Surgery in the Time of Pandemic
A Personal Account in Four Parts
Part 1: Mask
I had already had two phone appointments with peri-op nurses in the days leading up to my surgery, so I was surprised to receive another phone call the day before I was scheduled to show up at the hospital. It was another nurse, informing me that they had now switched from a One Visitor policy to a No Visitors policy in light of the COVID-19 situation. My husband would need to drop me off at the hospital entrance. I would need to proceed to the surgical unit alone.
“Pack as lightly as you can. Just a very small bag. And bring it with you.” she insisted.
I had already packed my small gym bag for my stay, but I doubt that qualified as a “very small bag”, which, from the urgency in that nurse’s voice, had me picturing a gallon-size zip lock bag.
After I hung up, I shared the news with my teenage daughter, who wanted to visit me in the hospital. My inpatient stay was expected to last three to four days, but I reminded her that thanks to the magic of technology, we could use FaceTime once I’m all settled in my hospital room. I could tell she was upset, on top of already being nervous about my procedure, but she understood.
At six o’clock the next morning, I hugged and kissed her on my way out. She was a bit teary-eyed but I assured her that we would talk later that day. I was glad her school had already transitioned to remote learning that week. I wouldn’t have to worry about her being on campus.
My husband and I pulled up to the hospital’s parking garage, where a guard at the gate told us that visitors were not allowed to stay and park. Instead, we could park in the 15-minute drop-off area just long enough for my husband to bring me inside. There was a young gentleman dressed in a business suit greeting patients at the hospital entrance, a hot cup of coffee in his hand. He politely reminded us to use the hand sanitizer from the dispenser on our way in. More hospital staff and security personnel were strategically posted inside to direct patients to one elevator bank, controlling patient access points. My husband was wearing his employee badge, so he was able to accompany me upstairs to the Ambulatory Surgery Department’s registration window. I wanted to hand him my I.D. and insurance card for safekeeping once I registered. He stayed with me in the nearly empty waiting area for just a few minutes until it was my turn to be prepped for surgery.
I was led to a bed in the perioperative holding area where another nurse began the intake process. As soon as she attached a pulse oximeter sensor to my forefinger, I noticed that it was not the usual bulky plastic clip but a disposable version. It had a soft cloth strip attached to a cord that plugs into the monitor. They had switched to these because of the pandemic. How cool! I had no idea these existed! They also prepped me using individually packaged disposable ECG leadwires and electrodes, disposable blood pressure cuffs, and touchless forehead thermometers. I’ve since looked into getting one of these touchless thermometers for home but apparently, the same nutjobs hoarding toilet paper seem to be hoarding thermometers, too. I guess I’ll stick to the old-fashioned ones we have at home.
As a former employee of this hospital organization (and because I am easily fascinated), I was particularly curious but also impressed and reassured by the safety measures they were taking. These efforts included constant use of hand sanitizers and changing of gloves. Frankly, I was more nervous about whether the hospital would be inundated with coronavirus cases than I was of a potential cancer diagnosis during my procedure. Perhaps it was a blessing that the No Visitor Policy was implemented by the time I had to go in. The reduced number of people walking around the hospital made the atmosphere less frantic, despite the still discernible undercurrent of tension in the air.
I met with two or three nurses while in holding (I realize that sounds like I’m in jail, but it wasn’t anything like it. Not that I have any firsthand experience.). They were kind and friendly and diligently followed the enhanced safety protocols. I could sense they were very aware of the increasing gravity of the pandemic. I sincerely thanked each one of them, grateful for their courage and professionalism in these times. One of them earnestly wished me a speedy recovery. Somehow it seemed to carry more meaning than the usual well wishes. More like, get well soon so you can get the heck out of here and back into the safety of your home. Copy that.
The nurse anesthetist (CRNA), my surgeon, and his senior resident then arrived, each making sure I was fully aware of what to expect. Finally, my OR nurse, Felicia, introduced herself, making me feel at ease and asking me if I wanted her to update my husband by phone right before surgery starts. A few minutes longer and she was wheeling me to the operating room, where the entire surgical team was waiting. Those I hadn’t yet met introduced themselves and their roles. The atmosphere was almost jovial with some light banter and joking. I suppose they have to keep the patient slightly entertained. The better to distract you with, my dear, before we stick this long-ass needle into your back for your epidural.
My anesthesiologist and his CRNA seemed fairly young and I felt like I was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy…minus all the unrealistic sex and drama, of course. (I enjoy your shows, Ms. Shonda Rhimes, but surely hospital and fire station staff are not spending half their professional lives ducking into on-call rooms and supply closets for a steamy shag.) But I soon forgot about the TV drama parallels because now there was a long epidural catheter making its way into my back. I began to feel woozy and nauseated, so they had to start another I.V. line on my right arm to administer anti-nausea medication. Thankfully, Felicia had a strong grip on my shoulder and left arm. Nothing like a nurse’s firm but gentle touch right when you need it. There is no social distancing in the operating room.
Soon I was on my back, epidural firmly in place. My surgical team gathered around me for the “time out”, which is when they verify my identity and review the procedure I’m having. I didn’t have a chance to listen to the whole account as the CRNA began to fit an oxygen mask on my face to administer the general anesthesia. Then I promptly drifted off into anesthesia oblivion.
