Musings from a hospital room…

Today, in a few hours, I will be on an operation table – for the first time in my life; technically, maybe the second time since I breathed my first time, perhaps on one. One can imagine my state of mind – given the time of the day and that I have also been given a sedative to sleep – and here I am – musings from a hospital room – trying to express my feelings in words.

Even at dead of night, there is no silence. I can hear the sounds of cleaning machines being operated, there is giggling and talking at the nurses’ station, bells beeping, telephones ringing, and even an occasional tray dropping on the floor – with so much activity, how can the mind rest, let alone the body? I have been pricked and probed, answered a zillion questions from an army of doctors, assistants, and nurses, and signed so many forms that I forgot the count of. My family says I am being difficult- but I do have the right to know what my body and I are signing for.

Experience of a hospital bed is quite common for women – mostly for far younger than me, and for joys from suffering from pain every few days in a month. For me, a complete opposite – a couple of decades older, and for something that takes away the very essence of womanhood – it is anxiety and feeling of trepidation rather than joy.

I have been in pain for some time. Some days more difficult than others. For past fortnight, an internal debate has been going my mind – but every passing day was bringing me to the inevitable; and yesterday when I checked in (got admitted) to my hospital room, I was only a few steps from the finale – a journey of few months from discovery to discussions to decisions.

It is a separate debate altogether if this process is about losing my feminity (?) without experiencing many joys (and pains) of being a woman. Is it the end of the dream of perhaps meeting a suitable guy even at this stage of life? Yes, these questions or musings from a hospital room can not be debated or answered today.

My friend said to me today that an operation theatre or the table is the safest place – no one dies there. It is the recovery phase that is painful and slow process. And that’s where the anxiety stems from – the pain and all other inter-related recovery issues.

For the last few days, friends and family have dropped in, or called and messaged me to wish all the best; and inevitably share some nuggets of advice based on their experiences. I have listened to them all and am grateful to them for taking time out to wish me well.

Hopefully, I will be seeing you soon on the other side of this experience – we will compare our stories and continue the debate forward. Meanwhile, signing off now…

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