In an attempt to get out of my bed for a minute and try to be normal, I have turned to typing.
In general my last ailment from the surgery on Monday is a light-headed, whoozy feeling. I feel a little dizzy. My head is often the place where stuff manifests, ever since the viral meningitis days, so I am trying not to be too concerned, but it would be nice if it would pass. I find if I support my head, the room stops spinning.
I arrived at the hospital 2 hours before my procedure. I had a hard time finding the 2nd floor, so I walked up to the registration about 1 minute past 8:30. The receptionist said with a certain tone that indicated failure: “You know your procedure is at 10:30 right?”
I replied: “Yes, and I was told to be here 2 hours before.”
I panicked that because I was 1 minute late, I had screwed up the whole day–like at the airport, when you arrive too late to board. Her tone led me to believe I had totally blown it being a minute late or was completely ridiculous for being 2 hours early.
I continued: “I’m doing good right? 2 hours early?”
Suddenly a change: “Yeah! You’re doing great! Love your glasses.”
I guess she just likes playing social experiments on innocent surgery victims.
Admittance into the hospital was surprisingly easy. I saw so many people waiting and my mind raced with the variety of patients and surgeries happening at that very minute. I needed to use the restroom so the admittance lady suggested I do my urine sample at the same time. A nurse instructed me to use the cups in the restroom. I am used to a sterile cup in which you need to break the seal to use it and tightly screw it back on when complete. This was just a little cup, like the tasting cups at Hale and Hearty Soup.
I walked my cup of urine (no top) down the long hallway back to the nurse. He told me to place it on the counter in the room across from where we were standing. I walked into the room to find an office with a desk and a woman sitting behind it. I stood in the doorway so that both she and the nurse could hear me ask: “You want me to put my cup of urine on her desk?”
She replied: “Heavens, I should say not!” in a dry English accent, then she came to the door with an inquiring look at the nurse. I wondered how many urine samples had passed her desk unbeknownst to her. It must be true what they say about the office desk being one of the most germ-infested places on the planet, though urine is quite sterile isn’t it?…I digress.
The nurse apologized to Dr. Frost and then had me walk my urine to another small room and place it on the counter. I asked: “You’re going to remember that’s my urine right?” I was completely skeptical until hours later it was walked into my holding room by another nurse. I knew it was mine, because my urine was uncharacteristically clear that morning because I had drunk a ton of water at the last possible minute I was allowed to, before leaving for the hospital.
Later as we were waiting I said to Jason: “You know what would make my dreams come true?…if they came in and said: ‘We’re sorry Mrs. Glass, we cannot operate on you today because you have tested positive for pregnancy.'” That didn’t happen.