Caren Ezratty O’Connor
Somehow I got to be the one. I didn’t have to stare at my phone hoping for a text or an email telling me how the surgery went. Or wait to hear how she got through the night. And I was allowed to be in the room when the doctors came in.
For those of us who have family members that are doctors, we fancy ourselves (or at least I do) an “honorary physician” soaking up all their medical knowledge through osmosis and proximity. Somehow Beth bought into this fantasy of mine and selected me to be her “medical advocate” in the hospital.
On the day of her surgery, a large group of us (as one would expect) gathered in the cafeteria waiting anxiously for Will to get the phone call that she’s out of surgery and in recovery.
Once that call came in, we nervously ran up to her room not knowing what to expect. Despite my extensive medical training, I had never seen anyone right after they had brain surgery.
I strongly suspect not everyone is quite as social right after they had their skull opened. Wow. Beth looked amazing! Other than an IV and a bandage around the front of her head, she was chatty, not groggy and just seemed great. I think I can speak for all of us that day that even though we hadn’t received the pathology results of the tumor, there was a huge sense of relief that she looked so damn good!
I returned later that evening to spend the first of two nights in the hospital. She still looked great. Will and Sally came with Ellis. Of course her mom and Will were there. She was eating, talking, smiling…
Oh and it must be noted that she special ordered the cutest hospital gown! There was no way she was going to wear that unflattering institutional blue color. Instead she wore a red/pink/grayish floral number that was cheerful and fabulous. Seriously, who thinks to do this???
What happened over the next two nights is a bit of a blur. The night nurses come in every hour to wake her, check her vitals and do neurology checks that involve pretending to hold a pizza box.
What I do remember very clearly is that the steroids she was taking to prevent swelling in her brain really started to kick in. I never heard someone talk so much! She could NOT sleep. At 3:00am, nurse Lindsey came in for the vitals check and Beth proceeds to ask her a slew of questions about the parking lot at the hospital! How far away do the employees have to park? After all, that was all that was left to discuss since she had already gotten her nurses ENTIRE life story! (And also the life stories of every adorable resident that entered the room.) But the parking conversation was too much to bear. I interrupted (as I had been doing) and said “BETH! YOU NEED TO GET SOME REST!” “Ok. Ok” she said. The nurse leaves the room and Beth shuts her eyes. I shut mine for a few moments and then take a peak only to find her furiously texting on her phone! Total sneak.
Of course all we could do was anxiously await the doctors’ visits to tell us what they found, and what her prognosis is going to be. There were three doctors participating in her case. The Chief Resident, the Attending Surgeon and the Chief of Neurosurgery at the hospital. The takeaways from these conversations were conflicting. The resident was the most conservative in his prediction of the type of tumor it was, whereas the surgeon was more optimistic. But the chief said it was benign!
Imagine the elation hearing this news. And that was how we left the hospital. Believing that the ordeal was over. Now all that was needed were the official pathology reports.
Why Not Me 