When Surgery is a Laughing Matter

Irrational fear and the value of compassion

On my birthday last week, I received a phone call from the hospital confirming my appointment the next day for minor surgery. My jaw tightened as I picked up the phone and the caller was announced through call display. “Happy Birthday”, I thought to myself cynically.

I had never had surgery or general anesthetic before. The idea always conjured up a deep fear in me. While growing up on the farm the experience of animals having to be “put to sleep” had been stamped in my subconscious. No matter how many times people told me the surgery would be okay, because of this ingrained memory I couldn’t fully conquer that irrational fear.

After being checked in at the hospital, Carol handed me my new outfit. A nightie that opened to the back, a robe to thankfully cover my bare bottom, some long green socks (why did I bother shaving?), some netted blue booties and a blue netted, very stylish cap… not!

She escorted me to the “throne” for question period and to prepare for the IV. Once reclined and covered with a warm blanket, the tears started to roll. I wasn’t truly crying, I mean I wasn’t heaving with sobs or anything. I was absolutely terrified and just couldn’t help myself. To my embarrassment my legs started shaking uncontrollably.

While the IV was being inserted (the least of my worries), Carol gently rested her hands on my feet and talked to me to keep me calm. She was being extremely attentive and sensitive to my space and assured me there was an excellent team waiting for me in the operating room.

She mentioned that this procedure was very “Hollywood” and understandably that added to the drama. After bidding me goodbye and wishing me luck… she returned five minutes later to tell me she had spoken with the team. They knew how nervous I was.

Carol has compassion down to an art. I knew she was doing the best she could to make me comfortable. She genuinely cared about my well-being and was doing more than her job in my opinion. I felt hopeful of getting through this because of her support. That compassionate connection softened the edge of my fearful state.

Laughter IS the best medicine

Carol had prepared me for the arrival of the anesthesiologist, Dr. White. “He has a unique sense of humour.”

When a man appeared at my feet and stood watching the activities, I suspected it was him. He didn’t speak. He watched and waited for the nurse to collect her things and make room for him to sit beside me for more questions. I waited for him to say something… hi, maybe… but he stood in silence.

I couldn’t wait any longer, so I spoke. “Are you the joker?” I asked teasingly. There were a few awkward grins and then I asked, “Are you my anesthetist?”

“No. But I am your anesthesiologist” came the playful retort, with an accent on “ologist”.

He sat down and the questions began, speckled with quick-witted humour. He reminded me of Robin Williams and I told him so, but he thought he more closely resembled George Clooney.

We chatted about farm life after I told him about my fear of “being put to sleep”. I mentioned throwing bales of hay around and shovelling manure. He observed that if I were not speaking to him my choice of words would be different: “Shovelling shit instead of manure,” he’d said. I felt like I was meeting Robin Williams on the set of Patch Adams. My legs had stopped shaking.

He signalled to the team that he was finished and would see them in the operating room shortly, after he had gone for a beer. I asked if I could join him. He waved his arms at everyone and said, “Yeah, let’s just forget about this surgery and we’ll all go have a beer.”

Putting fear to sleep

With “Robin” standing by my side in the operating room, I fell to sleep with a smile on my face. The butterflies and fear had subsided and I surrendered to the experience.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, putting the first dose of anesthetic into my IV and I felt a warmth pass over my solar plexus. Then another dose and I felt sleepy, like I was sitting on the couch falling asleep while watching a movie. The last thing I remember was the nurse on my right wrapping the strap around my arm to monitor my blood pressure.

This was a relatively smooth trip, thanks to my friend Jim for escorting me to the hospital, driving me home, and caring for me the next day. He was my rock.

And thanks to Carol the nurse and Dr. White, my fear was put to sleep. The time with Carol kept me connected and reassured. The time and conversation with Dr. White kept me present. It stopped me from thinking beyond the moment.

Humour is only humour in the moment. I’ve never thought about this before, but you can only laugh now. Even in the worst stage of panic and fear, humour can be your saving grace.

Do you have any irrational fears?

How has humour saved you?

Note: After I posted this I was reading Tess’s blog over at The Bold Life where she was asking the question, “What bold, daring and thrilling thing have you done lately?”

You might want to pop over there because today is Magic Monday and the person who leaves the best comment will receive a copy of  “Invitation to Greatness.”

My comment was based on the experience you’ve just read about: The most daring thing I’ve done recently is to realize that I don’t have to face fear alone. By allowing other people into the picture, fear’s message changes shape and the real truth becomes a colourful collection of shared experience.

Photo credit: Laudu

Tagged as: compassion, irrational fear, laughter, panic