Everything Changed (Part 4)

November 12th finally arrived, and oddly enough to me, the day dawned like any other.  Of all the things I have learned throughout this experience, one stands out the most:  it's so surreal to be going through something in your own life that feels earth-shattering, but when you look around you realize that the rest of the world (and everyone in it) continues on in their own predictable rhythms and patterns.  Surprisingly, I slept fairly well the night before considering my anxiety level.  Jeremy and I got up around 4 because we had to be in Peoria before 6.  My surgery was slated for seven.  On the way to Peoria I clutched a verse from the Bible given to me by Tami Qualls.  She had brain surgery several years ago and gave me some very useful tips.  Most of all she reminded me to be my own best advocate as a patient and to let everyone involved in that surgery know all that I have to lose.  She gave me the idea to chant my children's names rather than counting backwards from ten when I receive anesthesia.  The verse she gave me just spoke to me and fortified me when I read it. 

When I arrived for pre-surgical testing I became utterly frightened and started to cry.  I kept crying while my blood was drawn and cried even harder when my sisters and dad arrived.  They were very supportive but couldn't take away my fears.  After an elevator ride and walk through OSF's hallways I parted with them and went into a little room with a hospital bed and curtain.  The nurses asked a lot of questions and expertly hooked up my IV (I'm a notoriously tough stick so this was refreshing).  They attempted to put me at ease and didn't make me feel like a freak show for continuously crying.  It frustrates me that I can't stop crying when I want to, but obviously my body knows what I need more than my brain does.  Dr. Klopfenstein stopped by and asked if we could pray together.  After more medical formalities the nurses allowed my whole family to be with me before my surgery.  They are only supposed to allow two people at a time to be present but it meant the world to me that they broke the rules for my family.  I may be thirty-six years old but at that time I needed my family more than I needed air to breathe.  My mom, step dad, dad, Tara, Ashley, and of course Jeremy were all there, most of them crying periodically as well.  It was so hard for my mom to be there with me as she was still recovering from her own brain surgery from a few weeks before.  She vowed to be there *no matter what*, and came through on her promise even though she was weak and ill.  We all hugged and talked and when a pastor entered, we prayed again.  The energy in the room was palpable; I felt that the strength of my bond with my family in that tiny space was all-consuming.  It also heartened me to know that my dear friend Steph was down below in the waiting room, keeping vigil.  The nurse anesthetist (and my sister's own dear friend, Leigh) entered and I knew it was nearly go time.  She offered to give me something to relax before going in and I agreed.  Each member of my family gave me one last hug and hugged and kissed one another.  As my dad left me I saw him turn around and walk back for one last look at me before surgery.  He looked so sad and I wished that I could make him feel better, but I knew there was just nothing left to do or say.  I was wheeled back and the nurses described some of the things I was seeing in the surgical suite.  I was already feeling drowsy from the cocktail Leigh administered but I was very cognizant of the promise I made to myself to chant "Ava, Alex.  Ava, Alex." over and over again as I was put under.  I began saying it and only got it out a few times when I was silenced as the mask delivering anesthesia was placed on my face.  Leigh looked me in the eyes at that very moment and said, "I hear you, Mindi". For that one second in time and my final moment before surgery, I felt safe.