I wrote this when Heather was in hospital (right before her surgery) but decided to post it today.
Sometimes, when life feels overwhelming, the best thing you can do is laugh at the situations—and people—that make it more difficult. Heather was waiting for surgery when a member of the surgical team stopped by to explain what to expect. You know, the usual: "We’re going to perform this procedure, and with anesthesia, there’s always a chance for complications…” But this guy didn’t hold back—he laid it all out. Fortunately, Heather was too out of it to understand, so I had the pleasure of experiencing this conversation solo.
Scenario 1: The ideal outcome—exploratory laparoscopic surgery to insert cameras and examine the digestive tract for about an hour, possibly identifying and fixing a minor issue. We were all hoping for this one.
Scenario 2: A large incision might be needed, with no clear idea of how long the surgery would take. It wasn’t my favorite scenario, but it seemed reasonable.
Scenario 3: They might need to do a colostomy. I was really grateful that didn’t happen.
Scenario 4: A very large incision might be required, leaving the wound open, and she would be taken to the ICU for observation. (At this point, I stopped listening.) Gratefully, this worst-case scenario was avoided.
Then, he casually added, “And with anesthesia, there’s always a risk of cardiac arrest, stroke, or sudden death.”
Yes, I know they have to tell you all this, but at that point, my focus was entirely on Heather—on keeping her in a calm and positive frame of mind.
I quietly muttered, “Well, that was positive.” It was a bit snarky, I admit. So, I quickly added, “You guys must be exhausted after such a long day, and now heading back into surgery tonight.”
He replied (and I’m paraphrasing):
“Surgeons are trained to work at 100%. Even if we come in feeling like 80%, we work at 100%. Unlike you and others, who might go to work feeling like 70% or less, you only work at that capacity.”
I honestly wanted to laugh out loud. I mean, clearly, this guy must have worked with me before. I can guarantee I don’t give 100% every moment of the day at work. Even a computer doesn’t operate at 100% all the time.
I’m glad he has such a big ego. I want her surgical team to give it their all—100%, for sure. Heck, if they want to overachieve and give me 105%, I’m all for that. Give me a surgeon with a big ego in the ER any day.
He was just doing his job, explaining the possible scenarios, and I get that. But today, I’m going to sit back and realize that maybe I’m only capable of giving 50%—and that’s totally okay with me.
Since Heather’s surgery was after hours, there wasn’t the usual automated board providing updates. I asked Dr. Bedside Manners if I’d get updates if the surgery took longer than expected. He replied, “Well, our focus needs to be on Heather, so we don’t leave the surgery to give updates.”
I smiled sweetly and said, “Of course, I understand. I was just hoping there was a way to send an update. Thanks, Dr. Obvious.” I didn’t expect hourly updates, but a little reassurance would have been nice.
When the surgery was finally over, her lead surgeon called me, and we spoke for over 10 minutes. Heather was returned to her room around midnight, and I was able to give her a kiss goodnight.
Her surgical team gave it their all—100%, to be exact—and I’m forever thankful for that.
Don’t forget to hug your loved ones. Life is precious.xo
Lisa
Picture shown is Heather in an 8th grade school play, dressed as a nurse. She gave 100% in this play, just like she is giving 100% in her recovery