Turbo Cancer: Day 135 - October 24, 2022
Surgery
On this day, last year, I sent three updates regarding my mom and her surgery:
We are at the hospital now, and they have started the surgery prep. We are just waiting for the doctor to come and talk to us. Then it will be time.
They expect an easy procedure. My mom will be put into twilight sleep, so she should be able to return home today.
The doctor just came in and said everything went well. He removed all the affected tissue, and a lot of excess fluid. She is in the recovery room and will be waking up soon.
My mom is out of recovery and back in her room. Upon waking, she had severe post-op pain. It took a while to get it under control.
She is relaxed now. We are waiting for the nurse to release her. Soon, we will be able to go home.
The ancient, instinctual area of the brain does not understand, or accept, the concept of surgery.
When something is hurting the body, the fight or flight response is activated. This automatic reaction to acute stress shuts down the ability to think reasonably, or rationally.
To accept the idea of allowing another to cut through our skin, muscle, and organs, we must believe that the reward will outweigh the risk. The perceived benefits must outweigh the perceived pain. The only way that brain will approve of surgery is if a person is too hurt, too sick or too scared, to say no.
A person must feel an extreme level of desperation before allowing another person to cut away their flesh and blood.
The fight or flight response has always been the foundation of our ability to survive as a species. Without it, all of our ancestors would have been eaten by saber-tooth tigers, and the world, today, would exist without the impact of human beings.
The rational mind must overcome the ancient brain in order to welcome surgery. Rational approval, however, is not enough. For the body to undergo surgery, the brain must be put to sleep.
My mom’s ancient brain perceived the surgery as an attack. While it had been rendered powerless, her already suffering body had been cut and mangled. When her brain regained consciousness, she was on high alert.
Once she recovered her ability to respond, her instinct was to scream and to fight her attacker. When she was in the moment between unconscious and conscious, she fought to escape the hell that her life had become.
My mom woke up crying. She woke up punching and kicking. She woke up wild-eyed and disoriented. She woke up terrified.
It took a while to calm her down.
I sat in the chair next to her bed. I rubbed her head gently, and with a soft voice, I reminded her of why she was there. I told her that Lumpy was gone. I told her that much of the fluid was gone. I told her that Doctor S said it all went well. I told her that, pretty soon, we could go home.
She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said: “I want to go home.”
She settled down. She closed her eyes. She took long, slow, deep breaths. She allowed herself to come back into herself again.
Finally, she opened her eyes, turned her head to look at me, and smiled. She said: “Yes. I’m ready to go home.”
The same happened to my eldest , around 10 at the time, coming out of twilight sedation for very minor surgery. They screamed, then yelled that they could feel everything the surgeon did. I nearly threw up I was so horrified. Docs acted like it was no big deal, and my child forgot once they were fully conscious. I'll never forget.
What a brilliant explanation of surgery!