Operation Day
The psychological ordeal is over, for the time being, and now the physical ordeal has begun for my wife. It really began last night, when she first drank her bottle of magnesium citrate, but this morning she will be put under and have to go through surgery. I’ve thought to write about this, and I’ve thought about this over and over, but I’ve not written much down. I’ve been too stressed out by the thought of thinking this over. My most common thought has been fear, fear of losing my wife, fear for her parents’ loss and loneliness, and fear of being blamed, by myself, by my family, by her parents, perhaps by God. And though I don’t think I am, I’ve also been afraid of finding out I’ve been wrong.
We met with Dr. Thomas Hilgers again yesterday (we last saw him after her exploratory laproscopy last December). He’s a quietly intense man, a slightly disconcerting presence, a bit inscrutable, like most doctors, and with penetrating, appraising eyes. He’s jovial, though, bearded and rotund, a bit like a well-trimmed, tailored, gray-haired Santa Claus. He repeated a few times, “Well, we have our work cut out for us,” in relation to my wife’s severe endometriosis and adhesions. That unnerved her a bit, but she observed that he seems confident; he just seems to be communicating that what he’s doing is labor- and concentration-intensive.
There was a funny exchange between us regarding colleges. I had mentioned a mutual friend to Dr. Hilgers – a local doctor – noting that I knew the man because I had gone to college with his daughter and her husband. He asked, “Where’s college?” When I answered Notre Dame, he remarked, “Well, there you go!” – a remark that wasn’t clarified by the context. He followed that up by asking my wife where she went to school. She was surprised to know that he was familiar with St. Olaf – “oh,” he said, “in Northfield.” It turns out he is from Minnesota, went to St. John’s for college, and did some of his medical training at Mayo, to which my wife responded, “Well, there you go!” to general laughter. Hers seemed pretty clear – it seemed to say, “Wow.” His could have been “Wow,” or “Figures,” knowing how divergent opinions on ND can be.
When I first came into the waiting room, around 6:30 this morning, there were two TV’s on. I was the only one there, and they were both blaring, and so I turned one of them down entirely. I was too slow to turn the other one down, as a group came in while I snooped around the room looking for anyone who might reprimand me for turning off a waiting room television. They left eventually, so I girded my loins and charged over to turn it down. When they came back, they seemed unbothered by the change in sound level (they had previously been sitting right in front of it as it blared, and went back to the same place), so I had peace up until now, about 9:00, when the nice old lady in the waiting room came over to turn on the TV for a young boy who’s waiting on his own. The boy, a son of African immigrants, to judge by his beautifully deep black skin, is sitting without anything to do, other than look across the room at the TV (he seems not to be interested in the magazines), and so she came over to turn up the closer television for him, which is right next to me. I silently groaned, but after she fiddled with it for awhile, she asked the boy if he wanted to watch it. He said no, and she turned to me to find out whether the still low volume was too high. I said no, not wanting to lord it over the whole waiting room, but she then decided to turn it off, since no one would be watching it.
Later:
Just heard from the nurse liaison, a trial position here at Creighton Hospital. She makes a circuit of the operating rooms to find out how the patients are doing. She then comes to the waiting room and updates the family members who are waiting for news. About an hour or two into the surgery, my wife is doing fine. The anesthesiologist says she is stable, and the surgeons are inside, just beginning to take bits of endometriosis out – they are using lasers to cut away the adhesions. I then went out to make a call to update my wife’s parents, who are eager for news, as one might expect.
Later:
The nice old lady came over again. The boy is apparently Sudanese, and they apparently are quite friendly and have the nicest handwriting – or at least he does. She’s a garrulous old gal, but perfectly friendly. When I signed in to the waiting room, she asked who my surgeon was. When I answered Dr. Hilgers, she said, “I knew it. The nicest young couples always come in to him.” Now she wanted to tell me about the Sudanese boy. He’s apparently finished middle school and is on his way to a high school. She advised him not to stay out late, because our culture has changed and there are bad people about. He assured her that he’s always in early. She was quite happy to hear that I am a teacher – I get far more praise for that than I deserve – and commiserated with me like Socrates over the state of today’s youth. She seems to think the Sudanese boy is an exception, and I do too, from the little I saw. He was quite polite with her when she sat down to talk with him, taking her advice without resentment, and when I left to use the phone, I asked him to keep an eye on my laptop, which he did without incident.
