He’s fine
The orderly came to get him at 9 for a 10:15 surgery, and wheeled him down the hall with me following behind. We hadn’t gone far when he told us that that’s where we were going to part ways, so I kissed my boy, told him I loved him, and to be good, and went my direction as they went theirs. I was directed to go to the end of that hall and turn left to find my way to the “surgery lobby,” aka “surgery waiting.” By the time I found my way to it, following the variously named signs, I had made 3 lefts and was pretty much back where I started, I swear.
Manning the reception desk were two old biddies (there never are any young biddies, are there?) who looked like they hadn’t cracked a smile since 1964, and weren’t about to start now. That’s EXACTLY who you want dealing with people who are scared and worried about their family members. I told them who I was, and whom I was waiting for, and they told me to have a seat, and to inform them if I left the area. Apparently, I was now in custody. I told them I was leaving immediately in search of ice, because the Diet Coke I’d gotten out of a machine loudly proclaiming “Icy 47 degrees!” was tepid at best, and it was bad enough I was having a Snickers for second breakfast; I wasn’t going to drink warm battery acid while I was at it.
When I got back, I settled in a quietish corner, got my iPod going, and my book out, and then rubbernecked for awhile.
I think I was the youngest person in the room, and that freaked me out. Further. I’d kept my freaking out under wraps, because I didn’t need to add to E’s own nervousness. My job at the moment was to keep it together and be the supportive one, but being alone and waiting, watching the clock, gave me more time than I wanted with my thoughts. It was strange, looking around at all these halves of couples, and some families, obviously waiting for older folks than I was. My 36-year-old husband was in for surgery. Jesus.
9:30 rolled by, and I thought it was 10:30 when I looked at my watch, and figured he was in already. It was only at 9:50 I realized my mistake, and realized I had half an hour before he even went in.
Of course I worried. While I knew it should all be fine, that it was routine, that the chances of complications were low…well, you know. There’s always a chance, and I’m not placing a lot of trust in the Universe of late to look out for my best interests. Every time a vivid and fearful thought came into my head, I pushed it right out, replacing it with an affirmation. But it was hard, the waiting.
At 10:20 I thought I heard I heard my name through the music in my ears, and took my earbuds out and waited for them to repeat it. Yep, that was me. I looked at the clock: 10:20. He’d only been in for 5 minutes? I had a flash of panic as I walked over.
I knew the petite blonde doc had to be his surgeon, because E had described her to me, and she said “You’re E’s wife? He’s fine…let’s go over here for privacy.” So we stepped away from the masses, and she started giving me details, and I said “He’s done already???” She said yes, that they’d been plowing through surgeries that morning (okay, she didn’t say plowing, that was me) and that everything went perfectly, including the abdominal hernia, which didn’t require the installation of a screen door as it might’ve. E was concerned about being assimilated, and preferred not to have any non-factory-installed equipment in his person.
And I was so very relieved. She told me I would sit for awhile until he came out of the anesthesia, and then he’d go to recovery, and they’d call me to go over there when he did. I sat for another half an hour or so before they called my name again.
In the final tally, E was down one gallbladder, up a pair of free socks with grippy feet, and wiped out. I went to get the car and they said they’d wheel him to meet me out front. That would be out front where 6 other idiots couldn’t decide on a single parking strategy amongst themselves, and so parked 6 cars where there should’ve been room for 10. So I stopped in the middle of the road, and got out and they wheeled my poor boy out into parking lot traffic. We then had to wait for the water guy to get out of our way as well.
I got him home, and we took a short walk around the block per doctor’s orders, and then I got him settled in bed to watch SG-1 so I could go pick up his pain prescription and some juice and soup. And then, when I was alone in the car, I felt the stress, after it was all over, and he was safe at home, resting and on the mend. I marvel at people’s ability to function sometimes. Okay, I marveled at my ability to function, despite my own current issues. We do what we have to do, I guess. But having one love so fragile after losing the other one is just too much to think about. I don’t think I really have. I’m not entirely sure I want to.