The Other Side

I had to wash with Chlorhexidine sponges the night before and again the morning of. Nasal antibiotic ointment for five days pre-operatively. I arrived at Ottawa Plastic Surgery at 10:15 AM.

The nurse had me change into a gown. I kept my underwear on. I was placed in a bed and attached to a heating blanket. It was a small comfort that I appreciated more than I expected. IV in for hydration. Then I waited.

The surgeon came to mark me. I had to stand for that, and my body had opinions about it. Clammy, nauseous, unsteady. The full pre-faint experience. I laid down and raised my feet. He told me it was normal. The body knows when something physically significant is about to happen. It responds accordingly. That made sense to me.

The anesthesiologist came next to walk me through her part. Then a final trip to the bathroom and I walked myself to the operating room.

I’ve been here before. The hysterectomy. The lens replacement surgery. Bright lights, instructions to follow, upbeat music for the team, and the particular calm of a room full of people who do this every day. The propofol did its thing and then I was back in my cubicle, the surgery already behind me.

The anesthesiologist did a good job. No nausea, no sore throat from the breathing tube. The nurse was beside me when I woke up. I felt comfortable. I was offered ginger ale and goldfish crackers. I ate them all.

Jacob had driven me and was contacted while I was in recovery to say it had gone well. Ninety minutes later I was cleared to leave. We went straight home and I went to bed.

The first night was ok-ish. I slept in two to four hour bouts with a wedge pillow keeping me elevated. I am a stomach sleeper by nature and that was not an option. Back only, which my body negotiated with varying degrees of success over the days that followed.

Pain was not the word for it. Tightness. Tension. Fullness. Pressure. I only needed ibuprofen and acetaminophen, as prescribed, alongside the antibiotics. Nothing stronger. Each day was better than the last in a way that felt reliable rather than dramatic.

Jacob stayed through the week. We went for walks. I ate well. The ordinary rhythms of recovery, which turn out to be the most useful thing.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the spatial awareness. My apartment is the same apartment. The doorways are the same width. And yet I kept noticing my body differently in the space. I have a new relationship between myself and the room I’ve lived in. It’s a strange and specific thing that I didn’t read about anywhere and that I suspect only makes sense if you’ve experienced it.

They feel very full right now. That’s normal. Inflammation and swelling in the first weeks will change things considerably. They feel foreign. Not in a way that upsets me, more like wearing a very convincing stuffed bra that happens to be attached to my body. There is a sense of otherness. I am optimistic. It is surreal.

I haven’t seen them yet. Not properly. That comes next.