Later:
The nice old lady is being nice again, now at 10:34, this time inquiring as to whether a few other people, who aren’t apparently interested enough in their own amusement to bring something to read, would like to watch TV. She asked the woman in question what she would like to watch, CNN? The woman responded, “CNN, Home and Garden, whatever.” “Whatever.” Doesn’t that say it all?
Later:
It is now 12:48. About an hour and a half ago I heard from the nurse liason that things were going well. My wife is still stable, and they have found the fallopian tubes. Way back in December, when they did a laproscopy to check out her interior, they couldn’t get very far. Most importantly, they couldn’t find her fallopian tubes, which might have been damaged or even obliterated by the scarring of the interior by the endometriosis. Dr. Hilgers has found them, however, and they are open and in good shape. I was told at the time that her surgery, instead of finishing between 11 and 12, would now finish closer to 1:00. So, as might be expected, I am starting to get a bit nervous.
Shortly after I received that phone call, I got my in-laws and my parents up-to-date; my father was jokingly unhappy to be called last – in fact, he called me, while I was talking to my mother – but I think he understands. My mother-in-law has been quite nervous, but I think is doing ok. She was moved to tears to hear that my wife and I said some prayers together before she was wheeled out. As a staunch Protestant, she may not have been as moved to tears if she knew the prayers were three Hail Mary’s, but she’s a good woman and easily moved, so she might well have. I also said a Rosary as I sat in the waiting room, a somewhat flawed rosary, however, as I was dozing off in the later decades, due to waking up at 4:30 or so. My final religious effort was a minor sacrifice: last night I ate what my wife ate – broth, jello, and popsicles – and this morning I decided not to eat until I knew she was in the Recovery room. At that point I’ll get up and go out of the hospital to eat something somewhere, but until then I’m devoting this very minor fast to her health and to the Doctor’s success.
Later:
Just heard that Doctor Hilgers might be out to see me in the next fifteen minutes. My wife is apparently doing well, and she will be in the recovery room in about an hour. Ran downstairs to give Sandy a quick call, and then shot right back upstairs.
We met with Dr. Thomas Hilgers again yesterday (we last saw him after her exploratory laproscopy last December). He’s a quietly intense man, a slightly disconcerting presence, a bit inscrutable, like most doctors, and with penetrating, appraising eyes. He’s jovial, though, bearded and rotund, a bit like a well-trimmed, tailored, gray-haired Santa Claus. He repeated a few times, “Well, we have our work cut out for us,” in relation to my wife’s severe endometriosis and adhesions. That unnerved her a bit, but she observed that he seems confident; he just seems to be communicating that what he’s doing is labor- and concentration-intensive.
There was a funny exchange between us regarding colleges. I had mentioned a mutual friend to Dr. Hilgers – a local doctor – noting that I knew the man because I had gone to college with his daughter and her husband. He asked, “Where’s college?” When I answered Notre Dame, he remarked, “Well, there you go!” – a remark that wasn’t clarified by the context. He followed that up by asking my wife where she went to school. She was surprised to know that he was familiar with St. Olaf – “oh,” he said, “in Northfield.” It turns out he is from Minnesota, went to St. John’s for college, and did some of his medical training at Mayo, to which my wife responded, “Well, there you go!” to general laughter. Hers seemed pretty clear – it seemed to say, “Wow.” His could have been “Wow,” or “Figures,” knowing how divergent opinions on ND can be.
