Surgery Again: This Time, A Love-fest

When I went for surgery the first time, I was beyond frightened. By the time a nurse had wheeled my gurney into the frigid OR, I was so overtaken by fear that I could not respond to the simple directive to scoot onto the OR table; I was lifted over, shaking uncontrollably, with no words or physical tasks at the disposal of my will. Paralyzed and wide-eyed with terror, I was hurriedly put under.

For weeks following, I would have a full blown panic attack almost every time I started to drift off to sleep.

Fast forward to this past December, almost 3 years later: I had to return to surgery. This second time, I was determined to create a different experience.

During the pre-op visit with my surgeon, I let my vulnerable flag fly and asked him a simple favor- once I was asleep, would he please tell me out loud that I would be handled with respect, and gently whenever possible? I trust him implicitly but I still felt a bit shy, worried he would find my request silly. Thankfully, he agreed without hesitation.

When the hour arrived, he met me in pre-op along with his surgical PA, the OR nurse, and the anesthesiologist. After letting me know that he hadn’t forgotten my request, he asked me if I was ready, then they all merrily escorted me to the OR, joking that I was about to have the most boring surgery of the day. While the temperature of the room was even colder than I had remembered, the genuine warmth from my surgical team enveloped me. As we waited for final preparations to be complete, the surgeon held my left hand, and the PA held my right hand. The nurse placed her hand over my heart, and the nurse anesthetist had her hands on my cheeks. Their eye contact with me was consistent and truly sweet, and communicated tremendous caring and very palpable presence. This filled me with gratitude and confidence. I knew I was more than just another body on their table in the midst of a busy schedule; I was Tara.

Someone behind me asked, “do you like music?” I replied that I LOVE music. “Great, tell us what you want!” said the mystery voice. To me there was only one answer appropriate for this scenario and I immediately put in my request- “cheesy 70’s!” Their laughter came from their bellies and through their hands, into my heart. This time, I was smiling as I drifted away, held in their gentle hands and loving gaze, being serenaded by the BeeGees who were reassuring me that in this moment, I was indeed More Than (just) A Woman.

This time, my recovery was fairly rapid, involving less pain, higher levels of independence, and zero panic attacks. I am absolutely sure that the immense positive regard for my emotional comfort made a very important difference. These masterful clinicians utilized tools that every single one of us has at our disposal; tools that come from the heart of a practitioner who possesses the ultimate understanding that compassion is foundational to healing. May we all endeavor to follow their example, no matter our practice setting.

Intellect fixes; love heals.