Pre-op to Post-op

Adventures in Cosmetic Surgery, Finale

The rush of scheduling appointments and test, all needing to be completed before my Pre-op with Dr. B, is a near Herculean task. (I’ve had an easier time getting a reservation at a Zagat rated restaurant)  Some of the highlights: The lab draws 5 vials of blood. The Schirmer’s Test for dry eye involves sticking strips of paper into your eyelids – twice! My blood pressure is a remarkable 90/60.

With all the boxes checked off, I head for my Pre-op appointment. This should be a 5 minute no brainer — do this, don’t do that, be here at this time, bring this, sign these forms. Hold that thought.

So routine, in fact, that I meet with the nurse. As she goes over my procedures she mentions that I will be having local anesthesia with IV sedation.

“No, I am having general anesthesia. The Michael Jackson stuff.”

Silence.

“Let me just check on that.” She leaves the room. I assume her notes are wrong.

Upon returning, she says, “The anesthesia you paid for is IV sedation. General anesthesia is an additional cost.”

“Okay,” I pause to ponder the extra cost, the error and to refrain from saying something hateful. “That’s annoying to find out today, but fine, whatever.”

Apparently, this is not what she, and whoever she is consulting, expected me to say and she leaves the room again.

And she’s back.“If you are going to have general anesthesia, then you would need to have blood work and an EKG plus a report from your physician clearing you for surgery,”

Was she kidding me?! If I were telling this story to a friend, I would drop a huge expletive here, but speaking in expletives is much more meaningful and satisfying than typing them. Insert your own.

“YES. I have had ALL of that done. Because when we met with Dr. B, this is what was decided.” at this point, my voice is becoming, shall we say, a tad strident.

She flees the room and returns with back-up, Celia, the patient co-ordinator.

“I’ve got a call into an anesthesiologist. He is checking his schedule for next week. If he is not available, can you reschedule?”

“Why is this screwed up?” I ask.

“Dr. B did not put general anesthesia on the order.” she replies.

Side note: He is not the only one at fault. When I booked the surgery with Celia, I AGAIN said that general anesthesia would be used. Also, I received the forms necessary for said anesthesia.

Now I am becoming upset. I mentioned in my last posting that the idea of being aware of what was happening sounds like something out of a horror movie. This confusion about the anesthesia also makes me nervous.  Could I end up having a nose job by mistake?

“No, I cannot reschedule. I need go home and think about this. And I would like to speak to Dr. B,” I take a deep breath and pick up my purse. I was angry and I wanted Paul, my fearless side kick, there with me. I don’t know that it would have changed anything, but I wished he was there.

I head for the reception desk and Dr. B. appears. He has clearly been pulled from the surgical suite. Hopefully, in between procedures.

He proceeds to try and talk me down off the ledge. Reassuring me that I will be fine. This IV sedation is strong stuff. While I may open my eyes, I will not remember anything. I even got the calming pat on the shoulder.

All the time, I am (stridently) reiterating my concerns, in front of everyone at the reception desk and all the waiting patients. I became aware that I was making a scene. (I might have had me ushered into another room. Just saying.) There is a moment that feels almost out of body: I see myself in the middle of all these people. I can feel what they are thinking. Suddenly I saw myself as overwrought, high strung, and high maintenance.

SO  I agreed. Yep, I went against my Gut Reactor. Because I wanted it done. I have been making plans, arranging schedules and working toward this surgery for months. I was tired of  it hanging over my head. I pressured myself into accepting the new plan. There was  crying in the car. The emotional roller coaster I had been warned about after the surgery was starting ahead of schedule.

SURGERY DAY

Paul and I arrive at Dr. B’s office. There has been little talking, which is what we do when we are  nervous. The procedure should take about three and half hours, so I tell Paul he should  get some breakfast. “I can’t eat.” he says flatly.

And now it’s time. We kiss and hug and off I go.

I change into a gown and slippers. A nurse – one I have not seen before – again goes over my procedure. It’s all correct, no mention of a nose job or a brow lift.

My blood pressure is off the charts.

“Are you nervous?” she asks.

Yes, she really asked that question. Again, an expletive would be appropriate here.

Taking my blood pressure again, it surprisingly  goes down.

Dr. B arrives. Pictures are taken, marks are made on my eyelids and neck and it’s off to surgery.

The IV is started and it feels good. Dr. B injects the local anesthesia around my eyes and, holy crap, starts to cut. I have no pain and with the drugs, I believe you could have cut off my head and I would be fine. But it is the awareness I wanted to avoid all along and I am aware. I do fade in and out and so I have no concept of how long this took.

“Okay, Kim, your eyes are done and we are going to start on the right side of your face.”

Did I need to know that? No. Ignorance is best. Immediately, My pulse goes way up. I know this because I DID NOT GET THE GENERAL ANETHESIA and I can hear the nurse. There is stopping. There is a conversation I can’t hear. Apparently, I am given more drugs and we carry on.

SO the thing I was most afraid of happened. I was aware, very aware. There is cutting and tugging and pulling. After the right side is done, Dr. B flips my head over to the left, and I think the right side of my face might pop. Left side done, he goes for the chin. There is a weird sensation that I never want to have again.

All through out, Dr. B is talking to me. He asks me several times how I am doing. Doctors mistake your inability to answer to mean you are unaware and “out of it”. This is not the case.

Now my head is being bandaged  and it is getting tossed back and forth like a football. I am not sure all of the post operative bruising, etc. comes from the procedures. Minutes later, the nurses help me into a wheelchair. Let the healing begin…..

NEXT:Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy….. recovery. (with apologies to Bette Davis, All About Eve, 1950)

Adventures in Cosmetic Surgery, Epilogue