I Was Diagnosed: Part One

I waited for this procedure for months prior. Something we thought was a right ovarian cyst that is actually quite common for women. My physician and I have monitored this mass with ultrasounds every three months for over a year. Because the mass continued to grow, she was concerned and suggested I get it removed. I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do, considering now at this point we’re unsure of what it is but not once thinking of the worst.

Five o’clock in the morning on October 30^th, 2017, my husband, Andrew, and I gathered ourselves to prepare for a long road ahead. It was dark with a bone-chilling breeze that early morning as we drove to the hospital for pre-op. The roads were clear, no traffic, which allowed us to reach our destination quickly with ease. As we arrived, there were a handful of people waiting for their names to be called. “Kayla Jacobson?”, the receptionist requested with a firm voice. My husband and I hustled to her desk as she greeted us and read through paperwork to orient me on billing and if I’d like a blood transfusion if things went south during my procedure. Why of course. Her name was, Dana, a black woman in her mid-forties, funny, kind with a hearty laugh. That laugh certainly knew how to ease my nerves. A few things she said made me wonder if she were a Christian. Hmm…I guess we’ll never know.

Forty-five minutes passed, and my name was called once again, but this time to surgery. A woman asked me and my husband to follow her to the back. She wasn’t very friendly, but I could tell that she meant well. As we walked, there were people everywhere. Patients in rooms either in post-operation or waiting for their turn. With all its busyness, there was an underlying sense of chaos, like an animal kingdom. We were all checking each other out as we guessed why each one of us was there. Different stories, multiple purposes, but in the same place. The woman led us to a room where she instructed me to change into a gown and wash my entire body with a disposable washcloth. I wasn’t very excited about that considering I just showered that morning with my favorite lavender body wash that my husband gifted me last Christmas. Shortly after, two nurses came in to introduce themselves. One a little more gracious than the other, but both genuine. The friendlier nurse began the anesthesia. At this point, I knew that it was game time. As rest of the surgery team joined in, they introduced themselves with a reassuring tone that they were to be trusted. As the nurse began to wheel me to the operating room, my husband hugged and kissed me like it was the last time that he would as I faded to black.

A few hours later, I awoke awfully groggy and weak. Weak to the point that I couldn’t open my eyes or speak. But I somehow gathered the strength to ask the whereabouts of my husband. Soon after, I awoke again, this time with my husband in the room. Although I couldn’t see him, the sound of his gentle voice and scent gave me comfort. According to him, I began to mumble something with tears in my eyes. I explained to him that I was upset because I stepped on a snail outside our apartment the night before. Anesthesia sure knows how to play devious tricks on ya.