Monday, June 16, 2014

Can You Not Cut There? I Have A Piercing I Want To Keep.

As another timing point, this is now the end of December 2012. I had a couple of things to look forward to/dread, such as finding myself a job and getting my gall bladder removed. Yes, after a year and a half of gall bladder pain, I finally was ready to get it taken out.  The date for that was January 18th, so I was going to have to wait.

I looked on my University career site for job postings, and there were a couple there. I sent my resume in and figured I'd have to look around. While looking, I got an email from a headhunter that swears she's not a headhunter who found me on LinkedIn. She wanted me to go for an interview at this place downtown. I agreed and set a date, and at the same time another company closer to the University asked me to come for an interview. I agreed and set a date, coincidentally the same date as the other interview, just later in the day. The interviews were for the start of January, so I figured I could put my hunt on hold for a bit.

I went to the first interview. It was a nice enough place, but it was a hassle to get to and I got the feeling of disorganization out of it. The interview went well and I headed back to the Uni to work. Later I got back in my car and drove the one minute drive to the second interview. This one went terrifically. I liked the place, the person who interviewed me, and everything. When I was done, a full hour later than we'd planned, I went home.  Both places promised to get back to me about a second interview in about a week. A couple days later I heard back from the second place to come in for another one. I happily did, and everything worked out again. I even got a tour of the office and an offer of pizza.

When I got an offer from the second interview, I still hadn't heard back from the first place. This was already about two weeks after my first interview. Eventually I emailed again (which should never happen from a professional environment), which sparked a response saying I just wasn't experienced enough in PHP. Okay, I've had three years of experience, all of which didn't come from University, so good luck finding someone from here that has that and a University degree. The guy told me that they'd keep me on file for a round of interviews around the time of graduation (how would I be better qualified in four months?). I politely said thanks, but I have an offer and I won't be needing that. Their entire place sounded shady at best. So I took the job from the second place and was so excited.

Having all this out of the way, I was now more prepared to get my gall bladder out, at least mentally. This was the first surgery I was getting at the Rockeyview hospital. Mom, Dad, and I rolled into the hospital early in the morning and waited for check-in. I've always found it so comical the way that people feel the need to be treated better than everyone else just because they're getting cut open. In that room, everyone is getting surgery in a few hours, so acting like a spoiled child really just makes you look like an idiot. I had someone cut the line in front of me to show IDs. In reality, this person is just hurrying up to wait, so it's their own loss. Also, good things happen to those who wait, and on surgery days, I'm willing to get all the good things I can.

Not a lot happened before this surgery, and I don't remember waiting long. Soon it was time to head out to the OR. They did it quite a bit differently this time; they wheeled me directly outside the room where the surgeon briefly chatted and they did all the "are you pretending to be Kelli just so you can get cut open" checks. The surgeon asked if I had any questions and I said "yes, just one. I have a belly button piercing, and is there any way to make it so I can put it back in after?" He laughed and said he'd move the incision to under. Apparently I'm the only one who has ever asked this. Then they wheeled me in the room.

Because I had just recently gotten my graft, we all decided I'd be more comfortable having that arm at my side instead of putting it out and having it get angry during the surgery. So they strapped me in, drugged me up, and put an oxygen mask on me. There was an anesthesiology student there, so they were teaching him how to put the mask on me so that he didn't snap it into my eye. He seemed pretty terrified, which entertained me a bit. I realized I'd likely had more surgeries than he'd ever seen. Then the anesthesiologist (the real one) told me that we were waiting for someone, so I should just sit tight. I was strapped down, so I don't know what he thought I was planning on doing. I listened to my heartbeat and practiced slowing it down so that I was more calm. Once it sounded more like a normal heartbeat, the anesthesiologist looked at me with a surprised look on his face. Don't worry sir, I'm still alive.

Finally the guy came in and they went through the process. Give me something to relax (I wish I could get that on a regular basis), give me the forget-this drug that makes everything look a bit grainy, then knock me out. I've found I remember more and more of it during every surgery. So long as I don't remember the first cut, I figure that's probably okay. Then I was out!

Considering all the surgeries I've had, I don't really count this as an important one so I won't really be giving a lot of details. It went smoothly enough, and I had the exact symptoms they described. I didn't throw up from the drugs because I don't really anymore. The only issue I had was that the gas that they put in you bubbled up to my shoulders, which hurt pretty dang bad. He told me I had over 10 gall stones (they stop counting at 10), so he wasn't surprised I was getting attacks. Apparently I shouldn't have waited a year and a half to get them out. Oh well.

When I got home, I was laying on the chair recovering. A person who is extremely close to me was laying on our couch, having had their own surgery that day. I was just drifting off to a happy dream world when that person got up and went upstairs. That was definitely not okay, but the person (let's call this person Alex) didn't tell us where she was going. When she came down we asked if she was okay, and she didn't answer. Shortly after, maybe about a minute, she started having a seizure. Being a former lifeguard, I recognized what it was, but I wasn't about to leave everyone to deal with it. Alex is extremely close to me, and I wanted to make sure she was okay. So with my Mom on the phone with EMS, I got to work ensuring her head was somewhere soft and away from everything. Alex's husband was close by, trying to get her to stop. I had to make sure he didn't shake her or get close to her mouth, and when she finished seizing I got him to roll her on her side. She woke up after a few minutes but wasn't coherent and kept trying to walk away from us. EMS arrived at this point and took her away, which is when I laid back down and had my nap. I won't tell you more about Alex's story because once again, that's not my story to tell. For this though, it had an effect on me because it was the same day of both our surgeries, and I feel it's important in this point for my story. I will let you know that Alex is okay now.

I only had about a week to recover, and then I went back to my last semester in school. I was so excited for so many things: convocation, starting my new job, and going on a trip that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to handle!