Looking back on the emotional rollercoaster of that fateful Thursday, it is the resilience that had the biggest impact; the ability to bounce back and stay calm. Not the pain, not the unbelievable incompetence of the misdiagnosis, not the fact that I had a broken back and needed complex surgery, not even the loneliness and longing because I was separated from David and the girls. All of that was awefull, but the sense of gratefulness and calm was more powerful. And I am so glad I got to experience that. Feeling stressed, fearful and panicked would be normal, but I was not feeling any of that. I was just there, passing the time.
Of course, I was nervous about the surgery of the following day. But, the feeling was more impatience than anything else. I wanted it to be over with. I hated the anticipation and waiting. And there really was nothing to do. I basically just laid there. Looking around, wondering what was happening to other people in the ICU. I could see other patients in cages across from me. That looked really scary. One of them was unconscious. Like me, he was naked under the sheet and I could see part of his body. His limp body. I realized that that is what we really were to the ICU staff; totally incapacitated bodies. That needed constant monitoring, but also washing.
The washing was like an out of body experience. First, they (2 guys) removed the sheet. Then they soaked the front of body, all of it, with soap and water, using a sponge. I remember totally shaking and my teeth clattering from the cold. Then they turned me, OUCH, and did the back. All of it very thorough. From head to toe. I was totally naked for everyone to see. I felt miserable, self conscious and ashamed of my nakedness. I did not want them to see me like this. I really didn't.
But, who cares? Really. I told myself that feeling ashamed was ridiculous. This place was not about appearance and body image, this was about health, and for some even about life and death. I was lucky to be conscious and alive.
Friday was a big day. The day of our surgeries. And the day the girls would leave the island with Hans. David would have his wrist surgery in the morning and my surgery was scheduled for Friday afternoon. And I did feel stressed. Mostly about my surgery. There are always risks and I could not stop the "what if" scenarios in my head. But, it wasn't too bad, nothing like the terror and panic from before. I kept it nicely together that day. But, the time passed extremely slow. When they finally picked me up, the nerves did get the better of me. It was time. This was it. I was real scared. My heart was racing and I felt nauseous. I was crying softly when they put me on the anesthesia drip.
...
When I woke up, the first thing I felt was the purest sense of happiness. I WAS STILL ALIVE. I made it out of surgery, it was over and I made it. That was all that mattered, I didn't even know whether the surgery was successful. I didn't care at that moment. Again tears, but this time tears of joy. God, I wish I could feel that more often; grateful and happy just to be alive. I would see Sasha and Renee again. And David. I would have a "rest of my live". Woohoo.
After being super elated, some reality set in. There was a lot of pain and I really wanted to know how the surgery went. How long did it take, was it successful, will there be long-term damage, etc.?
Again, the pain meds dosage was disappointing. I was frustrated. There was no need to suffer that much pain. But, it was the weekend and there was no one in the ICU who spoke English. Even the head of the ICU, who spoke English and had given me pain meds before, was off.
I tried to communicate with the nurses. I pointed to my back and asked "OK?" The nurses gave me the thumps up. I also asked "doctor come here?" using all kinds of sign language. I thought they meant that the surgueon would stop by to explain soon. I kept aksing "when" and they kept telling me "soon". I asked for him almost every hour, getting more and more pissed. I was in lots of pain and had many unanswered questions. If only the surgeon would come. He could help me. I wanted to relax again, feel calm. Fighting the pain and worry about the surgery were so unnecessary.
I did not sleep at all Friday night.
He did not visit until late Saturday. I was furious by then. And exhausted. This was unacceptable; I'd been anticipating his visit the whole evening and night on Friday. And again the entire day on Saturday. And I had way too much pain. So, when he finally showed, the first thing I said was " I have been waiting for you for a really long time. Where have you been? The nurses said you'd visit yesterday"
And you know what that asshole said with his strong Spanish accent?
"ahhh, there are many women who wait for me and want to be with me".
He actually said that. I could not believe it. It was so outrageous that I started laughing. This was too much. He rambled on in his poor English about what a stellar job he did, but I did not really understand him. I was so taken aback that I never asked all the questions I wanted answered. I did get a few words in about needing more pain meds, and then he left. He was gone before I knew it. And that was the last I saw of him.
I wasn't even angry, just stunned.
So, I did get some more pain meds which helped me relax. No point in obsessing over this unbelievable narcisistic macho. After all, we were in Spain, which I knew was still a pervasive macho culture.
So, I let it be and fell asleep, finally.
