At Age 12 I Went into Surgery

It was a major operation on my spine, a total spinal fusion to correct my severe scoliosis. There were a lot of things that freaked me out, the idea of me, this kid suddenly having such a major operation was scary. But my surgeon was good. My parents tried to convince me that I would be alright, but no matter what the only thing that would calm me down would be actually getting it done and coming out alive.

Well, I did.

The anesthesiologist told me to count down from 15, and that by the time I got to zero I would be asleep and I'd wake up out of the surgery. My dad who'd had a shoulder surgery a couple years prior told me that it wasn't even like sleeping, where you at least can sorta feel the passage of time. He said it would truly be instant.

In a way, it was. I remember not being able to stay awake any longer, and I fell asleep. I also woke up instantly. At least I think I did. It was hard to tell, I was fully aware but I was blind and I couldn't move either, I couldn't even open my mouth to speak.

A sharp pain started in my back where the implants had been inserted, it felt like I was being hit repeatedly with a sledgehammer in the spine. I felt shattered. Ripped to shreds. This quickly spread through my entire body as the numbing agents from the operation wore off. Although I was awake, I looked completely passed out, and I was in too much pain to hear any words being said. Just recognize the voices. One I picked out as my mother, and another I believed to be a nurse.

I wanted so badly to scream, thrash around, get their attention somehow. I felt like I was being ripped open thousands of times and left to bleed and die. In my head I was screaming, I was thrashing, spasming, doing my hardest for someone to hear me. But calmly they spoke about the operation, was I was laying there perfectly still. No one could see the pain I was in. No one knew a thing was wrong. Everyone thought I was asleep when I had never been more awake. It felt like I was strapped down and my mouth taped shut. These restraints were all in my head. If only I would just move. Show them a sign. Muscles wouldn't move. Nothing. None of my signs worked. I couldn't change my expression. I just wanted it to end. If only I could move my hands. I could kill myself. Everything could be over. It would only cost my life. Life's value had never faded more than when I internally cried for freedom. If only I could end it all. If only I could scream, if only my tears could well up, I could show them something was wrong.

Time dragged on and finally I was able to thrash and writhe in pain, though my screams were mainly muffled by the breathing mask on my face. I couldn't say anything. There was no calm. There was no clarity. The only noise I could make was a shriek. I still couldn't see. But they knew something was wrong. It was pretty damn obvious, someone on the other side of the hospital could hear the faint echoing of my screams through the mask and the intensity of my breath, when I even got the chance to breathe between cries.

I heard quick footsteps, I heard muffled voices over pagers, I heard more people rush into the room. The tension only caused me to jerk and spasm more and more uncontrollably. Not that any of these movements were voluntary to begin with. Soon enough, it was all gone. As the pain began to fade I slunk down into the bed. I drew a short breath. Passed out almost right away. It was over.

They had always asked me to rate my pain on a scale from 1 to 10 when I'd been in the hospital previously. I was the kind of person who was careful about using my 10. What if I was overreacting? How could I determine a 9 or an 8 from a 10?

As it turns out, a true 10 isn't something you can even communicate. At that point speaking is completely out of the question.

It's been five years. In a recent discussion about the weather changes messing with my joints die to the surgery my mother recently told me that the nurses had forgotten to order a new prescription for painkillers, and they needed the permission from the surgeon to do so. She had been a nurse and she was furious with how stupid their mistake was. I nodded.

She asked if I remembered it.

I shook my head.

Another ten years pass. That very hospital I was in was also a medical university. And I've returned to further my nursing education.

I had forgotten about the whole thing until I entered the building. I made a promise to myself. No one under my care would suffer that fate.