About three weeks ago, I noticed a small lump the size of a pea, just above my belly button. It was squishy, and would get smaller when pressed, or when I lay down on my back. I also noticed that the area would hurt when doing lifts, especially deads and squats.
A google search of my symptoms turned up only one kind of result...dum dum dum; a hernia. I've been gaining weight and steadily packing on the plates at the gym, putting up some good PBs and am in no way interested in getting cut open and taken out for who knows how long. Whats more, I'm a wimp. I don't mind pain, but I'm scared of blood, needles, nurses, hot nurses, doctors, evil or otherwise. The entire atmosphere of a hospital practically vibrates with fear. Nope, I don't like it one bit.
That night, I saw my regular GP, and my uninformed suspicion was confirmed. He also told me that they always require surgery, and only get worse, especially in you're active. The following day, I checked to make sure my insurance would cover me, made an appointment to see a specialist at Raffles Hospital for that Saturday, and on the recommendation of the GP, stopped weights and BJJ.
Saturday, I saw the specialist, re-confirmed my suspicion and made an appointment for surgery the following Saturday, which was, as I type this, yesterday.
I did the usual pre-op stuff. No food or drink 12 hours before surgery, show up 3 hours ahead - they like you nice and bored before they slice you open, and wait, wait, then wait some more.
Finally, I was instructed to lay on a gurney and was wheeled up to the surgery level, where I waited once again. Eventually I am moved into the operating room, which resembles, by no coincidence I'm sure, an alien abduction. I don't think I was anally probed...
The process, similar for everybody about to get surgically enhanced I'm sure, runs as follows. Firstly, they put a pain killer in your drip which makes you nice and toasty high, like killer weed and three shots of vodka on an empty stomach. It's actually pretty good. The nurses kept asking me if I was ok, and I kept saying "ya, this stuff is great." Not to put too fine a point on it, but that wasn't exactly the most mind altering pharmaceutical I've ever taken, you know, when I was young and invincible and longing to expand my consciousness.
The surgeon was running late, so I tried to flirt with the nurses through the thick wall of opiates that were dry-humping my brain, and all things considered, I think I did pretty well. Then the doctor arrives, and suddenly I've got a breathing mask being shoved over my face.
This probably won't relate to Singaporeans, but for those who grew up in less prohibitive nations, you know that first time you ever take drugs? Not like cigarettes or booze or even pot, but a real drug, something that changes your perception in fundamental ways. For a while, you think it's not working, nothing's happening, you must be one of those rare individuals who are immune. I guess you just can't get hi...oh lord, you're really high.
That's what this was like. One moment I'm breathing in cold, dry air, thinking come on, work already, the next minute my head is sucked backwards into darkness, and then rocketed forward again into light. "Hello sir, it's all over, are you all right?"
I tried answering, but my lips were now made of melting ice cream, so I gave a thumbs-up, and was wheeled back to my room. I could see my wonderful wife walking along behind me, my stomach hurt, and that was that.
The day after surgery, I'm feeling pretty good. It hurts to bend at the waste or use my stomach muscles to do anything other than breath, but getting around, once I'm vertical, isn't too bad. The worst problem is probably the constipation caused by the pain killers, which don't actually stop pain, but apparently put the kibosh on shitting. Great!
I'm living on pumpkin soup, sweet potatoes and protein shakes, but I'm alive mothah fuckahs! I'm alive!