My Surgery and Hospital Stay

My Surgery and Hospital Stay

The day started before the crack of dawn, with my alarm going off at 4:30 AM. As much as I wanted to hit snooze and retreat under the covers, I knew this day had been a long time coming. My surgery was scheduled, and I had to follow a specific routine before heading to the hospital. One of those steps was showering with a special soap. It felt odd to be washing up when all I could think about was the procedure ahead, but at least it was one more step toward getting through it.

After getting cleaned up, we loaded into the car and made our way to the hospital. There were some road closures that forced us to take a detour, but thankfully, it didn't add much time. St. Luke's is only about 20 minutes from our house, and that drive felt both too fast and too slow at the same time. 

Once we arrived, I checked in and was directed to the second floor—cardiology. This was the first step in making everything feel very real. After getting settled into a room, it was time to get prepped. I changed into a hospital gown, complete with some surprisingly comfortable socks, and braced myself for what was next.

The nurses started by taking my vitals, and then came the IV. The first nurse struggled to get it in properly, which wasn't the most pleasant feeling, but she stayed calm. Eventually, another nurse had to step in and take over. At that point, I was just glad to get it done.

Next up was the anesthesiologist. He came in to explain what would happen during the surgery and put in another IV that monitored something—though I can’t remember exactly what at this point. It all started to blur together. I was grateful for the thorough explanation but, honestly, a bit overwhelmed by all the information.

After the anesthesiologist left, a surgical nurse came in to talk more about what to expect. He had a calming presence, and as we spoke, he shared something that really put me at ease—he also had myasthenia gravis. He had gone through the same surgery I was about to have, and hearing his story gave me a sense of comfort. Within a year of his procedure, he was completely off his medications and symptom-free. Even now, he only experiences minor issues with blurred vision but remains off his medications. Meeting someone in person who had the same disease as me and had come out on the other side was reassuring. It made the whole thing feel a little less daunting.

After talking with him for a while, Dr. Morgan, my surgeon, came in to check on me. She gave me the same "what to expect" rundown as the others, though by this point, it all started blending together. I felt like my brain was in overdrive, trying to absorb everything, but honestly, most of it went in one ear and out the other.

Throughout it all, my sweet husband Evan was there by my side, doing what he does best—keeping things light. He made sure to tell stories to every person who came into the room, always finding a way to mention Nellie and her adventures on a pro rodeo horseback riding team. He’s incredibly proud of her, and it shows every time he brings it up. Hearing him talk about Nellie brought a sense of normalcy to the situation, and it was nice to see how much he cared about making everyone in the room feel connected to us.

At that point, everything was ready, and I was as prepared as I could be for what was to come.

Finally, it was time for me to be rolled back to the surgery room. As we moved down the hallway, I tried to stay calm, but the nerves were definitely setting in.  The operating room, wasn't like the dark, dramatic scenes you see on TV. Instead, the room was incredibly bright, almost blinding. It made sense though—why would anyone want surgery done in a dimly lit room where the doctors could barely see?

The room was all white, sterile, and cold. It was filled with medical equipment, and since my surgery was being done by a robot, I got a clear view of the machine that would be used. Seeing the robot was a bit surreal, but I had faith in the technology and my surgical team. They rolled my bed right up next to the operating table, and with a bit of effort, I scooted over from the bed to the table.

Once I was settled, the nurses began hooking me up to all sorts of machines—monitors, wires, and tubes everywhere. It felt like everything was happening all at once. Then, they placed an oxygen mask over my face and told me to take deep breaths. I remember inhaling slowly, counting each breath. I think I made it to about three before everything faded, and I drifted off into a deep sleep. And just like that, I was out.

When I woke up in the recovery room, the first thing I noticed was the intense pain in my shoulder blade. It was sharp and uncomfortable, and it caught me off guard. The nurses quickly responded, packing a bunch of heat pads behind my shoulder to help ease the pain. They explained that the discomfort was likely from the position my arm had been in during surgery. Once the heat pads were in place, I felt a bit more comfortable.

Beyond the shoulder pain, my chest felt tight, and my throat was sore—probably from the breathing tube used during surgery. I looked down and saw a tube sticking out of my side, draining fluids from my chest. It was strange and a little unsettling, but I knew it was all part of the process. 

I was still pretty high from the anesthesia, floating in and out of consciousness. Everything felt hazy, like a dream I couldn’t quite wake up from. But through it all, one thing was clear—I wanted to see Evan. More than anything, I just wanted my husband by my side. Even in the fog of recovery, that thought anchored me, and I couldn’t wait for him to walk into the room.

I had to stay one night in the hospital because of the drain in my chest. As much as I wanted to be home, I knew it was necessary, and I’m so grateful for my night nurse. She was absolutely amazing—one of those people who go above and beyond to make sure you’re comfortable. She stayed on top of all my medications, making sure I never missed a dose. The blinds in my room were broken, so she took it upon herself to tape blankets over the windows to block out the light. That simple act made a huge difference.

She was also incredibly patient with my little quirks. My OCD tends to kick in when I’m anxious, so I needed the side table in a very specific spot, and my three drinks lined up just right. She didn’t bat an eye at any of it and helped me feel more at ease during what could have been a much more stressful night.

The next morning, the doctor came in to check on me. After a quick look, he removed the chest tube—a strange and uncomfortable sensation, but at least it meant I was on my way home. As always, the discharge process took forever, and by the time I was finally cleared to go, it was 4:30 in the afternoon. I had been itching to leave, but once I got in the car, the ride home wasn’t exactly smooth. Every bump in the road felt rough on my body, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the comfort of my own bed.

When I finally made it home and crawled into bed, a wave of relief washed over me. I was exhausted, sore, but thankful to be back in my space. Now, I’m on the road to recovery, and while there’s still healing ahead, I’m glad the hardest part is behind me.

Being home has made all the difference in my recovery. My chest is sore, and I have to take it slow with everything I do. Even simple tasks leave me feeling exhausted, but each day, I could feel myself getting a little stronger. Rest will be my best friend, and I’ve learning too really listen to my body when it tells me to take a break.

Evan has been amazing through all of this, helping with whatever I need and keeping my spirits up. I’m lucky to have him by my side. My progress might be slow, but I’m focused on healing, and I know that with time, I’ll get back to feeling like myself again.

Recovering from surgery is never easy, but I’m grateful for the support I’ve had and the fact that everything went smoothly. Every day is a step closer to feeling better, and I’m hopeful that this procedure will lead to a brighter, healthier future. For now, I’m taking it one day at a time, grateful to be on the mend and looking forward to the days when this whole experience is just a memory.