Provided they were conscious, everyone remembers the first time they go through the double doors. I’m referring to when they wheel you in to the operating room for the first time. Everyone is friendly and somewhat sympathetic, but you are going in alone. Everyone goes through the double doors alone and unsure of what will happen next. Some people pray, some people curse their luck. Everyone remembers how they felt.
My first time came when I was 48. I was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was benign, but it had to come out. Otherwise it would keep growing and interrupt brain functions. I was told I would lose my hearing on my right side and likely have balance issues for the rest of my life, but I should survive this operation. Oh, and the right side of my face would be paralyzed for an indefinite period of time.
In the old days, the surgery was brutal. People staggered when they walked because of balance issues and lost the eye that the tumor was on because they were unable to blink. I was told Joseph Stalin had the same type tumor. Doctors were afraid to operate on him because they knew he would have them killed if he was not happy with the result. Doctors would say, “Let’s postpone this awhile so you can get a few more years of normal living in before we have to do this.
I was given a list of people to call who could tell me about their experiences. I called a few, but they only scared me worse. A lady in Houston told me the worst thing was waking up and being on a ventilator. She had a tube down her throat to make sure she would breathe. The thought of that terrified me. I still feel it when I think of it. She also had to go back for a second surgery because the doctors had not completely removed her tumor and it had started growing back. I saw a man in Glendale who, although he had successful surgery, had facial problems and had to have a spring installed in his eyelid so he could blink. At least, I thought, he didn’t lose his eye.
My insurance at the time had not approved this procedure, so it looked like I was going to have to cover the bulk of the cost myself. I was a successful salesman and partner at an investment banking firm, but incurring a $100,000 plus bill with a daughter headed off to college in the Fall was a scary thought.
Despite the doctor’s prediction, what if I died? People would say, “He had a great life.” He had a good marriage, two wonderful children, and a successful business. Lot’s of people around the world to would kill to be able to change places with the life I had.
Interestingly, I felt great. I played tennis two days before I went in for the operation. I had been experiencing a decline of hearing in my right ear for many years. When I’d bring it up at my annual physical, the doctor would say it was pretty normal for someone my age. I learned that more people have hearing issues than all the other issues put together. After a few years of this, the doctor sent me to an audiologist. He measured my hearing and said to come back in a year. When I had experienced even more loss, he sent me in for an MRI. That revealed a tumor which, by then, had grown to be about the size of a golf ball. I was sent to the House Ear Institute the next morning. It was there that I learned all that I have recounted earlier.
The surgery was scheduled for 1, but I was to report to the hospital at 7. After filling out that form about who would make the decision to pull the plug in case I didn’t wake up and whether I wanted to donate my organs, my wife and I settled in for a quiet, but stressful morning. My mother wanted to be there too, but my wife said no. Worrying about me was hard enough. She didn’t want my mother complicating things. I felt that way too.
The morning passed and I was finally wheeled through the double doors. The anesthesiolgist, who was a nice guy, asked me if I had stopped at Mc Donalds on the way to the hospital. I relayed my fear of the ventilator, and he said it probably wouldn’t be necessary. It wouldn’t be long before I was asleep.
About 5 hours later, I woke up with an extremely cold blast of air being forced in my nose. Yes!!!, I wasn’t on the ventilator. I got it away and began the long recovery process. 30 years later my facial nerve is still healing, but I am alive a grateful every day to be here.
A family friend who is a psychic, said she envisioned a little boy getting up out of my body while the surgery was being performed and sitting by his grandfather watching down. As the surgeon was finishing up he got down off the bench and went back to inhabitating my body. Interesting!
Everyone has their before and after moments when their life really changes. Wedding Day, the birth of one’s children, and retirement all make the list. While all those make my list too, the big day that changed my life was when I was first wheeled through the double doors.
Then and now:
Robert Firring's 