When I first came into the waiting room, around 6:30 this morning, there were two TV’s on. I was the only one there, and they were both blaring, and so I turned one of them down entirely. I was too slow to turn the other one down, as a group came in while I snooped around the room looking for anyone who might reprimand me for turning off a waiting room television. They left eventually, so I girded my loins and charged over to turn it down. When they came back, they seemed unbothered by the change in sound level (they had previously been sitting right in front of it as it blared, and went back to the same place), so I had peace up until now, about 9:00, when the nice old lady in the waiting room came over to turn on the TV for a young boy who’s waiting on his own. The boy, a son of African immigrants, to judge by his beautifully deep black skin, is sitting without anything to do, other than look across the room at the TV (he seems not to be interested in the magazines), and so she came over to turn up the closer television for him, which is right next to me. I silently groaned, but after she fiddled with it for awhile, she asked the boy if he wanted to watch it. He said no, and she turned to me to find out whether the still low volume was too high. I said no, not wanting to lord it over the whole waiting room, but she then decided to turn it off, since no one would be watching it.
Later:
Just heard from the nurse liaison, a trial position here at Creighton Hospital. She makes a circuit of the operating rooms to find out how the patients are doing. She then comes to the waiting room and updates the family members who are waiting for news. About an hour or two into the surgery, my wife is doing fine. The anesthesiologist says she is stable, and the surgeons are inside, just beginning to take bits of endometriosis out – they are using lasers to cut away the adhesions. I then went out to make a call to update my wife’s parents, who are eager for news, as one might expect.
Later:
The nice old lady came over again. The boy is apparently Sudanese, and they apparently are quite friendly and have the nicest handwriting – or at least he does. She’s a garrulous old gal, but perfectly friendly. When I signed in to the waiting room, she asked who my surgeon was. When I answered Dr. Hilgers, she said, “I knew it. The nicest young couples always come in to him.” Now she wanted to tell me about the Sudanese boy. He’s apparently finished middle school and is on his way to a high school. She advised him not to stay out late, because our culture has changed and there are bad people about. He assured her that he’s always in early. She was quite happy to hear that I am a teacher – I get far more praise for that than I deserve – and commiserated with me like Socrates over the state of today’s youth. She seems to think the Sudanese boy is an exception, and I do too, from the little I saw. He was quite polite with her when she sat down to talk with him, taking her advice without resentment, and when I left to use the phone, I asked him to keep an eye on my laptop, which he did without incident.
Later:
The nice old lady is being nice again, now at 10:34, this time inquiring as to whether a few other people, who aren’t apparently interested enough in their own amusement to bring something to read, would like to watch TV. She asked the woman in question what she would like to watch, CNN? The woman responded, “CNN, Home and Garden, whatever.” “Whatever.” Doesn’t that say it all?
Later:
It is now 12:48. About an hour and a half ago I heard from the nurse liason that things were going well. My wife is still stable, and they have found the fallopian tubes. Way back in December, when they did a laproscopy to check out her interior, they couldn’t get very far. Most importantly, they couldn’t find her fallopian tubes, which might have been damaged or even obliterated by the scarring of the interior by the endometriosis. Dr. Hilgers has found them, however, and they are open and in good shape. I was told at the time that her surgery, instead of finishing between 11 and 12, would now finish closer to 1:00. So, as might be expected, I am starting to get a bit nervous.
Shortly after I received that phone call, I got my in-laws and my parents up-to-date; my father was jokingly unhappy to be called last – in fact, he called me, while I was talking to my mother – but I think he understands. My mother-in-law has been quite nervous, but I think is doing ok. She was moved to tears to hear that my wife and I said some prayers together before she was wheeled out. As a staunch Protestant, she may not have been as moved to tears if she knew the prayers were three Hail Mary’s, but she’s a good woman and easily moved, so she might well have. I also said a Rosary as I sat in the waiting room, a somewhat flawed rosary, however, as I was dozing off in the later decades, due to waking up at 4:30 or so. My final religious effort was a minor sacrifice: last night I ate what my wife ate – broth, jello, and popsicles – and this morning I decided not to eat until I knew she was in the Recovery room. At that point I’ll get up and go out of the hospital to eat something somewhere, but until then I’m devoting this very minor fast to her health and to the Doctor’s success.
Later:
Just heard that Doctor Hilgers might be out to see me in the next fifteen minutes. My wife is apparently doing well, and she will be in the recovery room in about an hour. Ran downstairs to give Sandy a quick call, and then shot right back upstairs.
posted by J. R. R. Hawking | 7:39 PM
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