#3dayspostop

I’m still swollen but I feel so good! I’m very happy with how my surgery turned out! I can’t wait till I can keep my vest off! #topsurgery #coriagarwal #3dayspostop #ftm https://www.instagram.com/p/Buud1krn7gPC35V5-a182xeoyaKZyzX0d2AfGo0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=5f42yqeycpb2

Toronto private hospital, 12.30pm 8th July 2013, ACL reconstruction. It never gets old does it? The anticipation of knowing what is going to happen next. I think waiting and being alone are two of the worst situations. I think the surgeons/nurses forget that we don't do this everyday. We don't get prepped for surgery all the time. I honestly think they forget that and you know what that's okay because I think I would have cried if they treated me like I was a child. I had to catch my breathe a few times just so I wouldn't. It's scary, it's sad, it's confusing, it's angry. It's a lot of those things and nothing has really happened yet. It's scary; because even though you think you know what's going to happen, apart of yourself is telling you 'just because you read the procedure brochure doesn't mean you know' It's sad; because your in the pre-op room. alone. you want it to be like the movies where everyone is around smiling and talking saying they will 'see you soon' but it doesn't happen like that. It's confusing; you don't understand why it's taking so long! before your wheeled in you get a partial glimpse of the surgery room and they are still setting up? It's angry; how could you get yourself in a position like this, why the fuck am I having this surgery. I don't deserve this. I wish I could blame someone, anyone. I like to tell the stories of all the times I've gone under, how amusing and hilarious the drug doctors are; this time wasn't funny it wasn't endearing and I don't think I will tell this to someone going into surgery. It felt like a horror movie, the room wasn't white but an off yellow, there was the steel operating table not at all inviting and before I was rolled into the room, he had already injected me with the substance that would make me 'sleep' for the next few hours. The room started to become fuzzy and his voice became distorted and deep, I couldn't see him, but he coaxed me 'climb onto the table' I tried to move but I felt like I was wearing a lead suit, he's setting me up to fail. I rolled and tried to grasp at the edges, the room was spinning and I tried to concentrate on one thing. The nurses. They were scrubbing in and there eyes were large almost bigger than there face. I tried to pull myself across the steel table I was determined, determination means nothing when you have a drug coursing through your veins. I felt myself slipping away as I felt the cold table kiss my face. I woke up crying, it took me awhile to register why I was crying. It hit me hard, I wanted to scream to lift the sheets away to see what had been done. I guess my body was crying before my brain could figure out why. I covered my eyes from the bright fluorescent lights and sobbed. The nurses were kind and nurturing '1-10 how much pain are you in?' Whenever I get asked this question I always want to be accurate and truthful, 10 is always 'I'm dying' this is how I gauge my pain. I responded '8, my pain is 8' they spent the next hour trying to get it to a nice 5. I eventually stopped crying, because what does that even do? I feel like crying now but it's a waste of time! All you get is a blotchy, swollen face. Not worth it, is it. The last few days have been a blur however for the most part I have been frustrated and annoyed. Depending on people, is not something I will ever enjoy.