the other side of the table

As an anesthesiologist my ‘rightful place’ is at the head of the operating table, or sometimes at the side if the surgery is to be done on the head, face or throat. But a couple of years ago, I had the unique opportunity to be on ‘the other side of the table.’ More specifically, on top of the OR table as I was going to be the patient!

Even before the diagnosis came, I was determined to have the surgery. The symptoms were so severe and debilitating that I wanted immediate surgery versus medical management because I know that surgery brings instant results whereas medical treatment can be one long drawn out process. So one afternoon, during an especially severe episode of attacks, I called my surgeon friend, “Agong, please operate on me na. I’m so tired of the symptoms already.”

Agong was flabbergasted. She had not even examined me yet or done any test whatsoever. So anyway, she ran me through the steps and a few days later we had confirmation: I definitely needed surgery. I said ok, how about in a couple of days? She said, "No.We have to build up your blood profile first. You are severely anemic with a hemoglobin of only 7.” No wonder I was having dizzy spells and was huffing after running up the stairs to the second floor of the hospital.

So I took iron medications, put my things in order (what if I died, you know), and waited for Christmas vacation to come so that driving the kids to school would not be a problem. Was I afraid of the operation? Not at all. I had full confidence in my surgical team, I knew all the steps of the procedure, and I knew how simple it could be. I also knew all the possible complications that could happen. The worst, of course, being that I could die right then and there. Or soon after. And since dying is not something I am afraid of, then what could be a problem?

Well, it turned out that scheduling was the problem. Many times my own surgery had to be postponed because I needed to be a doctor first. And finally, when Christmas break was fast running out of days, I decided to just go for it or else soon it would be back to school again and I’d really get into trouble with the driving-kids-to-school schedule.

My surgery was scheduled at 8 am but I asked that it be moved to 2 pm as I wanted to do a case in the morning first. It was an ortho case with multiple fractures and it turned out that we would not be finished before two pm! Oh, boy. At one pm my surgical team was there and ready but I was scampering around the OR yet, getting shaved and, being asthmatic, nebulized. Soon Dr. Absin, my anesthesiologist, took over my ortho case and I took a quick shower and changed into OR costume, this time it was the white patient’s gown with ties at the back that I wore instead of the green scrubs of doctors.

Most patients are wheeled into the OR drowsy with sedation. But not for me. My internist was shaking his head as I must have been quite a sight running hither and thither before getting up to lie down on the steel table. But once I lay there, the transformation began. I was no longer in control. And knowing that, I totally let go. And did not flinch at all when it took them what seemed like almost an hour and ELEVEN needle punctures to get me an intravenous line started. I guess they were kind of nervous that their patient was a doctor and an OR-person too. Or maybe it was my body showing that it was scared and my veins contracted/collapsed, even if my conscious mind said I wasn't scared at all. Or maybe I was dehydrated, too, as I had been on NPO and have been exhausting myself working the whole morning. (They told me I should rest before the surgery, I said, "Oh, no need as I’ll have all the time to rest post-op!")


So while my attending physicians were stressing themselves out looking for an IV site on my outstretched arms, not a whimper escaped my lips, but globs of crocodile tears kept falling unabashedly from the corners of my closed eyes.


But the tears were really not because of the pain of the needle jabs. It was because a nurse was holding my legs and another was cradling my head and stroking my hair assuring me that ‘they got me under their care.’ I felt so cared for and that was why I was crying. So finally when the needle was blissfully in, they let me choose what drugs I wanted. I said give me what I always give my patients so I’ll know exactly what they go through. And that was my last memory of that surgery. They later told me I was a model patient, not interfering with whatever they did to me. I had decided early on not to “co-manage” my case and let the doctors and nurses do their stuff while I be the patient only.

I woke up hours later in my room which was full of relatives. The nursing service graciously gave me a special nurse aide, free of charge, who took care of me overnight. Carlo was there too, right by my side, counting my breathing and stirring me up from morphine-induced sleep every now and then. I tell you now, morphine is tops! I was quite high from it and had totally no post-op pain. Super.

Went home a couple of days later and went back to work a week later. Oh, oh. This one got me a good scolding from my surgeon, Agong. She saw my car in the parking lot and she called the OR to check if I was there. Indeed I was and she told the nurses to tell me she was mad. So the next day I did another case and this time I did not park in the doctors’ parking lot, but I parked far away, in front of the hospital, hoping to avoid Agong. But lo and behold, when it was time to go home, who would I see parked right next to me but Agong herself. Ugh! Another scolding coming up. When she lambasted me for going back to work so soon I countered her with a non-siquitur by saying, “And why did you park there in front of the hospital kasi! Nasakpan lamang ko. (Otherwise you wouldn't have known.)” Harhar.

So overall, being a patient was a wonderful experience for me. Every step of the way. Nothing like a first hand experience to truly understand what our patients go through. I also learned a valuable lesson. Over and above the correct medical and surgical procedures done, the human touch is therapeutic. It calmed me as I lay there helpless on the operating table. It was the hands of the doctors and assists that did what they did inside my body when I was unconscious. It ministered to me as I slowly gained strength back during recovery. I pray that my hands, too, will be instruments of healing and caring for others as well.