Ankylosaurus: the Operation
Mar. 10th, 2006 05:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dreamer_easyFor about a decade, I didn't know I had Panic Anxiety Disorder, and I had no way of coping with those overwhelming attacks of shaking, weeping, retching terror. The first time I had an operation, back in 1988, I was quite convinced I would die under the anaesthetic. I had to wait alone in a little room for them to come and get me. I read and immediately re-read the same short story, frantic to distract myself as I became more and more and more terrified. My heart was beating so rapidly my whole body shook with it.
Yesterday's surgery was nothing like that at all. Doctors have become more sensitive to anxiety problems, I've become better at communicating how serious mine is. The anaesthetist and I arranged for me to take my tranquilliser, Xanax, before the operation. Just like before, I had to wait alone in a little room, but this time, instead of becoming more and more frightened, I became more and more relaxed as the Xanax did its work. I read a little, meditated a little, and drowsed a lot.
I just beat my worst fear, albeit with chemical help. I look forward to the day I don't even need the little pink pills.
It helped that all the staff were friendly and professional - everyone smiled and said hello, explained who they were and what they were doing, but nobody cracked any "jokes" about the operation. (Except me. Tranks loosen the tongue.)
I kept telling people, for example, "OK, you're putting the line in now, that's one of the things that scares me", then discovering I really didn't care all that much. :-) I wasn't even frightened to find a drip in my arm, or later to discover my blood backleaking into the tube (which happens when the drip runs out).
My long-standing fear of needles stems from a vicious panic attack in 1986 when I caught a "medical mistake" news item at random. An episode like that can program you to be irrationally afraid for years; it takes a lot of work to beat it. The brain firmly remembers "That was terrifying; therefore it was dangerous; avoid!!!" (My fear of flying is also the result of a single episode of panic in 1987.)
I remember wiggling into the right position on the operating table, and someone putting electrodes on my chest; then I remember someone saying "You're in the recovery room". I expect I've lost a little memory there - unless the anaesthetist slipped me the stuff without telling me first!
My eyes wouldn't focus for ages, but I could speak. I remember remarking how I'd read that people coming out of anaesthetic often say rude things, but the nurses assured me I'd behaved myself. :-) The breathing tube had scraped hell out of my throat. The nurse brought tea and orange juice, straight from heaven, and the greatest sandwiches of all time (salad, tuna). It was interesting watching myself coming back to life, being able to handle the food a little more easily with each bite or sip. My vagueness lasted for hours - probably the Xanax rather than anything to do with the op!
My foot looked huge; it was wrapped in a dark blue cold pack, which I couldn't feel, since my foot was shot full of local. :-)
The doc came in, explained all had gone well, and we shook hands.
Poor Jon had to wait for hours for me to emerge. Hugging him when he was finally allowed in to see me was wonderful.
ETA: Remembered something else! The doc drawing blue lines on my foot. "These are your nerves."
ETA much later: the "medical mistake" news item concerned the tragic death of photographer Bob East, accidentally injected with a preservative due to sloppy labelling procedures. Frighteningly, such incidents still occur.
Yesterday's surgery was nothing like that at all. Doctors have become more sensitive to anxiety problems, I've become better at communicating how serious mine is. The anaesthetist and I arranged for me to take my tranquilliser, Xanax, before the operation. Just like before, I had to wait alone in a little room, but this time, instead of becoming more and more frightened, I became more and more relaxed as the Xanax did its work. I read a little, meditated a little, and drowsed a lot.
I just beat my worst fear, albeit with chemical help. I look forward to the day I don't even need the little pink pills.
It helped that all the staff were friendly and professional - everyone smiled and said hello, explained who they were and what they were doing, but nobody cracked any "jokes" about the operation. (Except me. Tranks loosen the tongue.)
I kept telling people, for example, "OK, you're putting the line in now, that's one of the things that scares me", then discovering I really didn't care all that much. :-) I wasn't even frightened to find a drip in my arm, or later to discover my blood backleaking into the tube (which happens when the drip runs out).
My long-standing fear of needles stems from a vicious panic attack in 1986 when I caught a "medical mistake" news item at random. An episode like that can program you to be irrationally afraid for years; it takes a lot of work to beat it. The brain firmly remembers "That was terrifying; therefore it was dangerous; avoid!!!" (My fear of flying is also the result of a single episode of panic in 1987.)
I remember wiggling into the right position on the operating table, and someone putting electrodes on my chest; then I remember someone saying "You're in the recovery room". I expect I've lost a little memory there - unless the anaesthetist slipped me the stuff without telling me first!
My eyes wouldn't focus for ages, but I could speak. I remember remarking how I'd read that people coming out of anaesthetic often say rude things, but the nurses assured me I'd behaved myself. :-) The breathing tube had scraped hell out of my throat. The nurse brought tea and orange juice, straight from heaven, and the greatest sandwiches of all time (salad, tuna). It was interesting watching myself coming back to life, being able to handle the food a little more easily with each bite or sip. My vagueness lasted for hours - probably the Xanax rather than anything to do with the op!
My foot looked huge; it was wrapped in a dark blue cold pack, which I couldn't feel, since my foot was shot full of local. :-)
The doc came in, explained all had gone well, and we shook hands.
Poor Jon had to wait for hours for me to emerge. Hugging him when he was finally allowed in to see me was wonderful.
ETA: Remembered something else! The doc drawing blue lines on my foot. "These are your nerves."
ETA much later: the "medical mistake" news item concerned the tragic death of photographer Bob East, accidentally injected with a preservative due to sloppy labelling procedures. Frighteningly, such incidents still occur.
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no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 07:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 07:44 am (UTC)I was at the other end of the spectrum from you though with the waiting - I slept solidly whilst waiting to go in, and woke up only briefly to hop over onto the table and say hi, then go back to sleep. No premed, just shift work in the lead up.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 08:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 11:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-12 12:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 12:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 01:38 pm (UTC)However I can't resist commenting on how amusing it must be, on some level, for you (of all people) to be frightened of doctors. Though it does explain, perhaps, how often you've beaten up the Doctor in your books. He's bearing the brunt of your anxieties. :P
no subject
Date: 2006-03-12 12:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 03:01 pm (UTC)And thanks for sharing your experiences. Just as TV going on
about bad days can warp people, I think hearing stories of
good days can help!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-12 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 09:02 pm (UTC)I never behave coming out of anaethesia, I tend to swear like a merchant marine. Really startled a nurse last time. Then the morphine kicked in and I got "happy". I'm one if the 5% of the population who gets very happy, but not sleepy on morphine...lovely stuff, for a while.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-12 12:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-11 05:54 am (UTC)The breathing tube thing scares the crap out of me, I have to say. Everything else I'm pretty OK with, but I've heard horror stories of singers wreaking their voices in one minor procedure because of that damn tube rubbing against the vocal chords....