As promised in my previous post, this is going to be my Dali piece. I’m writing this on a Tuesday afternoon because God only knows where my mind will be once Wednesday afternoon comes along. I’ve always dealt with general anxiety and I’m getting better at dealing with it as I get older, but oh man, there are still things that trigger it. Understandably, this is one of those things.
It’s less the cyst coming out and more being knocked the fuck out. The loss of control. The unknown.
But, in a weird way I’m looking forward to the experience. It’s one of those things that everyone faces at one point in their life no matter how minor or major, right? So this is my foray into a new experience.
Even with my heart pounding. The hot flashes. I’m struggling to keep my breath as even as possible to keep my heart rate low because apparently high blood pressure isn’t a good thing to have pre-surgery.
Anyway, everything following the picture below is going to be post-surgery anesthesia Kira. She’s a badass. I’m even going to let her choose what awesome, captivating picture goes next!
Honestly, I’m not as drugged as I anticipated myself to be. I feel a little high in a good way, but I did it. I feel weirdly invincible.
In the moment, I felt incredibly vulnerable.
Everyone on the team was amazing. They were great at comforting me because I was visibly nervous.
Shaking nervous. But they were sweet and patient.
The surgeon came in. He let me hold his hand as he talked to me. He said it felt clammy. He also said they would sing in the OR so I asked for Build Me Up Buttercup which they seemed pretty jazzed about.
I was already gone if they did.
When the anesthesiologist came in, she gave me two shots in my IV. The first one made my head swim like I was drunk. The second one… I really don’t remember. I vaguely remember a mask being put up to my face and someone saying, “This is oxygen and I just need you to breathe.”
And then I woke up what felt like a couple minutes later.
Everyone was really concerned if I would vomit.
And then my roommate, Earl, was called back in.
I told everyone the origins of their names because I write a fuck ton of characters and nerd out about stuff like that. They seemed impressed and happy.
Before I went in I was telling Earl about periods and how having a uterus is weird.
Stuff your gay roommate never has considered nor ever has to worry about.
Or maybe? I don’t know. It’s 2019 and trans men exist. He could adopt in the future.
But he’s an amazing person so I think he was weirdly fascinated but also just trying to take my mind off everything.
And now I’m back with this giant thing on my arm where they took out my cyst (which I got to see!) and a bunch of bandages from the IV. The first one from where they missed (oops) and a second one from where they succeeded. Also, a hospital band.
I’ll keep the band. It feels like a testament to my strength. What I can accomplish.
Even nervous. Even scared. Even when I feel like I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
Also as a reminder that people are there with you and for you in those moments.
Oh, and they gave me this really nice pair of non-slip hospital socks so I’m definitely keeping those too.