ever?”
My mom and I both answered ‘no’ simultaneously.
“Is there any family history of any problems with anesthesia?” he asked.
I deferred to my mom.
“No,” she said.
“Do you have any loose or broken or capped teeth that I need to know about?” he asked me.
“Not that I know of,” I told him.
“Ok good. Can you open your mouth as wide as it goes and say, “Ahh?”
I opened up my mouth to say ‘Ahh’ while he intently started all around inside. Then he felt around my neck with his hands. As if I hadn’t been nervous before…
Signing My Life Away
After I virtually signed my life away to the anesthesiologist who at least promised me that death from anesthesia is uncommon, I saw Dr. Swearingen.
Dr. Swearingen also had me sign my life away again, saying I may become a comatose vegetable, die, get diabetes insipidus, become paralyzed, or more. Then he patted me on the back in a rough sort of way.
Dr. Swearingen’s Attempts at Reassurances
“You’ll do good kid,” he told me. “The nurse is going to come in and hang a pre-op antibiotic and then the nurse anesthetist will come in here and give you a mild anesthesia med before you even go in the OR to help you relax.” He began explaining.
“After that, we’ll take you back and get started with the 4 to 5-hour surgery. We’ll talk more once you’re surgery is done and you are recovering on Lunder 7. Your mom can stay with you until you get your antibiotic hung and you get your first dose of mild anesthesia.”
Then he turned to my mom. “Once we take her into the OR, a tech will bring her to the neurosurgery waiting room. The nurses will give you periodic updates as we go. Mom you can come to the PACU to visit once Becca is extubated and stable.”
My Mom: My Forever Safety Net
Dr. Swearengen left the room and almost immediately the nurse came in with the antibiotic and then the anesthetist with the mild anesthesia med was in there minutes later. The whole time my mom was trying to calm me down by making jokes and talking to me about anything that didn’t have to do with the tumor that was taking up residence inside my head
My Anxiety Reached a Crescendo
Never mind the pounding from earlier, now my heart literally felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. There was no going back now.
“This is just some medicine to help you relax a little,” she told me.
Before she gave me the medicine all I could think about were all the what-ifs. What if his knife slipped while he was cutting the tumor out and I became paralyzed? What if I became mentally disabled? What if I died? What if I became a comatose vegetable?
The First Dose of Anesthesia Began Kicking in
Then the nurse gave me the medicine and the room started to get blurry and fuzzy around the edges.
“It’s going to be ok. You’re going to do great.” Both my mom and the nurse assured me. As the fuzziness got fuzzier I felt less scared and more at peace with the situation, and then my mom was leaning over the bed hugging me and telling me she loved me and would see me in a few hours and the bed was unlocked and rolling down the hallway.
In The Operating Room
I sensed an extreme temperature change as we entered the OR.
Things were a little less fuzzy in there. The room was large with lots of sterile medical equipment, blue sheets, bright lights, and machines. They used the sheet underneath me to lift me up and transfer me over to the cold thin mattress on the stainless steel metal table. There were plastic armrests on either side of me.
Getting Strapped Down to the OR Table
They put a seatbelt on my waist to keep me on the table and then strapped each arm to each armrest. That triggered a brief flashback of being restrained in the psych unit, but I was so doped up that the flashback was very brief and weak.
“Do you want a heated blanket?” one of the multiple blue-scrub-clad medical people asked. I was awake enough to let them know that that would be wonderful.
After the heated blanket was brought to me they put an oxygen mask over my face and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm, and hooked the stickers on my chest to the heart monitor in the OR. Then they stopped talking and just Dr. S spoke while everyone was silent. He announced my name, medical record number, date of birth, type of surgery I was having, and the allergies I had. I have always had a multitude of allergies, a number that grew each year.
Time to go Down Under (Anesthesia)
Then he turned to me and told me they were going to put me to sleep.
“I’m injecting the anesthesia that will put you to sleep right now, just take slow deep breaths through the oxygen mask and let the medicine do its job,” were the exact instructions of the anesthesiologist.
I followed his instructions as well as I could and the room quickly got fuzzier than ever before. I tried to fight the fuzziness because I was scared about the surgery on the one hand, but on the other hand, I wanted to just fall asleep because I was terrified that they were going to start the surgery before I had a chance to go all the way under.
Anesthesia Mind Games
Anesthesia plays mind games with you. The room got fuzzier and fuzzier around me, but I wasn’t totally asleep. One of my biggest fears was that they would start shoving cameras and surgical instruments up my nose and into my brain before I was unconscious. When the room was about to blur away I thought I heard people picking up surgical instruments and panic streaked through my body like electricity.
“I’m awake, don’t start yet, I’m awake!” I kept repeating as loud and fast as I could possibly manage.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s ok, the surgery’s over. You’re in the PACU, you pulled through like a champ.” The voice attached to the hand on my shoulder said.
Slowly I opened my eyes and looked around confused. Now I was lying in a regular hospital bed, wrapped in blankets from head to toe. My mom was sitting next to me. I could have sworn just a second ago they were giving me that medicine to knock me out but when I looked at the clock on the wall in front of me, slightly less than 5 hours’ worth of time was unaccounted for.
This Girl Survived Neurosurgery
I could have sworn just a second ago they were giving me that medicine to knock me out but when I looked at the clock on the wall in front of me, slightly less than 5 hours’ worth of time was unaccounted for.
My hand went to my head; true to his word my skull was intact, there were no bald spots or stitches anywhere on my skull. I wasn’t dead or a vegetable either. Now I just needed a badge or a ribbon or something, stating, “This girl survived neurosurgery”.I wasn’t a vegetable, I had survived neurosurgery.