I am three-fourths of the way done with my first clerkship adventure... Fifteen days to go before I say bye-bye to Internal Medicine... But the experience might extend another 32 hours... Because I missed 32 hours with them...
I had to undergo a minor surgical procedure a few days ago. Excision biopsy... Of my hidradenitis suppurativa... The night before my procedure (my dad was also in the room, by the way), a resident doctor from the Anesthesiology department gave me a briefing of what their side might do. They were only going to give me an intravenous general anesthesia... But then, he said something to this effect, "If ever something else happens during the operation, there's a possibility that we might intubate you." In my mind, I was, like, "Intubate? INTUBATE? Seriously? SERIOUSLY??? What the heck could happen that could lead to that?" He was still explaining the rest of whatever he was supposed to explain but I got stuck with "intubate". When he finished, I wasn't able to help myself and truthfully told him, "I suddenly got nervous when you said that I might get intubated!" Of course, he was trying his best to tell him that it's ONLY a possibility... But still...! Hearing that it could possibly be done to me was just... TOO SOON... After what I experienced on my first and last days in the coronary care unit of our hospital, and knowing how it was done was just... TOO SOON...
I knew was undergoing a low risk procedure... A less than 1% chance of having any kind of complication. I knew I was going to be in the most amazing and caring hands since my dad was going to do the said procedure, assisted by his resident whom I have full trust in. But after what I have witnessed in my less-than-two-months-stint as a junior intern and having a mind like mine, I got [a bit] paranoid... You know what I did? I asked my brother to bring me THE JOURNAL before coming to the hospital.
Yes... THE JOURNAL...
I haven't written anything in it for quite a while now... But weird li'l ol' me had this feeling of wanting it with me that night... Not to write anything else in it since my thoughts were too much for my hands to keep up with... But to just have it ready... Just in case... YES, I am THAT morbid. The problem was I haven't told anybody else what to do with it... Like... Who to give it to if something DOES happen to me. Maybe this one friend of mine would know since she knows I have THAT journal... I'm not sure... But I was more than 99% sure I won't fall in that less than 1%... And THANK GOD I didn't...!
The general anesthesia experience was QUITE an experience, though. Before getting into the serious part, here's a blooper... Picture this: I was already on the OR table. They could get all of my hair inside the surgical cap so the anesthesiology resident who gave me "the talk" the night before had to out a towel on my head, turban style. We were having a laugh. Then he told me, "Okay, I'm going to give you the anesthesia now. If you feel dizzy, don't fight it, just sleep. So start thinking of good dreams now."
BOOM!
The minute he told me that, I immediately thought of two persons...
First:
My resident doctor crush... I don't know why but maybe because it was the safe choice... Just in case I suddenly talk in sleep. At least all the people in the OR would hear was his name... VERY SAFE... He has already a heartthrob so I'm sure people won't be surprised if I unconsciously utter his name.
Second:
HIM... The reason I started the journal... The one who will receive the journal if ever the truth remains untold. The second I thought of him, I immediately dismissed it. I don't want to dream about him... Because I want him in my reality...
Then, I decided not to think about anything anymore. I just turned to my dad, called out to him and told him, "Good night, Papa!" Then, I closed my eyes...
* * * * * * * *
"Why does it hurt?" I thought to myself. "Should I open my eyes?" I asked myself. "But then again, the procedure might not be over and they might get surprised when they see me awake." But after a few seconds of battling with myself, I opened my eyes. No more OR lights, no more doctors... Just yellow walls and the clerk I was talking to a few days ago when I had my lesion checked with the Surgery resident my dad referred me to. "So... I am now in the PACU." I told myself. In a husky, growly voice, I asked her, "Nasaan na ako?" ("Where am I?") even if I already knew where I was, just to make sure. "Nasa recovery room ka na." ("You're in the recovery room.") Then I asked her other questions which I can't remember her answers to... I fall in and out of consciousness a few times, only feeling the pain of the operative site, and the tightening of the BP cuff every 15 minutes. Then the nurse came to me a said, "Aakyat ka na ha. Gusto ka nang paakyatin ng Papa mo." (You're going up now. Your dad already wants you back up in your room." After telling me that, it took a while before I left the recovery room.
I left my room before 1:00 PM and returned past 6:00 PM. It took a while before I woke up, my dad said. He, actually, stayed with me for a while in the recovery room, waiting for me to wake up. He told me that the IV GA plus local anesthesia didn't really work on me so they had to give me more GA via face mask. I guess all that GA really knocked me out!
My afterthought... It started coming to me the moment I woke up in the recovery room. What if something really DID happen on that table?
My last words would have been, "Good night, Papa!"
And my last thought would have been... HIM...
This just came to me as I wrote that last statement... I felt weird having that resident crush of mine as the first thought when the anesthesiology resident told me to think of a good dream. I kept questioning myself why he entered my mind first. He's not THAT significant... Then... As I wrote that statement... I realized why HE came second to the resident crush... Because HE deserved to be the last thing on my mind... If ever I left this world on that table, HE would be the last thing, the last person I thought of... Not my friends, not even my family or God (I feel ashamed...)... But HIM... I'd leave the world with HIM as my good dream... And my life would've had a happy, peaceful end.
Nothing really big really happened while I was knocked out. There was no "my-life-flashed-before-my-eyes" moment because I didn't really have a near-death experience. But that realization just affirmed that I've moved on... And that I should never doubt myself with the choice I made.
So, now... #IMback... And #IMhere... In the Department of Internal Medicine.
There is a reason why I chose to be where I am. I could've chosen Pediatrics. I could've chosen Psychiatry-ENT-Ophthalmology... But I chose to be with IM. So far, I don't have any regrets. And I'm hoping I won't have any as this journey continues. I prepared myself, though. Anything can happen... The good, the bad, the nothing. I'm not expecting anything except for that moment when my heart will break. That's the only thing I'm expecting... Because it seems like it's the only thing I keep getting.
I am tempted, though... I am tempted to take the risk... Seriously... Because I just can't stand here and watch things as they unfold beyond my control. I have to take action, somehow. I can't always be at the sidelines, watching him chase someone else when I can go on that track and try to tap him just so he could turn around and see me.
Life is too short...
If anything, THAT would be the ultimate lesson I got from being sedated... under general anesthesia... What if I didn't wake up? He will never know how I truly felt unless THAT journal reaches him. He will never get to have a say if he knew how I felt. I will never know what could happen if he knew. Everything will be left hanging. There will be no closure. Yes, I could've died with him on my mind. But, like I said, I want him in my reality... Because reality will always be better than a dream.
