Echoes of Star Trek

My surgery was scheduled for Monday morning, June 21.  I had never had surgery before.  All right, that’s not entirely true. I had Lasix on my eyes when I was in my 40s, and I had cataract surgery about 9 years ago.  Those were done using local anesthesia/light sedation.  I’ve had colonoscopies under general anesthesia, but that isn’t surgery.  This was my first experience having surgery in a hospital setting under general anesthesia.  I wasn’t nervous as much as I was slightly anxious as I would be for any new experience.  I also just wanted it over with.

About a month before the procedure, I had a uterine and pelvic ultrasound, which had no notable findings, which of course was good news—there was no evidence of cancerous or precancerous masses.  A few days before the surgery, I went in for preop testing—EKG, chest x-ray, blood work, COVID test, etc.  The preop testing also allowed me to complete all the insurance paperwork, so when I arrived at the hospital for my surgery, I could bypass admissions and go straight up to the surgical floor.

Evan dropped me off at the hospital on Monday morning at about 6:30AM (due to COVID he could not stay at the hospital).  The hospital was very efficient; within minutes I was in a room, in a gown, etc.  Then I waited.  My surgery was actually scheduled for 9:45 but I had to be there at 6:30 for patient registration.  However, I had completed my patient registration the week before, so there was a lot of waiting time.  The doctor popped in at about 8:45AM to say hello and confirm we were doing a hysterectomy as well as BSO.  Then he said he’d see me in the operating room. 

My surgeon has an excellent reputation and training.  He is the Director of Gynecologic Oncology at the hospital where I was having my surgery.  He received his medical degree at Mount Sinai, completed his residency at Duke University, and did fellowships at Mount Sinai and Memorial Sloan Kettering.  He was well educated and expertly trained, but I had been warned that if I wanted bedside manner, I should look elsewhere.  Therefore, I was not entirely surprised when I felt like he had no idea who I was (even though I had an office visit with him).  I had been told that he does these surgeries routinely and in an assembly line fashion; my procedure was certainly nothing special to him.  I accepted this because I was not looking for a long-term relationship with this doctor; I just wanted a good surgeon.  I believe I got that.

A little while later a nurse walked me (yes, I walked, I was not wheeled) to the operating room.  When she learned it was my first surgery, she told me who would be there—my surgeon, a second surgeon assisting, an anesthesiologist, and some nurses.  I really appreciated her taking the time to share that with me.  It’s a bit overwhelming walking into a surgical suite for the first time. 

I walked in and was told to climb on the table.  As I positioned myself, the doctors and nurses were hooking up IVs, laying out surgical instruments, adjusting lighting…there was a scene I remember from Star Trek—The Next Generation (one of my favorite shows) where Cmdr. Riker is in a surgical suite, watching all the movement around him, yet feeling detached from all of the activity around him.  That’s how I felt.  It was all being done in preparation for my surgery, but I was remarkably detached from the activity.

Finally, the anesthesiologist put an IV in my arm and told me he was going to give me something to “relax” me.  Is that something they teach them to say in medical school?  Because the next thing I remember, the surgery was over.

My surgery was a robot-assisted laparoscopic procedure.  Basically, this entails several small—I have 5—incisions in my abdomen, each about an inch long, through which a camera and various surgical tools are inserted.  Using a computer panel, the surgeon controls the camera and tools, and performs the necessary cutting and removal.  After the surgery is completed, the incisions are sewn up, in my case with dissolvable sutures.

After the surgery I was wheeled back into my room where I dozed and was offered something to eat.  Evan came, I was given post-op instructions, and I was discharged.  I was home by 2PM.  Let’s say that again—I had my uterus, cervix, ovaries, and fallopian tubes removed through 5 incisions in my abdomen, and I was sent home within about 2 hours after the procedure.  Remember when a hysterectomy resulted in a 2-3 day hospital stay?  Not anymore.  I was given a prescription for oxycodone but never really needed it.  I was not in pain; I was not bleeding.  Other that being tired from the residual anesthesia in my system and some relatively minor discomfort, I felt fine.

Post-Op

Before I had learned about my BRCA status, and certainly before I learned I would have surgery, we had rented a house in the Berkshires for the summer.  Because of the uncertainly with regard to COVID we did not want to plan a trip where we would have to fly, be in crowded places, eat out every night, etc.  This proved to be remarkably prescient, as the house was the perfect place to recuperate.  Evan drove me up there the next day, and I stayed there through July 4^th weekend.

I was told, as part of my discharge instructions, that while no strenuous activity or heavy lifting was permitted post-operative, walking was encouraged.  On Saturday, I took my first walk.  My notes from Strava (my running app) read: “First real walk post-surgery.  Nice and slow.  I’ve learned how important it is to take care of yourself when you’re more or less healthy, so that when something really goes wrong, you’re in a better place towards healing.” Words that I will now try to live by.