I had surgery to remove my nasal polyps yesterday. My girlfriend and I had both developed nasal polyps after moving to Chicago 3 years ago. She had her surgery last month and I had mine this month. How poetic! Is there anything to glean from our Chicago-induced polyp proliferation? I'll let you decide. We moved from the dry, and in some ways vapid, climate of Salt Lake City, UT to the uber-saturated, cultural behemoth of Chicago (no state reference needed!). Perhaps it was the air quality, the altitude, the cultural shift from conservatism to liberalism, the Midwest vegetation...or the fact that we didn't vacuum as much as we should have. Who knows why they formed, so harmonically, in both of our nasal passages. At the same time, in the same way, and in the same city. Needless to say, they had to be dealt with.
Prior to yesterday, my only experience with surgery and anesthesia was when I got three of my wisdom teeth extracted (Yes, three. I was very much awake for the fourth extraction. I now know just how much force can be applied to the human jaw without causing a fracture. But I digress...). The surgeon comes in and briefly tells you what to expect. The anesthesiologist introduces himself, shares some small talk with you as he injects you with his mixture of cocktails. The assistant nurse wheels you into the surgery room. They tell you to count down from five. You get to zero and you're still not asleep. You start wondering how common it is for people to actually fall asleep by the time you get to fi... You open your eyes to a blur of clinical movement. Your throat is coarse, your senses are dull and your chronology is shot.
I'm not sure why I was so anxious about the surgery. You observe the efficient, perfunctory nature with which the nurses and doctors operate. You hear the matter-of-fact tone behind every word they speak and you know this is just another day of work for them. On my way to the hospital I was amused by the juxtaposition of it all. While I was fretting over a standard, non-life threatening procedure at 7 in the morning, trying to savor the 'last moments' of life in case everything went awry, I imagined my surgeon eating a hearty bowl of cheerios, reading the newspaper, as he prepared for another typical day. What do surgeons do the night before a day of surgeries? In a few hours, your life will literally be in their hands. What are they doing the night before a procedure that toes the line of mortality? Sipping wine and watching Netflix? Mentally practicing the initial insertion? Over time, I'm sure they become inured to the profundity of it all. It's just another day.
As much as it pangs me to admit, I confirmed yesterday that I'm afraid of needles. I'm not afraid of the potential pain they will cause, but rather the potential immutable damage they could leave behind. I am afraid of the needle injecting air bubbles into my heart, leaving me brain dead or paralyzed. I am afraid of moving my arm or hand in the wrong direction, ripping the needle out of my vein and causing internal bleeding. I am afraid of the statistically unrealistic chance of significant harm being inflicted upon me. I like to think of myself as a very pragmatic individual who has very few worries and insignificant anxiety, but there's something about being hooked up to an IV in a hospital room that is unsettling to me. I do not want to die in a sterilized environment. I want to die in my element. And before I die, I have things to do. To me, the hospital reminds me of my own mortality and how close each of us is to death at any point in time. It is a humble reminder of my frailty and of how important it is to seize every moment in life. There will come a day when each of us will take our last breath. We will suck in the very essence of life and exhale into unconsciousness. Before that day comes, I dream of making a difference. I yearn to live in the present and take advantage of the brevity of it all.
For those of you who have an upcoming surgery, I challenge you to take a moment, while you're lying on the hospital bed, being prepped for surgery, and ask yourself if you would be content with dying today. Ask yourself if you have done the best you can do with the time you have had on this planet. And if the answer is No, then when you wake up from your groggy haze, when you realize where you are and are able to feel your own presence again...start living.
