I woke up not knowing where I was or why I was there. The clock facing me tells me that it’s past two, AM or PM, I wasn’t sure. The door on my right side had a small glass window but the blinds were down which made everything dark. I heard footsteps; so I knew I wasn’t alone. And when the lady in light green scrubs approached me, I realized where I was.
It’s done. I’m alive.
I was ecstatic, but God, was I thirsty; so thirsty that I pleaded for water. The nurse responded quickly, brought me a cup, dipped a cotton swab and made me sip three times. It wasn’t enough though, I wanted more. Because of the thirst, all I could imagine were ice chips, snow cones and liters of cold bottled water. And so she promised to give me a few more sips later or perhaps a cup as soon as the doctor cleared me. It was when the thirst was quenched when I realized how heavy I felt – like someone decided to place an anvil wrapped in barbed wire on my chest. When I coughed or sneezed, the pain doubled, so I decided to ask for pain medications. And to make everything even more uncomfortable, I had tubes everywhere – one on my neck, a venipuncture on my left hand, an atrial line on the right, a tube connected to my chest; another drained excess fluid from my pericardium, a catheter connected to my uhmmm… urethra and lastly, a small blue wire connected to my heart muscle.
I looked at the clock again. The nurse said I would be given dinner later that night so I concluded that it was past three in the afternoon. She left after showing me where the call button was. I kept staring at the window knowing they would open the blinds at 6 pm. I still had about three hours before I see familiar faces again.
I couldn’t believe it. It was over. I looked back at all the events that led up to this moment. The quarterly check ups that began when I was an infant after the doctors concluded that I had VSD. The abnormal heartbeat that only I can hear when everything around is quiet. The madness that goes with accomplishing forms and completing requirements; and saving up the needed money for the operation. The frustrations of getting turned down and having those requirements expire. Plus, getting told that you’re not top priority because your case isn’t that urgent but needs surgery nonetheless. The glimpse of hope given when you realize a lot of people are willing to help you get what you need. And the joy of finally getting that guarantee letter, of getting admitted and prepped up for surgery.
I was holding back my tears.
I thought of everything that happened that morning,
getting prepped by the attendant,
getting “God bless you” messages from friends and family,
taking goofy pictures with my boyfriend then admitting to him that I was as nervous as fuck that I might die.
Him, calming me down.
The nurse giving me antibiotics and anti-histamine before wheeling me to the OR.
My mom, smiling as she accompanied us to the OR floor.
Me, uttering the words “I love you. See you later” to my mother before they closed the door on her.
Me, shaking uncontrollably because of the icy cold operating room and perhaps because my nerves were getting to me.
And finally, me, getting laid on the table, inhaling the anesthesia and counting one..two..three…before finally dozing off.
After I woke up, I spent a few more days in the hospital, attended a month of therapy then spent a long period of time in my hometown to regain strength; and the rest as they say, was history.
It’s done and I’m alive. I ‘ve repeated this in my head three more times yet I still couldn’t believe it. It has been a year. I am already used to guys (and gals) checking out my chest, not ’cause of my boobs though; but because of that nasty keloid. Some people cringe when i tell them how I got it. Some, thought I had a heart transplant or a bypass. Others, however, think it’s cool.
Well, I must admit, it is pretty awesome. And I am “COOL”, in a scarred-chest-wired-sternum-patched-heart kind of way.
I still feel like a rockstar. All I need now is an electric guitar. 🙂
The Thought Cube 