As with any procedure, I was told not to eat after midnight. I made sure to drink some water in the evening (you don't want to be dehydrated) and I ate my last bit of food around 9 PM. It wasn't hard to abstain as I lose my appetite when I am about to be sliced open anyway. I was a bundle of nerves ... but fortunately I was able to get about 7 hours of sleep before the waking up for the procedure. I was encouraged to go for the earliest slot, to help with hunger and thirst, so I was scheduled to be there at 6:30 AM for a 7:30 AM procedure. I woke up at 5 AM, went for a walk in the dark with my iPod and some of my favorite music to calm my nerves. The walking also served to get me "regular" as I was not able to have my typical morning coffee. I didn't want to realize I needed to go to the bathroom while they were wheeling me in to the operating room.
At this point I was really feeling sorry for myself. At age 36, I was having all of the typical mortality thoughts. I have a wife and 3 kids, and I was allowing my imagination to think the worst. I guess this is natural, don't blame yourself for this and cope with it the way you normally would. Some people aren't worried about such things, others need to talk about it. I like to get all quiet and internal. The walks the morning of and night before really helped me a lot to relax.
I got a ride to the hospital from my father (so that my wife could be home with the kids and they could sleep their normal cycle - no need to wake them all up at 6 AM to bring daddy to the ER). It was nice to have someone with a sense of humor to joke with. I also recommend this ... have someone there that can comfort you in the way you most desire. I like humor, others like compassion or "tough love".
After check-in, a nurse checked my vitals. She also then said she had to stick a needle into my stomach! I wasn't expecting that, but she said it was to stop potential blood clotting. I don't have blood clot issues, but I guess this is standard procedure. Ironically, this was the worst part of the surgery because it was the only part I was awake for. I am not a big fan of needles and she had to jab this thing right into my belly. It didn't actually hurt (looked like it would), but it was not pleasing visually. She had to bark at me to loosen up because if I tightened my stomach muscles it would just hurt more. So I relaxed and she gave me my belly shot. Forgot what the stuff was called, although I think it may have been heparin. This may be a case by case thing, where some doctors use it, others don't. Here is a link with a little more info:
After this, I met the anesthesiologist. He seemed young, and professional, and somewhat void of emotions. I guess that is what you want in the battle, someone who is professional, trained, and only worried about the job at hand. He asked me some questions about allergies and said he would see me in the O.R.
I then met Helena, who would be my "nurse" for the procedure. This is your bedside manner person. She was friendly, asked me about my kids, and kept me distracted. She instructed me to get changed into the always uncomfortably modest surgical garb, took my clothes in a bag, and told me it was time to head to the O.R. I said farewell to my father, and away I went walking down the hallway.
Now, this is different than what I had expected. I expected someone would give me an IV in a wheelchair and I would already be asleep or on happy meds before I reached the O.R. ... that was not the case. I walked in on my own with nothing hooked to me. For someone who is afraid of surgery, this was tough. I walked into a large room with about 8 people in it, all dressed with surgical masks. The room was large and clinical. Lots of white with silver metal things all over the place. The room was frigid, probably 55-60 degrees. I assumed the room was cold for clinical reasons, turns out that is not the case! The room is cool because the doctors like it cool when they work in all of their garb. More info here:
Before I even mentioned the temperature, they told me they had a warm blanket ready for me, and they had me get on to the surgical gurney and put the blanket on me. At this point I felt a little nauseous. I decided to tell them that, and they seemed to take it seriously. I also told them it was likely my nerves, but thought it was worth mentioning. They made a note of it (and probably laughed about it as soon as I went out).
Helena, my nurse, started introducing me to people. At that point I was so nervous I wasn't really listening but I was pretending to pay attention. All I could think was panic at that point. They told me there were going to hook up an IV line, and they did. At that point, I was still awake, still wondering why they were taking so very long to knock my scared arse out. They were chit chatting about medical things I didn't understand, and the nurse (Helena) actually came over to hold my hand. She said "Your hands are freezing!". Truth was they were cold and sweaty, and I admitted it was nerves. So she actually started to rub my shoulder a little and kept holding my hand, which surprisingly helped a lot. I told her "thanks" and she smiled.
Then came the moment I knew was inevitable. The "stupid question". When the nurse asks you to do or answer something trivial, you know it's probably time for the medicine to put you under. Sometimes they will ask you to count back from 10 to 1 ... but my question was "So, do you live close to the water?". At first I was surprised and tried to understand why she would care about such things, and then I realized she probably didn't ... which meant I was about to go to sleep. I started to answer the question. I think I did answer it, but I am not entirely sure because answering it was my last memory before I woke up later ...
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