525,600 minutes...

525,600 minutes...

525, moments so dear... 

525,600 minutes ago I honestly was not certain I'd wake up.  My body was frail; it had failed me repeatedly and even my surgeons were reluctant given my very low BMI of barely 14 at that time. I had to arrive to pre-op at 5:00 AM.  As we traveled the two blocks to the surgical center I noticed the quiet.  Quiet city blocks.  Quiet hallways.  Quiet waiting area.  It was so quiet.  Deafeningly quiet.  Other patients were already waiting with who appeared as desperate family members in the family area.  Some were wearing masks, which is disconcerting no matter what the reason.  The nurse called my name and I remember feeling like my heart was going to pound out of my chest.  I felt like I couldn't move.  All I could see every direction I turned were plants and water features.  Water features?  Whatever Cleveland, when you're facing this level of scary a water feature doesn't quell the fear!  I was searching for a sign; I needed a sign; I needed strength.  All I wanted to do was run at top speed out of that waiting room.

I'm still not sure how in that moment I didn't run, but I am sure glad sitting here on this side that I found the strength to stand up and walk with the nurse.  I can tell you that I thought about my kids; about wanting to be able to be the mom they deserved.  I was always a 'mama bear' but in that moment survival instinct went into overdrive and all I could focus on was their two beautiful faces.  They didn't deserve to have to deal with a sick mother, ER trips, waking up to find Nana there and mom and dad had gone to the hospital..again; finding me on the bathroom floor, dealing with the uncomfortable faces of people when I didn't order at a restaurant or politely declined an offer from a well-intentioned friend; listening to us talk about why this or that went wrong or right in a previous surgical attempt.    No!  They're CHILDREN.  They did not deserve this.  So I got up.  I just. got. up.  Sometimes just getting up is all the catalyst you need to start the wheels of something miraculous.  So I got up.  It's time to fly dammit.  Inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale... It's time to try defying gravity.

At this point I had to part with my husband, my rock, until after I was settled in preop.  The nurse was nice, but young and didn't do anything unique to calm the screaming inside of me.  So I put in my earbuds.  "Defying Gravity" from the Broadway musical Wicked.   I listened and watched a special clip a friend sent me of various Elphabas singing portions of the song edited together.  It was incredible.  That song.  Those lyrics - gave my strength in the face of real terror.  "..too late for second guessing; too late to go back to seep; it's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes...and leap." Inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale...

In came Dr. Costa (in previous posts I have written about how much of a true knight in white armour this man is!).  All 6+ feet of him, Brazilian accent, serious demeanor, yet secure, confident, intentional in every move he makes.  He reread my entire file and notes then said, "We gonna have a good day, a very good day."  Well...all right.  Dr. Costa is the gentle, calming presence a patient needs just before this type of major surgery.  He is calm, quiet, brilliant - and when he offers something in words, it always has power.  He gave me facts, information; built my knowledge.  The saying knowledge is power is not just words on a page.  Having knowledge, facts in a moment like this gave me strength.  I knew what was happening and why we were waiting.  I explained to the nurse after Dr. Costa left that my blood had tested anti-K after my last surgery in Boston the year prior.  Apparently that hadn't been noted anywhere.  Seriously?  "I have a card from the hospital in my purse.  Just go ask my husband to get it."  Well, that did it.  Everyone was put into a sense of urgency and unsettled.  I had to give up my iphone at this point and rely on the recording in my head to play on repeat for now.  They wheeled me down to the OR where Dr. Costa asked me about the blood test.  I explained it again - my last surgeon tested my blood and it came back anti-K in December 2015.  Dr. Costa, who generally had a poker face, revealed his tells in that moment. Duhn duhn duhn.... Inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale...

