Thailand Day T+6 - The Day

(Yes, I fiddled with the dates so that this blog would appear on the day it happened rather than the day I wrote it...)


Packing my bags, I made sure that I hadn't forgotten anything. That sort of paranoia had always been a weakness of mine. I surveyed the room that had been my home for the past nine days and even though I knew I would be returning to this hotel and to a similar room, it was with a tinge of sadness that I closed the door for the final time. Sometimes I get attached to things far too easily.

Armed with a little bag of clippy Koalas I had bought back home (but were of course made in china), I handed one to the nurse who had picked me up from the hotel. She thought it was very cute and clipped it on the rear vision mirror in her car. My doctor and his assistant were waiting with smiles in he reception area of his surgery. Just like last time, it seemed so reassuring.


"I spoke to your Mum this morning", said the assistant, "and she's coming on Wednesday."
"Really?", is all I could muster as a reply. My heart sank a mile and although I tried to maintain a happy demeanour, I know my face is a dead give away to my feelings. I'm definitely not a poker player. 


I sat on the couch, totally unprepared for the news and fearing what might transpire. At least it was after the operation and that would have to be a positive. Ms Som, the assistant, could read my mind and was very apologetic. 
"I'm sorry", she said, "I thought you had organised it."
"It's ok", I lied. I tried to reassure her than everything was all right, but I was never a salesman and I can't sell things I don't believe in. It was one of the reasons I had left my job as scientific researcher even though I was apparently at a level of being nationally recognised as a leader in my field. My only problem was that I never claimed to have a field. Trying to chase funding by convincing others that my hammer was the best tool for their job was not something I could do and I much preferred choosing the best tool for any job, even if it was a tool I hadn't yet used. Surely the other team leaders weren't that deluded and were instead masters of deception. Harsh? Maybe, but that was the way I saw it and it's probably a topic best left for another time.


I handed out koalas to all the nurses, clipping some of them on their uniforms, which bought giggles and smiles of appreciation. My shoes left downstairs, I proceeded to my room upstairs where I donned a backwards gown and was left to lie in my bed, pondering what was going to happen.


"Goodbye little guy", I said softly. I don't know if that sounds weird, but I'm not good at breakups. What do you say to a friend, which you don't hate, but isn't a positive force for your life? Normally, I wouldn't say anything and allow the toxicity of the relationship to poison me until they left anyway, leaving me to deal with the aftermath. My psychologist had tried to tell me that I shouldn't value other peoples feelings and expectations above my own but, for some reason, I always felt expendable, unimportant, worthless. Perhaps that explained why I never feared hospitals and operations, including the one I was about to have. Dying on the operating table didn't seem like a problem for me. Assuming I was not sent to an eternal torture that was worse than what I had lived, it would actually be a liberation. Death never used scared me, possible pain before death did, but dying itself didn't because I had faith in where I was going. My faith has been questioned in times past, not only by myself, so room for fear now existed but I now existed with hope rather than faith. 


Nurses came in, telling me it was time for surgery. I was hoping they would wheel my bed in, but this being a private surgery, I had to walk. My first sight was the surgery table which looked like any other surgery table except for two black arm rests extended perpendicularly to the table. I imagine the positioning was required for the breast implants which would be going in through the armpits, but it did make the table look a little like a crucifix.
"It's... uhmm.. interesting", was all I could think.


Flicking my left hand, the anaesthetist had trouble finding a vein in which to put the cannula. Given that I hadn't been allowed to drink anything since 7am that morning and it was now close to 3pm, I was probably severely dehydrated and it was no wonder finding a vein was difficult. Scarring on both my forearms and right wrist didn't make his job any easier but eventually he put one in. 
"Not good", he said after a while removing it and attempted to find another location which he did. At least all the staff seemed to be in good spirits and they, I assume, made jokes and laughed. Not being to understand Thai, I could only look at them bewildered and hope that any jokes were good ones. One of the nurses looked reassuringly at me, stroking my right arm until it was time to administer the anaesthetic. 


I felt myself drifting off to sleep hoping that everything would be ok on the other side.