As it turned out, the operation was moved up and I had to be at the hospital at 4.30, having fasted since 11.00. For once, not eating wasn't a problem - I was so nervous I could barely get any breakfast down. Nachum and I arrived at 4.00 and *Gabi and **Yaniv a little later. When we checked in, the clerk asked what operation I was scheduled for and she answered her own question saying, oh yes, breast cancer. I was too jittery to argue with her that that had not yet been established. We moved through the bureaucratic procedures with lightning speed with the only hiccup being that the insurance covered less of the cost than I'd originally thought.
The waiting room contained a TV screen on which the status of each patient (in surgery, in recovery) was displayed. I tried to read a book but I couldn't concentrate. I was very aware of the beating of my heart. About 15 minutes later, I was called to a room and shown to a cubicle where I was directed to remove my clothes and jewelry and don a hospital gown and robe. At this point, my mind caught up with reality and my psyche grasped that cancer was a probability and it was happening to me.
I answered a series of medical questions from a nurse, who also verified my name before allowing me to put on a plastic name bracelet and then, after kisses and hugs from my family, I was led through the corridors to a room where I was to meet the anesthetist. Gabi came with me in the hopes of meeting Sigal and asking some questions - we were actually running late because Sigal had been held up in traffic.
I sat on the bed waiting for the anesthetist,I was so nervous, my heart was thumping so loudly, I assumed the position and began to meditate. Regulating my breathing served to minimize the heart thumps and I began to relax. I was brought out of the meditative state by a nurse tapping on my shoulder and asking if it was OK for the anesthetist to talk to me–apparently, he’d ventured into my cubicle but faced with a patient sitting cross-legged and with closed eyes, had scampered out at a loss at what to do.
Feeling almost light-headed – probably the result of whatever substance was been fed into my right arm – I was wheeled into the freezing operating room, where, after moving over to the operating table, I was covered with what appeared to be heated rubber pads. I’d being trying to identify the anesthetist’s accent and I asked him where he was from.
* Gabi is my daughter. She's a pediatric resident at Rambam Hospital and the mother of my two amazing granddaughters.
** Yaniv is my younger son. He lives in a kibbutz in the north of the country and is active in a nation-wide youth movement.
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