Count Backwards from 100

*The following post was written weeks ago in anticipation of this blog's launch. Although dated, I still feel it encapsulates all the anxieties of waiting to be put under for surgery, whether major or minor. 

January 20, 2011

I have surgery later today at 1pm. My nervousness comes in spurts, kind of like the hiccups. I know I am in capable, well-manicured hands with Dr. P, but it’s still surgery. SURGERY. In anticipation of the blessed event, I’ve casually mentioned to a few relatives and close friends that “I’m having surgery on the 20^th” just as if I were saying “No, I don’t really like butter on my toast” or “The weather man said it was going to be 32 degrees today”. They always marvel at my cavalier attitude, but when you’re well-versed in such medical matters nothing, not even a little surgery, can phase you – for the most part. There’s always that fear that the anesthesia will wear off and I’ll wake up during my surgery to find that I can’t move or speak, only feel the pain of the knife carving my flesh like in the episode of every medical television drama ever broadcast. Or that the surgeon’s will operate on the wrong appendage. Maybe I should take a sharpie to my right leg and write “Cut Here”. Every little bit helps.

I haven’t heard many specifics about Dr. P's surgical talents, just that she's supposed to be "really good". That's what everyone says about her, as though "she's really good" became her new last name once she graduated from medical school. "Over there? That's  Dr. P She's Really Good". I am a fan of her bedside manner though, or rather, just the way she handles me. I can tell she can tell I’m a human and not just a slab of meat with a pulse brought to soothe her experimental whims. Her calm demeanor causes me to think she’s a skilled professional. Of course she could be a complete sociopath with the shakes, but it's a little too late for reservations, the surgery is already scheduled. I trust Dr. P, I do. She wears sensible pantsuits with wide leg trousers and has long jet-black hair that she always keeps in a ponytail. She could sell some of it to supplement her income, if times got rough. But hell, she doesn't need to supplement her income. She's a plastic surgeon, times will never be rough. The entertainment industry and teenage girls with low self-esteem will keep her employed for a long long time.

I love to start sentences with “My plastic surgeon says”. It makes me feel like a Real Housewife of Beverly Hills, like I have confrontational dinner parties and carry an impossibly small dog. My plastic surgeon says this is a simple procedure.

For the record, I’m not going in to get my face lifted or my jowls sculpted or even that gender reassignment surgery I’ve been contemplating (kidding). When walking first became a problem, I had a muscle biopsy on my right leg done in October and because I take Prednisone and Imuran (two drugs designed to weaken my immune system and therefore quiet my buffet of autoimmune diseases), it hasn’t healed. The results of the biopsy were inconclusive, I might add. My rheumatologists called me to say they had no idea what was going on. The biopsy was for nothing. So I’ve just had this slowly degrading hole in my leg for the past 3 months.

Apparently, plastic surgeons like Dr. P have a better grasp on how and where to cut in order to promote optimum healing. The plan is to have her nip and tuck today so that I can spend the next 4 weeks attached to a wound vac, 24/7. The vac creates a negative pressure atmosphere where blood and other healing nutrients are literally pulled towards the surface. They work miracles. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s just different when it’s you.

The somewhat good news about all of this is that I am being admitted to the hospital for observation for a day and in the hospital they give you the good painkillers. The bad part is that I’ll be in worlds of pain and will actually need them.

My surgery is in a couple of hours. I really want to make sure this wound heals cute. I don't need any children pointing or screaming in horror at my leg, the Frankenstein of healed wounds. I already have my speech prepared:

Surgical Staff –

I needn’t remind you that spring and summer are upon us. In case you may have not noticed I have staggeringly long legs and, as such, like to show them off in the warmer months. Therefore, I would most appreciate it if you took careful consideration with your incisions so as to ensure that the wound heal in the most attractive of ways. I’m already eyeing a pair of lime green shorts from ASOS, and would hate to have to forgo their purchase because of a dirty reminder of days past.

Thank you very much.

*The good news is that in the weeks since I've had my surgery my leg has been healing very nicely. In less than a month it should be completely healed and I can get rid of this gurgling wound vac (it makes little fart noises). So I have that to be excited about.