The Glamorous Reality of Surgery

I wanted to talk about my surgery, because some experiences deserve to be told without polishing them too much. Some things are already absurd enough as they are.

Since I had to be there at 7 a.m., I took a taxi at 6:30 so I wouldn’t wake the whole house up. I arrive, and of course, I’m the first one there. The grand adventure begins: they hand me the famous hospital gown, open at the back, because apparently modesty is no longer part of the program once you walk through hospital doors. They even gave me two. Apparently, if my breasts became public property after breastfeeding, at least the rest of the scenery deserved some protection. We still try to keep a little dignity.

Compression socks that were way too big for me (I’m used to shopping in the kids’ shoe section), and then off to the operating room. The mood was set.

I had warned the surgeons about the urinary catheter, because that kind of detail, tiny on paper, can suddenly become very important when someone expects you to wear it like it’s perfectly normal. They explained that after surgery it would usually stay in until the next morning. In theory, it was for my own good. In practice, it mostly sounded like the more comfortable option for everyone… except me.

I also spoke with the anesthesist, especially because there was going to be both general anesthesia and local anesthesia. And if “local” meant an epidural, the answer was no. I’d already had three children without one; I wasn’t about to start a brand-new career as a medical guinea pig with enthusiasm. So I made myself very clear: if I had to suffer to avoid that, so be it.

When I woke up, first pleasant surprise: no wee wee tube. I was able to get up, go to the bathroom on my own, change clothes, put my pyjamas back on, and function more or less normally, which honestly wasn’t guaranteed. I even had the whole ward to myself, which, frankly, felt almost like five-star comfort compared to the rest.

There are still a few essentials worth knowing. Peppermint tea is a small blessing because with laparoscopy they fill your stomach with gaz and then leave you to deal with the grand finale: shoulder pain. The shoulders. Obviously. The human body sometimes has a sense of humor nobody asked for.

And when going to the bathroom, a small pillow or a rolled towel pressed against your stomach is far from useless. Once back home, there’s also the famous “moo” technique, because after surgery your digestive system can suddenly decide to go on strike without warning. Very convenient, truly.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QDk93cvZAuk

Right after surgery, I had quite a lot of painkillers. However, my veins decided to sabotage the whole process with remarkable dedication. It was impossible to get anything through the IV in my hand properly. So in the end, it was either oral medication or injections, along with the charming feeling that my body had signed up for minimum service only.

The next day at noon, I was already going home. Daddy showed up with a wheelchair, except I couldn’t even sit in it, so I ended up walking next to it instead. Hospital romance is not always quite as cinematic as movies would have you believe.

The car ride, however, was the real poetic moment. Even lying completely flat, it was torture. Let’s just say the trip home felt nothing like a victory parade.

But in the end, what I remember most is that you need to speak up. Say what bothers you, what scares you, what is absolutely out of the question. I had made it very clear what I refused and what frightened me, and people listened.

They had warned me beforehand about the laparoscopy, including the possibility that they might need to open me up if necessary. And it changes everything when you know what to expect. Better an announced scar than waking up to a surprise.

So no, my experience wasn’t joyful, but it was far more human than I expected.

And honestly, in a hospital, not feeling like just another number feels really good.