All the Difference

Just got back from visiting Chaska Plaza Surgery Center where I will be having surgery next Thursday on my left big toe for the third time since February.

I left a message on Monday saying that I had been repeatedly raped, tortured, and smothered into unconsciousness as a small child and that I was hoping to meet people who would be there and see the place.  Caroline, the surgery manager, returned my call Monday and said, "I'm so glad you are coming here rather than some big hospital where it will be a three ring circus.  Come Wednesday and I'll introduce you and give you a tour."  No medical person- heck, no regular person- has ever heard my story before and said, "I'm glad you're here."

Went for the tour today, bringing my list of questions scribbled on the back of a recycled envelope and the game Rush Hour.  I intended to sit in their waiting room after the tour and play until I felt calm. 

The tour was short; it's basically 3 rooms.  Caroline called me by name, introduced me to the other two, and started the tour.  She explained where I would be, when I would get a gown, how I would be transported, when I'd get an IV and of what, when and what kind of antibiotics, the names of exactly who would be there.  And she assured me that they were good people and that she would tell them to take extra good care of me.

Since there were no surgeries, I got to look around the operating room and even lie on the bed.  The bed surprised me since it was very narrow and I expected to maybe roll off.  Instead, it was this thick memory foam and I sank right in.  Not even lying there with my arm stuck out, pretending I had an IV, not even then did I feel panic.  She explained about how they would let me arrange myself on the bed, cover me with warm blankets, and inject the sedative into my IV.  I sat on the bed and told her about not covering my mouth with the breathing mask until I was out and making sure I didn't have bodily fluids running down my face or throat when I woke up. 

We walked back out to the main room and she and the intake nurse listened while I asked my questions, taking in the stories, asking who I'd told already, and explaining about medications and procedures all the while facing me square on with eye contact.  I am absolutely certain they heard me and that they will advocate for me when I can't. 

They listened to my history, believed me, and articulated what would probably work and helped me think through a back-up plan in case it didn't.  Calm and confident without a hint of cocky and they listened intently, filing it all away.  I did not feel rushed or pushed at all.  I never picked up on one negative vibe from them either.  Miraculous.

As I was leaving, I picked up my game and explained that I had brought it so I could sit and play until I didn't feel anxious because if I left anxious, I'd come back for surgery feeling anxious.  She invited me to stay as long as I wanted, but I turned and said, "I'm not anxious so I don't need to.  I'll see you next week."

40 minutes.  40 minutes of being educated and listened to and now not only will my week until surgery be calmer, but I bet my recovery will go better, too.  She urged me to rest with my foot up saying, "If you do, your recovery will probably go so well that you will say to yourself, 'I don't know why I even bothered.'"  I smiled because I could see what she saw and I believed her.

I was a real person, an adult with dignity and she took time to listen, answer my questions, really see me, and gave me back my confidence.

It's been such a tumultuous couple decades in my interactions with medical people and within myself that I didn't believe that I would ever be at peace with medical people again- to much unknown, too much cockiness, too much water under the bridge.  I didn't believe that my healing would extend from my toe to my heart.

But it has and it will.
I accept their help for my toe.
And my heart is hatching, too.

I think this requires celebration-
chocolates for everyone on the day of surgery and flowers on my two week follow-up visit.
And a nice card.

And forgiveness
And peace
And sharing my newly minted skills with other survivors
And adding this groups' info to the rape crisis center's list of providers who are good with survivors

And happiness
I think that this celebration definitely requires happiness