525, 600 minutes ago I was waiting, IV in place, laying on a hospital bed.  Just waiting.  I was waiting for the staff of Cleveland Clinic to connect with the staff at Beth Israel to confirm my blood type status as A+ anti-K which made a huge difference in what they needed on hand if I started to bleed out and need a transfusion.  I was waiting; just lying there, staring at the florescent rectangular lights on the OR ceiling.  I could feel the tears well up in my eyes and drip down to my ears every so often as I waited.  Inhale...exhale...inahale...exhale... I recall the anesthesiologist's face - she was so kind, reassuring.  She kept checking in on me while I waited; she said things like, "Not long now honey," as she rubbed my shoulder.  She asked me about my children (smart move,  I remember thinking) -- I am a counselor after all and know better than anyone the art of psychological distraction and reframing.  Still - it felt like an eternity. 

"...I'm through accepting limits 'cuz someone says they're so; Some things I'll never change but till I try I'll never know..."  Inhale...exhale....inhale...exhale...

It took hours for the hospital staffs to connect and confirm my blood status -- I am not criticizing, but it WAS very difficult to lie there and wait, terrified, unmedicated, alone in the hallway outside the OR.  I presume they parked me there to maintain the sterile environment, to minimize my fright by not exposing me to all the instruments and lights of the OR. I'm not really sure.  All I know is you notice a lot lying alone in a hallway.  Did you know that a florescent light can flicker over a hundred times in a minute?  I do.  Did you know that custodial staff are sweeping the floors even at that time of the morning? I do. Did you know that voices echo and travel in an otherwise empty hallway?  I do.  Why are hospital hallways always so dim, with flickering lights?

"...kiss me goodbye I'm defying gravity and you can't pull me down..." Inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale...

Then I heard Dr. Costa's voice, "Ok...we gonna get going." Finally.  Oh no!  Rapid heart again.  I can't breathe. Breathe dammit.  Breathe!  Inhale...exhale...Inh-.  That kind anesthisiologist again.  Ahhh.  I like you, I remember thinking.  "Ok, Darcy.  I'm going to put this oxygen mask on you and I just want you to breathe normally." Breathe normally? Seriously!? I'm not breathing now!  Oh wait...air.  I like this.  Ahh.  Inhale...exhale...inhale...exhale... I remember she asked me where I like to vacation.  "The beach.  Any beach."  And then she asked what smell I liked.  I vaguely recall saying strawberry - then smelling it.  So she talked about the elements for a minutes and told me to picture myself going to the beach as I fell asleep.  I closed my eyes and imagined the warm sun, the salty air, the grainy sand beneath my feet, the sound of the waves, the white foam. And then I was asleep...  "...everyone deserves the chance to fly!"

I've written previously about the waiting, the waking, and the realization that I was fixed.  It was powerful and scary and wonderful and unbelievable!  I've also written about all the steps and stages to get HERE.   

But today...525,600 minutes later I choose to focus on the NOW.  The progress.  I am able to EAT.  (Yup!- not everything, but enough to enjoy life again!)   I am able to exercise (and have been vigilant adhering to Dr. Costa's orders NOT to overdo it and avoid core work for a year!)  I do yoga, walk the dog, throw the football with my son.  I no longer see the uncomfortable faces of the people I'm with when it's mealtime because I can participate.  Sure, I am limited and that's okay.  It's okay because we are still 1000% farther than we were 525,600 minutes ago! 

One year.  12 months.  365 days.  8760 hours.  525,600 minutes.  However you measure a year, it's a long time and A LOT can happen.  Today I went on an hour-long hike with my family.  Today I ate three meals.  Today I didn't once worry my body would fail me.  Today...is one year postop of the 7th GI surgery which was by far the most intense and extensive I have ever had.  Today I pause.  Today I praise.  Today I appreciate.  It wasn't easy getting HERE, and I didn't do it alone.  But #littlebutfiercewellness isn't just a hashtag to me.  It's a lifestyle; and the attitude and spirit behind it literally saved my life.  So TODAY, I thank myself for being brave, for persevering, for fighting.  Today I give thanks for my family and friends.  Today. Man, am I lucky and blessed (and relieved) to have reached today!  

Stay fierce, friends! 

#perspective

#perspective

Desperate Gratefulness

Desperate Gratefulness