October, 2004

October was a rough month. Not only did I wake up in a cold sweat every morning at about 4 AM, wondering if I was doing the right thing and just scared out of my mind about the surgery, I was imagining how homesick I would be at the hospital. In fact, I was getting a bit hysterical about it and I was getting on Hans’ nerves. I knew myself well enough to know I’m a Big Time homebody. I’d miss the comfortable surroundings of my house, my husband, my cats and most of all, Sophie, my red and white corgi. That's them in the photo to the right, above.

Also during October, I had to get myself down to University Hospital (a forty-five minute trip on a good day with light traffic day - and remember this is North Jersey - to see Peg, my surgeon’s nurse-practitioner, again for some last minute briefings, prescriptions and just general information I needed to have pre-surgery. Another trip was for my PATs, and yet another for my chest X-rays, which they didn’t do at the same time. Because my heart was skipping beats like a little bunny on PAT day, I had to see my cardiologist to get his okay for the surgery. The anesthesiologist wasn’t happy with my EKG at the PAT. That meant a trip to Fair Lawn, NJ, from my home in Wanaque. I was doing a lot of traveling for this back of mine.

The pre-surgery day event that caused me the most grief was the blood bank. I was to auto-donate two pints for the day of surgery. Once, a long time ago, I cheerfully tried to donate a pint of blood at a blood drive for the courthouse where I worked. I thought I was doing a Good Thing ©. It took forty-five minutes to draw not even a pint of blood. The nurse who took care of me told me not to come back. Small veins and low blood pressure. Several years later, I ignored that advice and auto-donated blood again. This time it went smoother, but it was tough getting the full pint out of me. Again, I was told I was not a good candidate for this kind of thing. So, when it came up again before my back surgery, you would think I’d say something to someone about this, but nooooo. I just mumbled to Peg that I might have a hard time and left it at that. To Peg’s credit, she did give me a prescription for Procrit (usually a cancer drug used to increase red blood cells) and told me to pick up some iron supplements. Boy, were those rough on the bowels.

Off to the blood bank I went, thinking I’d at least get a post-donation Twinkie out of it. My husband wanted to go with me. I protested, but he won. As it turned out, I’m glad he was there.

I went in, lay down, rolled up my sleeve, and got set up with the needles and such. So far, no problem. There was apparently a blood drive going on that day, so there was plenty of people coming and going around me. As I lay there, the nurse kept coming up to my arm to see how I was doing, donation-wise. When she saw my “blood bag” (is that what they’re called?) wasn’t filling, I told her it wasn’t her, it was me, and I’d had that problem before. Still, she looked troubled. Time went by and the folks who came in with me finished and left. A new bunch came in while I just lay there patiently.

Finally, it looked like I had given just about all the blood I was going to give, and they prepared to unhook me. The nurse wanted to draw a bit more blood for the required testing. I hadn’t given a full pint after almost an hour, and they wanted more? Problem is, I wasn’t giving up any more. I sat up after a bit, felt very weird, asked to go to the rest room, and the nurse followed me there, probably knowing what was about to happen next. Well, I got dizzy, nauseated, and very light-headed all at once. Three attendants quickly grabbed me before I hit the floor, put me on a gurney and let me come to. I started to feel better, but while I was lying there, everybody in the place came by to see if I was okay, if I was feeling better and to ask what happened, including the people who were there to give blood for the drive. How embarrassing. At least I’ll never bleed to death.

Then, I got a granola bar. I think Hans ate all the Twinkies while he waited for me.

Like I said, I’m glad Hans decided to come along with me that day. I took a long nap when I got back home again. Now, all I had to do is get through the surgery. As Tom Petty sings “the waiting is the hardest part.”