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It was at that Moment by Deb Sackett
Places in time, special events, and memorable moments, whether positive or negative, help us to form opinions and make decisions that may last a lifetime. It took me, what seems like a lifetime, to come to the final decision to have the surgery: to have my stomach stapled. It is actually called Vertical Banded Gastroplasty. Yet the day that I had been dreading for over six months, appeared on my calendar as though it were only yesterday. For me April 5, 1999, will be a memorable day which contains both positive and negative moments; that I will base my lifetime's decisions on. While making the ultimate promise to myself: "to treat today, as if I won't survive tomorrow." Let me begin by telling you about that early morning. We barely spoke but a few necessary words to each other, as we prepared for the drive to Wausau. I was glad Pete was with me on that day: sometimes as I think back, he was the strength that I needed to get me through that moment in my life. I know that not all husbands are as supportive as they could be. I was nervous and any excuse to not make the trip to the hospital would have been fine for me. "Do you have everything that you will need?" Pete asked, as we got into the car. I replied with a nervous voice. "Yes I believe so, I checked over the list the doctor gave me." We buckled our seat belts, to begin the 1½ hour drive. The sun wasn't even showing above the horizon, as we set out for Wausau. The drive to the hospital was filled with talk about "what ifs" and "just in case" and I was sure that I was going to start crying. I remember telling him: "In case there is a problem during surgery please remember that you and the boys mean so much to me, I love you all." Of course his steady and confident smile made my worries seem out of sorts. Why do I react so negatively all the time? I wondered to myself? "The only problem we will have, while you are in the hospital, is remembering to feed the fish." The humorous tone in his voice suddenly made my worries fade away. "You know that we love you too, and this surgery will allow us to spend more active time together." He meant it with his whole heart then he reached over to gently squeeze my hand, as it lay folded in my lap. We found a parking space close to the entrance and, as we gathered all of my things and stepped out of the car, we could smell the freshness of spring in the air. The crisp morning air soaked up into our senses and seemed to wake us up completely. After registering and getting all my personal items together, I changed into the wonderful designer robe that they had picked out for me: I am sure you know the one! Blue stripes with an open back: the perfect apparel in which to wander down the busy hospital halls. After all, the only people you will come across are employees or patients that are in the same embarrassing situation you are in (with your "behind" fully exposed). The pre-op nurse gave me a brief summary of what I was to expect over the next hour or so. "We need to get your blood pressure recorded", she said, as she was slipping the black cuff over my right upper arm. "Then we can begin to start getting you ready for the operating room." She was recording her information on the chart that she held in her hand. I remember thinking to myself, ‘I really don't want to hear what is going to happen beyond this point.' She continued to talk, as I tried my hardest to block her words out of my mind. "We have arranged a special bed, for you to stay in, while you are recuperating and getting back on your feet and getting ready to go home." Her smiling face was trying to help me get over my own anxiety of what lay ahead of me. As the pills that she had given me began to create the feeling of sleepiness, I looked over at Pete and smiled. He smiled and gave me a reassuring wink, as I was wheeled down the hall into the surgery room. The gurney that I was lying on, was covered with fresh, clean sheets under and over me; they seemed to be warm and comfortable. The hallway approaching the operating room area was barren and free of clutter and, as I was turned into the doorway, I saw many other people, just as myself, lying unable to move on gurneys. They were lined-up in two rows in the room. There was an older gentleman directly across from my parked gurney, he smiled and wished me luck with my surgery. "You too", I responded back to him. The nurse checked my wrist for my hospital bracelet: she was efficient in her movements throughout the crowded room. I could hear the beeps of various types of machines in the area. "Beep, beep, beep," they all seemed to be in rhythm with each other: only making sense to the skilled nurse who periodically checked them. As she walked past my gurney, she smiled and said. "It won't be too much longer now, the doctor is on his way to check on you, one last time, before the actual surgery begins." I remember smiling back at her as she walked past and closed the curtain around me. It was at that very moment that I was to learn a valuable lesson about life: how you have absolutely no control when it is your time to leave this earth. The sounds outside the curtain began to get louder and more urgent. "Did you check his chart?" I heard a woman ask. "Yes, there was no mention of allergies," another voice, still that of a woman, replied. "He is coding!" the first voice frantically said. It was then that the movements seemed to speed up considerably around me. "Code blue, operating pre-op! Code blue, operating pre-op!" was being announced somewhere in the distance, yet I was able to hear it from the speaker near the area where I was parked. I could feel my nervousness begin to rise deep within my stomach. The nurse quickly passed by and with the motion of her quickness the curtain was brushed aside and I saw the activity directly in front of my gurney. There must have been five bodies quickly moving around the older gentleman who had so kindly tried to reassure me, at the moment that I had arrived in the pre-op room. I saw the two nurses passing items back and forth, while trying to keep up with the hurried demands being made by the doctors next to them. "Paul can you hear me? Paul can you hear me?" the doctor repeatedly said to the man. "Get that syringe!" he angrily shouted at the nurse closest to him. "Paul, Paul can you hear me?" he began to ask again. In unison, all the machines seemed to begin to make a more unpleasant sound, a sound that frightened me even more than being in this place. "OOOOOOOOooooooo," was the sound I heard. The machine was no longer beeping with the rhythms of his heartbeat. "Call it," the man said. "8:23am time of death" she responded, and, just as quickly as it had begun, it was all over. I could see the nurses pull the needle from his arm, and wipe off his chest, where the paddles had left their mark. There was no special light or soothing sound, just the loud silence that surrounded me; I realized that I was the last contact that gentleman had with life. Then it was all over, never to be replayed again, except in the memories in my mind. After my surgery was over, I remember thinking that maybe it was all just my imagination, after all, the drugs I had been given were very powerful. However, during my ten-day stay in the hospital, I began to realize that it did happen, and how important that each minute, we have on this earth, is. At any moment, whether we want it to or not, we could be taken, never to return again. I asked myself over and over again: ‘ Have I lived up to my potential? Have I done my very best to make the most out of my life? No one was privy to the conversation inside my head except myself. That gentleman had tried to give me peace, at a moment when I was feeling so helpless, and then moments later he was gone from existence, never to smile again. I want my last moments to be as confident and giving as his were. Did he realize that he was going to die in that next moment? I guess that is a question that will never be answered. Will I use this experience to grow and nurture my potential? "Yes," I said out loud. At that moment I began to make plans to treat today, as if I won't survive tomorrow. By taking that leap, I have made myself a more confident individual.
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