The Surgery - Part I

Most people know what to expect going in to surgery. I was an American in a foreign country, at a hospital where even the best English speakers don't act like the medical professionals from the states and tell you what you need to know.

I assumed (no, I did not make an ass of myself) that my surgery prep would take a while. My surgery time was 1pm. My husband, being the smooth talker he can be, arranged to trade days off with someone at work so he could be free the whole day. We dropped the dog off at the neighbor's' house and headed out to the hospital.

We get to the clinic a little before we're supposed to be there, and they take me back immediately. The clinic is rather small, and the surgery for orthopedics is in the same office. It's actually quite a small clinic. When you walk in, the desk and exam rooms are off to the left, the waiting enclosure is directly ahead, and the surgery center is to the left.

I kissed my husband, told him I loved him, and went with the nurse. She took me to the locker room where she told me to take my shoes off, take my shirt off, and put my purse and backpack in the locker. Now, this room is out in the open. Nudity is absolutely no issue in Germany. Nobody would pay much attention if someone was walking around in a bustier and thong on the street, so everyone walking around and working while I was undressing was just ignoring me as if I were a light switch. No problem, I don't really care anyway because I'm in a hospital - they see worse than a 26 year old woman walking around in her bra and jeans.

So, I'm waiting, topless for the nurse to come back when the front desk nurse comes barging in to the surgery center and asks me if I checked in. I asked if she meant the front desk of the clinic. She says no, downstairs. Oh. Well. This is why being American in Germany is difficult sometimes. They assume you know how their country works when it comes to certain systems. She tells me she already sent my husband downstairs; I should go meet him in the patient center.

Okay, so I hastily put back on my shirt and shoes and run down the two flights of stairs to the lobby and into the patient center. Apparently, we were supposed to check in there, before going to the clinic. Way to go explaining this to us Atos Klinikum. So, we sign a bunch of papers, we give them our personal information, we give them our insurance letters approving surgery and hospital stay (which I go to pick how long I stayed - oddly enough!) and then they asked me what I wanted for dinner.

After a brief 10 minutes doing all this, we were set free and we ran back up two flights to the clinic. We walk in and the girls at the front desk tell me to go on back and get undressed again. So, I kiss my husband and tell him I love him again, and once again proceed to undress and shove all my crap into a locker.

An older gentleman comes up to me. He's probably 40, but he looks younger. He brings me around the corner from the locker room into a small exam room and has me lie down on the table. So, there I am, topless, lying on a table with some man who leaves me for about 5 minutes, and then returns with a bucket of water. He tells me his name, but I can't remember it. He's the Anesthesiologist that works in the hospital. He's got on this super long white coat with his name embroidered on a front pocket. He's very nice, and speaks English very well. He tells me to sit up. So why was I lying down? I don't know. Anyway, he pulls up a spinning stool and starts unpacking a bunch of things.

They are going to try and do a block on my arm. What a block is in anesthetics is the isolation of a body part or region for numbing so the patient can be awake during surgery. I'm horrified. I specifically asked to be put to sleep at my pre-screen. This is what I was talking about the other day. They didn't understand my family's history of allergies with anesthetics. I tell the anesthesiologist this, but he insists this is what Dr. P. wants to do. But, he explains, they will put me to sleep if the block doesn't work. Fine. Whatever.

So, this guy has me stick my hand in the bucket of water and pump my fist several times. Then he lifts my arm out of the water, has me hold it straight up in the air and he prods my armpit. I do this a few times, and then he has me lie down with my arm over my head. Good thing I shaved my pits before coming in that day, right?

He starts pressing and pushing around in my armpit. He tells me he's looking for the nerve that will deaden my arm. He does this for a while and I lose track of time because it's incredibly uncomfortable and all I can think about is "Stop it!" It feels like hitting your funny bone, over and over. Only in your armpit. It's an awful feeling. I'm trying not to think about it, but then I think about how I don't want to be awake for the surgery and hear the bone saw or the drilling. Or see people moving around with bloody gloves.

When he's satisfied he has my nerve in a good spot, the anesthesiologist brings out this huge needle. He tells me to hold my breath and exhale slowly while he shoots the block drugs. Simple right? Oh on. No no. This was the worst experience of my life to date. I mean, the football injury was bad. But this was pure torture. He sticks the needle in, wiggles it around quite a bit trying to hit the nerve, and then he shoots the block in. I felt like I was going to die. My eyes started leaking immediately uncontrollably, and I tried to exhale as slowly as I could without getting all snotty in the nose - which can be hard to do when you're crying.

When he's done doing this, He forces me to move my arm around. This is just as bad. That nerve is so angry that it feels like a giant ice pick is stuck in my armpit. Moving my fingers hurts. Moving my hand hurts. Moving my elbow hurts. Everything hurts. Nothing he's doing to me is making this any better.

Then, he pulls my arm down and moves it so I'm tightly hugging myself across my middle. He tells me to keep my arm in this position, to hold it with my other arm so it doesn't slip, and to just wait. Now, again, I don't know how long I waited but it didn't feel like very long because next thing I knew, he was sitting me up and walking me across the hall and into the surgery.

They had me climb up onto this huge table in the middle of the room, and lay my right arm out to the side so it was directly horizontal with my palm facing up. Some guy got me a blanket and covered me up to my belly, then stuck a few suction cups to my chest. He asked me, in German, would I like to listen to music. I said sure. He asked if I liked a particular radio station and I told him it didn't really matter, that I like most all music. Plus, they already had it on Radio Regenbogen (Rainbow Radio) which is what my husband and I listened to in the car when we forgot our iPods, or they died on us. So this nurse guy turns up the volume on a stereo that's on the wall directly in front of me, while some other nurses and doctors start congregating around my arm.

One of the nurses pushes a cloth partition over my shoulder so I can't see my arm anymore. So, now, I'm laying on a table in my bra and jeans with a blanket that only covered my stomach, with like 10 people in the room. And I can't see my arm. I now know how it must feel to be in a C-section...

After everyone had come in, Dr. P. shows up and greets me. He asks for a scalpel and says he's going to make sure my arm is numb. I try to feel my arm, but it feels like it's only partially asleep. I can't tell, I can't move it. He tells me he's going to cut into me. Okay, I say.

Nope, definitely not numb yet. I can't really remember exactly how it felt, but I remember the pain. It was excruciating. There was pressure, and then pain. They waited about 10 minutes and then Dr. P. tried it again. Nope. Felt everything.

Okay, the block was not working. Ha! I didn't think it would. So, a nurse comes over to me and puts a mask over my face. I stare up at the ceiling while they pump the anesthetics in, and I remember falling asleep.