As Hubby drove us to Queen’s Hospital, I lifted a prayer for the procedure, that God guide the hands of the surgeons, grant wisdom to the attending staff, and peace to my heart. We both said a quiet amen and left the matter in the hands of the Lord.

We arrived at the Queen’s Same Day Surgery Center 20 minutes before my check-in time. They took me in quickly and situated me in a stall, instructing me to change into the hospital gown, booties, and paper cap for my hair. Hubby was by my side, sitting next to the bed with a Karate Jutsu book in his lap. I considered having Hubby take a photo of me in my hospital garb, but decided that it probably wouldn’t make the most flattering photo and opted to keep my camera safely tucked away in my purse.

Frank Delima and Rap’s Hawaii was on the television and served to pass the time quickly. Before I knew it, the anesthesiologist and my ob/gyn visited and after being administered a sedative through my IV, I was whisked away into the operating room.

By the time we arrived in the OR, I was already feeling the effects of the sedative. They scooted me from the gurney to the operating table. There were a lot of people prepping me, sticking monitors to my chest and binding my arm. My doctor smiled back at me and the anesthesiologist announced that he was giving me the anesthesia. That was the last thing I remembered.

When I awakened, I opened my eyes and was seeing double. Everything was blurry and my mind was in a fuzz. A nurse who stood nearby noting something on a chart peered over at me and smiled, “how are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine. Is the procedure done?” I asked, taking an inventory of my body parts.

“Yes, you’re in the recovery room now.”

As it had with my tonsillectomy, the general anesthesia had stopped the clock and it was hard to believe that any time had passed.

A few minutes later, my ob/gyn came by with some color photos of my innards. She explained them to me, although I was still slightly under the influence of the anesthesia. She said that they were able to successfully remove the polyps in the uterus and went on to explain that they found that I have a condition called endometriosis. Her next sentence was almost expected, “your best bet for conceiving is invitro.”

Perhaps it was the sedatives that kept the full impact from hitting me at the time. Maybe it was my desire to keep a brave face for the doctor. But whatever it was, I simply nodded and thanked her when she said that she would make an appointment with an invitro specialist for me. She gave me some additional instructions, left me with the photos, and told me to take care as she left my bedside.

Before I had time to reflect on the news, a nurse came by and offered me some food and drink. I was famished. I quickly ate two pieces of buttered toast with mixed fruit jelly, drank two cups of water and two cups of hot tea, hoping that it wouldn’t give me post-op nausea. It didn’t.

After a successful pee, they allowed me to change back into my street clothes and escorted me outside to meet Hubby who was waiting with the car. They didn’t even roll me out in a wheelchair, but I guess I looked steady enough to walk out on my own two feet.

As Hubby pulled out of the hospital driveway into traffic, he inquired, “So, how are you feeling? What did the doctor say?”

I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I started crying when I told him that if we wanted to have children, we would have to go with invitro. Hubby, ever supportive, told me that it would be my decision whether I wanted to go through with invitro since most of the burden would fall upon me and my body. He said that he would be perfectly happy even if we never have children. Sincerely. Still, I couldn’t help but to feel that I would be disappointing our families, who had hoped for so long that we would have at least one child. Although more research is required, I am almost certain that I will want to attempt invitro at least once. At least to say that we tried and if it doesn’t result in a pregnancy, then maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Or perhaps we are meant to adopt. Or simply be content with each other. This is truly a matter for careful consideration and prayer.

So, some good news, some bad. I am thankful that the surgery went smoothly and there are no complications to speak of, it’s just that big “i” word that bums me out.

Hubby has been a godsend. He has been attending to my needs, emotional and physical, knowing when to pamper me and when to scold me when he catches me trying to do too much too soon. I’m so glad that I don’t have to go through this alone. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner in life — and I will be more than content even if it’s just two of us for the next 40 years.

Trackback URI |