We have daily freewrites in my English class and I’ve decided I’m going to post the interesting ones so that any readers that are straggling around can learn a bit about the writer of this blog.
This particular freewrite focuses on my back surgery, which happened two years ago. The picture to the left is actually me. Click and zoom if you dare.
One of the most frightening moments of my life was before my back surgery. I sat with my girlfriend and my mom in a room while the doctor examined me once last time. Following that, I was stripped and put into a hospital gown.
I was given some sedatives, told to relax on a hospital gurney, and whisked off – away from my mom, my girlfriend, and from what I thought at the time, possibly my life. The hospital workers parked me in a dark room. A pre-op room. This is a bad idea. My own fears were compounded in this dark room by the four other patients awaiting surgery. Even though I was face down, I could tell that the patient in the area next to me was an old woman. She was crying. Crying and praying. Possibly one of the most disturbing combinations of things that one can ever hear. I wondered if I should be less concerned about myself and more concerned about her, but at the same time became more worked up about my own outcome.
The sedatives were clearly not doing their job. Despite whatever they had put into my system pumping through my blood, my heart felt like it was going to explode it was beating so fast. I went over every important person in my life, how they mattered to me. I thought about how my girlfriend would take it if I didn’t come out of the surgery. I almost cried thinking about that.
Finally, they started an IV drip. Carting me out, the lines of fluorescent lights lining the ceiling of the hallway on the way to the operating room rushing by. They asked me to count down from 10. I didn’t even get to one before I woke up. The surgery was over. What felt like less than a second was 14 hours later. I was asked to move my feet. I could do it! My girlfriend and mom came into the post -operation room. I could tell they were stressed as hell, but relieved that I got out of it. I fell asleep again pretty quickly because I was being pumped with a ton of drugs, but I remember that moment being one of the happiest of my life.
Not like I didn’t love my life before, but after going through a surgery that could potentially leave me paralyzed or dead, It’s hard to see anything negative. I mean, I’m alive. I’m still with the wonderful girlfriend that nursed me back to health during the three months that I could barely walk (we’re actually engaged now), I see my family all the time and maintain a close relationship with them, and I get to continue doing what I love (photography) – and I get paid to do it! I love my life. I love what my life is going to become. I don’t care about money or fame. I’m just happy with everything that I have.
Three years, one rib less, and one titanium rod more, that operation and the summer following still remain as a few of the most important points of my life. Is it weird that I consider a genetic condition that called for major and invasive surgery a good thing?