Two days ago, in case you missed my continual facebook updates and people's comments about "the girls," I had breast reduction surgery. I walked into the "pre-op" room, where I was instructed to change into a gown, anti-embolism stockings, cozy slipper socks, and... extremely ugly, baggy, "surgery panties," which were G-string style. G strings... are not necessarily sexy. The good news is I never soiled them.
Terrified that the anesthesia wouldn't work on me and I'd be awake through surgery, Grey's Anatomy style, I spoke with the anesthesiologist before my operation, who asked a series of questions about what I am allergic to, to make sure she didn't poison me to death.
"Are you allergic to eggs?" She asked.
"Um, no... but I don't consume them, I'm vegan," I responded.
Apparently egg lecithin can help prevent blod clots, which I suppose is a good thing. Obviously if I had said I was allergic to eggs (or that I refused medicine with eggs in it), the anesthesiologist would have given me some sort of alternative drug, as presumably even people who are allergic to eggs need surgery now and then. But, I allowed the anesthesiologist to give me the egg medicine, thinking it was probably ideal that I go with her first choice recommendation for anesthesia.
You know how in movies/tv, people always get to count backwards from 100 when they're being put to sleep for surgery? 100...99....98.... then they're out.
I didn't get to do that. And I have to say I'm a little disappointed, I wanted to see how long I could make it.
"Are you tired yet?" The anesthesiologist asked me as I laid flat on the table in my g-string surgery panties, underneath an ugly blanket.
"Um no... should I be? Don't operate yet!" Still have that episode of Grey's Anatomy on the brain.
"That's okay... sometimes it takes a few minutes."
The last thing I remember is the nurse, Connie, holding my hand while the anesthesiologist injected more drugs into my IV.
"So how long have you lived in Ohio?" Connie asked.
"I don't know... I'm not good at math." I guess that was my "counting backward," because the next thing I knew I was in a different room. Alone, and wrapped in some bandages.
I had three immediate reactions when I woke up from surgery:
1. Where the fuck am I? Was I in an accident... am I dying?
2. Oh sweet, my boobs are smaller! Joy. (There may have even been some happy tears).
3. Oh my god, I'm a terrible vegan.
Connie walked back into the recovery room a few seconds after I woke up, telling me that I did great while feeding me drugs. She helped me get into a wheelchair, wheeled me out to my mom's car, where I professed my love for her.
"You're the best nurse ever... I love you. I know you think it's because I'm on drugs, but even before the drugs you were just the best. Seriously, you're amazing. Thanks for holding my hand." I told Connie.
On the way home, my mom had to assure me that I wasn't a terrible vegan. It didn't mean a whole lot coming from her, as she thinks my veganism is stupid in the first place. I have since recovered from my vegan guilt, and accomplished the following:
1. Taken three days to write a blog post, because I got too sleepy to finish it each time I began writing.
2. Eaten 3/4 of a jar of jam all by myself.
3. Flashed Amanda my bandages and said "Say hello to these!"
4. Insisted that I could walk by myself, and been caught by my step-dad as I nearly fell to the ground.
5. Played "Snake" on facebook at least 300 times.
Once again, my percocet is kicking in, I'm losing my mental coherence, so I think it's quitting time for now.
Happy Percocet Week! I love percocet.
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