Going under the Knife

September 21, 2019

Going under the Knife

How I envision what went on in the operating room. I mean, my surgery was on
Friday the 13th. Ugh. I'm mixing and matching franchises. Shame on me.

There's nothing quite like finding out that you're getting your kidney out a week before it happens. In some ways, I'll admit, it was probably better that way. No need to stress long-term over something that was pretty much inevitable from the first. And when it comes to surgery like this, it's probably best to get it out of the way.

There was a moment, a few days before the surgery, when I realized that it had been scheduled for Friday the 13th. And not just any Friday the 13th, but one sporting a full moon.

Luckily, I'm not superstitious, but I can say that it both gave me a bit of a jolt and a bit of a laugh. Just another part of the mythos I'm craftily building up around my recent experiences. Seriously, if I don't come out of this with either superpowers or some kind of a cult, Imma be DISAPPOINTED.

Srsly disappointed.

In reading that last paragraph, a couple of you were probably slightly disturbed. The other three of you might have thought it funny. Both reactions work, really. Yes, I have a megalomaniacal streak in me the size of Manhattan. I'm working on it. And part of the way I do that is by poking fun at myself.

Mythos. It means "word" or "story" in Greek, or something like that. Which reminds me of something that's really helped me in my recovery process. Here's where I talk about a song that I encountered over the summer. It's kind of become the theme song for this whole ordeal. "A Hundred Bad Days" by AJR.

Plus, the video's super trippy.

The only real issue I run into is that hearing the song physically transports me to a time when I was having really bad chemo brain. It causes this physical/emotional/psychic wave to travel through my body. It's bizarre, not completely pleasant, but also something I don't want to forget.

I keep getting distracted from telling you about the surgery. I think I don't want to dwell on it, or write about it, or even really acknowledge it's happened/happening. Which means it's probably a good idea for me to get it up and out.

Have I told you that I'm a needle-phobe? Like, bad enough that I used to go to donate plasma to try to get over it? Take that tidbit and shuffle it in with the other stuff you know about what's been going on. I could give you lots of other examples that match or beat this one, but it all boils down to this: God (or the Universe or karma or however you'd like to view it) keeps giving me opportunities to face things that I'd rather not face.

I don't like being afraid. I don't like feeling out of control. I don't like being helpless. I don't like being in pain. I don't like crying around others due to that pain (thankfully, my upbringing didn't give me as much of the hangup around crying for emotional reasons). I don't like it when I'm not self-sufficient (what I wanted to write was needy, so that gives you a bit of an idea). I loathe feeling ashamed of myself, my body, and my bodily functions.

Guess what, y'all?

This thing is doing one hell of a number on me.

One of the hardest parts of this, for me, is how heavily I've had to lean on... okay, let's be honest--be supported completely by... others. That's been true since I started chemotherapy. My wife has had to pick up SO MUCH SLACK. And it's not like she was unburdened to start with.

Sisyphus ain't got nothin' on her.

Even in the days leading up to surgery, it was like everything was doing its best to fall apart. My oldest, after doing well on his new anti-seizure drugs, had two breakthrough tonic-clonic episodes (grand mal seizures). My daughter had a full-on emotional meltdown. Our dishwasher broke again in spectacular fashion. All of which conspired to keep me from going to see a production of Twelfth Night that I really wanted to attend (the night right before my surgery, in fact).

Me having surgery also put an enormous last-minute burden on my work friends. All of my classes for the last week had to be covered. They generously did so, and from what my students tell me, in brilliant fashion. And as much as I wanted to be back to teaching by Thursday or Friday, I wasn't even out of the hospital until late Tuesday. Then I came home and spiked a couple of fevers. I clearly wasn't going anywhere yet.

I'm going to talk about pain for a moment. I had an incredible surgeon (the surgery that was meant to take two and a half hours he did in half that time), but I also had a big tumor in my kidney. Instead of being able to do the surgery fully laparoscopically, he had to make what's called a "hand incision."

Know what that means? I didn't. My doctor brother explained it to me. They make an incision about four inches long into which they can insert their hand to "help out" the robotic arms. That means that my surgeon shoved his arm into the hole he made above my navel, squished his way past all the random offal he found until he got to the kidney.

Hoo boy.

Yikes.

I mean, at least I was asleep for mine.

The other thing that happens with a laparoscopic surgery is that they blow a lot of air inside of you. I'm assuming that's to make it easier for that hand or robot arm or whatever to wander around. The result of this, however, is that you end up with gas pockets all up in your insides.

You know how painful gas can be at times? Now think of that pain when it isn't just confined to your intestines. When the gas can just move around all willy-nilly. You stand up, the bubbles move under your shoulders, You lie down, they pool around your belly. And there's nowhere for them to go. They just have to dissipate gradually.

And it's the kind of pain that can't be addressed with normal pain management. Pain drugs don't really touch it. The pain block they did on me was useless when confronted with those blessed little bubbles. So, by the time the block wore off, I was still feeling the gas bubbles, but was also then fully experiencing the "hand assist" incision.

Good times.

Distracted once more. I really don't want to talk about this.

Me to a t.

Here's where I lived the past week. I felt weak. I felt violated. I felt overwhelmed.

I was in pain, in shame, in fear--the holy trifecta of dysfunctional behavior.

And boy was I dysfunctional. My kids and extended family and friends would come by to visit (Aimee was there pretty much the entire time), and instead of taking in the love they were giving me, I would check out, at times hurting their feelings, I'm sure. I wanted to be present. I really did. But being present was painful, both on a physical and emotional level.

While I was in the hospital, a former teacher, one of my dearest friends and mentors, went into hospice care somewhere in my same hospital. I didn't know that until after I got home, so I didn't get a chance to see him before he passed away. I managed to text him, but I have no idea if he received it. He was surrounded by people he loved and inundated with social media messages from those who cared about him, like me. So this is less about him and more about me. I missed out on an opportunity to tell someone how much he meant to me.

Something I realized as I was there in the hospital is how much I appreciate those who have no idea what to say or how to act around me but show up anyway. I also realized how poorly I do that.

There are reasons for it, of course, but those reasons don't really matter. That habit of mine is keeping me from people I love when they're at their worst and need the most kindness. And I want to be kind.

I'm so messed up in so many ways. I'm reworking massive portions of my life, seeking for a way to be a better person. The biggest part of that is kindness.

I engage in dysfunctional behavior, which keeps me from being as kind as I want to be. So, what can I do to change my behavior? That process is rarely comfortable and never (in my experience so far) a quick fix.

Wow, am I all kinds of ADHD with this post. That's kinda where I am right now, though. My thoughts are scattered, disjointed, running the gamut from the profound to the banal, and I typically can't tell the difference.

In case you hadn't noticed.

I've mostly caught you up with where I am, which was the point of this post. If you're confused about my current state of mind/body/soul, well, I'm right there with you.

There are so many things wanting to pour out of me that I end up paralyzed, unable to form coherent sentences. And that's also been part of this process for me, so instead of trying to fix all this, I'll just share it. If you have questions, ask them, and I'll see if I can answer.

But the likelihood is, I won't have any more clue that you do.

Oh, here's some random pictures and moments from my hospital staycation--