DIEP? How boring

My pre-op appointment was on Friday. Time for blood tests, haemoglobin tests (which I aced), meetings with Nurses, Pharmacists, and Doctors.

Everything went smoothly. Nurse Angela was particularly charming - we had a lively conversation with Wing mMan by my side.  I told her that I was planning on fasting the day before the operation, so that I wouldn’t have any digesting problems. ‘Why would you do that?’ she asked in the way that you do when you deal with this every day. ‘Why wouldn’t you have a delicious meal?’

Jim nodded eagerly in agreement. We’re determined to get a few dozen oysters in before the big day, and we’re getting short on time. I told her I thought clear liquids would be more appropriate the day before surgery, but not according to Angela. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You need to keep your strength up.’

So just to prove that I’m proactive about my health, I told her that I’d almost given up coffee. ‘What for?’ she said. I proudly explained that I didn’t want to go through any caffeine withdrawal – and she looked at me as you would a giant tomato. ‘Well how much coffee do you drink?’  I told her one to two big cups. She scribbled on her note pad, ‘That’s not much’.

Then I launched in to how I was worried about surviving without a shower,  controlling pet hair, and peeing on the operating table. She put down her pencil and looked up at me. ‘You’re an over-thinker.’ She said. For the second time that morning, Jim nodded eagerly in agreement.

The last appointment of the day was with the Anaesthesiologist, a swarthy eastern European man with tiny hands and unruly black hair . He told us that while the DIEP surgery is long, it is safe. The work is superficial, and is not considered and insult to the body. He told us that surgeries are classified on a risk scale of one to four. Four is  the most risky  - and would include heart transplants and other fun things. My surgery is classified as a one. ‘In fact’, he said, ‘it’s boring.’

This caught our attention. ‘Did you say that it’s boring?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said without the trace of a smile, or an accent, ‘Boring.’ He explained that rather than a roller coaster of anaesthetic administered during surgery, mine will be long a long steady dose to keep me slightly under. ‘There’s nothing to do,’ he pouted, ‘I get bored.’

‘Since when did this become about you?’ I wanted to ask. But I looked over at Jim, who was grinning. The bubble in which I live is all consuming, self absorbed, intense, complicated, scary and fascinating. And that bubble had just been popped by a single word from a pouty Eastern European with a big sweaty face.

My surgery is boring. I’m okay with that.

Four days to go.