Sue and I have been through some pre-surgery time together. Too much time, but I want her strong and healthy, and this is the road she needs to take. I’m glad she lets me come along, but I think she still owes me a honeymoon.
The pre-op time usually wraps up the same way. We’re watching cat videos, and a team of people walk in. Usually, there is only one or two at a time, but this is always a group – three to five. They start going over the same basic medical information they’ve already asked a bunch of times, and while Sue is answering, one of them slips happy juice into her IV. She misses it every time.
This time, after she had clarified (again) what she was allergic to, I leaned over and gave her a kiss. “I wanted to get that in now, since you’ll be passed out soon,” I whispered. Well, I didn’t really whisper, but she laughed over missing the medication being given again.
This pre-op had been a lot harder. We aren’t used to being apart, and I sat for an hour in the waiting area (admittedly a really nice waiting area) watching the sky lighten. I like it better when Sue is happy and relaxed going into surgery, and I was pretty sure she was spending a lot of time by herself, waiting.
When they rolled her off I got a few simple instructions. If I was leaving the building I had to leave a phone number, otherwise I keep my restaurant-pager and they would buzz when there was an update. There was no way I was going to be able to sit and wait without going nuts, so I got back into the car and drove to the field museum. I haven’t been since Sue (the dinosaur) arrived, whenever that was. A while ago. I thought it would be a good diversion. I should have gotten groceries and tried to sleep, but I needed to be doing something.
I sent text messages to family and posts to Facebook, trying to pass along the information I had. It was going to be a long surgery. We’d first heard 12 hours, but that was apparently both the surgery and recovery time. It ended up being more like 14 from when we arrived in the morning, since the recovery time is a minimum of six hours while they monitor blood flow to the flap – but that was in the future.
Film image, scanned when I got home. With a cat’s help, if you can’t tell.
I wasn’t sure how parking worked at the Field Museum and ended up under Soldier Field. I left most of my stuff (including my coat) in the car, thinking it was attached to the Museum. It wasn’t, and the walk was…brisk…. Once inside I bought the standard ticket (less than the packages they have all the signs up for, but there wasn’t going to be time to see everything anyway) and went walking around. The lady who sold me the ticket gave me a map with what I could and couldn’t see, and told me her favorite parts.
As I was walking around the animal panoramas (there are a lot of animal panoramas) I realized my phone hadn’t fully recharged overnight. I have an iPhone 6s with Lifeproof Fre Power case – when everything is charged up power is not an issue – but the case hadn’t charged overnight and my phone was down 45%. I couldn’t risk a dead phone, so I limited my phone pictures. Luckily, I also had with my Minolta 35mm film camera, so it got to take more pictures than normal.
Hours went by. I got calls saying everything was going fine with the surgery. I wandered around the museum. I thought I would need to be back in the waiting area around 1pm, based on what we’d heard in the morning, and I didn’t want to pay for museum food, so I was back at Chicago Medical at 12:15 in line at the Qdoba they have inside when my phone rang to say the surgery was done and Dr Chang wanted to talk to me. I got out of line and headed for the elevator, hustling past the security guard who wanted to stop me. He really just wanted to check to see who I was there for and give me a visitor pass, but I didn’t want to wait.
Up to the fancy lobby, then into a small conference room, and waiting. A few minutes later, Dr Chang walked in. He said everything went “perfect,” and I would be let down into recovery soon. Sue later wanted to know what else he said, but there wasn’t anything else. I didn’t ask any questions. What else was there to say, Perfect is Perfect.
I went back to Qdoba and got lunch. I was just finishing when I got the call saying I could go to recovery, perfect timing, and headed back upstairs. This time the security guard didn’t even look at me. Maybe I scared him?
Sue was still sleeping in recovery. I learned from the nurse that she had to stay for at least six hours, that she couldn’t have anything to eat or drink until the next morning. The flap part of her surgery was being very closely monitored, and if anything went wrong she was going to have to go back for another operation, and her stomach had to stay empty.
I looked at the surgical sites and they looked good. I learned about the doppler checks and the imbedded sensor that was continually monitoring oxygen and flow levels inside the flap. And I drank some soda, wrote some, plugged in my phone and sent out updates. And waiting. Every now and then Sue would wake up and I would sponge some water around her lips and gums. Once we were in the room we were given Vasoline for her lips, which helped more, but it was still just the sponges. She was uncomfortable, even with a pain button, but there wasn’t anything else I could do. I watched her sleep, fitfully, and dozed a few times. The nurse came in regularly to check the doppler and sensor, get vital signs, see if I needed anything. The sky got lighter outside, and then it was 7am.
A new nurse came in for the day shift, and since I figured Sue was going to have more company for a while I would go back to our rental for some sleep. I ended up staying a few more hours, making sure Sue was as comfortable as I could get her (still no water to drink), then told her I would be back in the afternoon. I sent out another update, and then drove back to bed.