sea of humanity

James, Tom, Soledad, Jason, Gabriel, Pam, Rebecca, Sean, Chelsea–these are the names I can remember that helped me on Monday and Tuesday this week when a sudden pain in my stomach turned into early appendicitis.

James is the doctor at urgent care who, after examining me, told me that if I were a loved one of his, he would send me to the emergency room for an evaluation. He was spot on and even phoned ahead to the hospital he recommended I go to for further evaluation.

Tom let me use his stethoscope to listen to my belly after I asked him some questions about what he was listening for. My body sounded like the ocean. He answered all sorts of weird questions from yours truly as I tried to get a sense of what was going on.

Pam welcomed me to my own private room on the fifth floor and helped me get dressed into a new hospital gown. Despite being the middle of the night, she never rushed me and treated me with such kindness.

Soledad always remembered to turn the lights off when she came in overnight to check on me, give me antibiotics, give me pain meds, and take my vitals. She exuded kindness and gentleness when I needed it most.

Jason kept me up to date on when my surgery would be while Gabriel helped me unravel my bra when I got it stuck around my IV after not taking it off ahead of time. It was comical to have multiple male nurses try to help me retrieve my bra from all the cables.

Sean introduced himself as the anesthesiologist before surgery and asked me various questions to ensure I would be comfortable. He gave me a heads up at each step in the operating room as he put me to sleep. Right before I went lights out, I thanked everyone there for taking care of me with some tears in my eyes. I hope they heard me over the oxygen mask.

Rebecca performed my surgery and shook my hand when she first met me, even though she had to immediately wash it afterwards (whoops). The first time she came in she was flanked by two other women and I immediately felt at ease feeling her calm confidence. It was also absolutely rad to see a crew of women taking care of me. I used AI to analyze the description of the surgery and the big takeaway was “this is generally the best case appendicitis surgery scenario”. I have to agree. Rebecca did an incredible job from what I can tell.

Chelsea tolerated me asking her name at least three times after surgery (I wanted to remember who was helping me and say their names when I repeatedly said thank you) and helped patiently explain everything needed for discharge. When I admitted to googling likely too much, she reassured me with a “don’t listen to Dr. Google” and then offered practical guidance. As I headed downstairs with Katy so Kelly could pick us up, Chelsea ran after us to give me two barf bags I requested. Kelly very slowly and carefully drove us back, making it much easier to return home.

Then there are those I can’t remember. The person who did an EKG when I first got there. Another person who first took my blood. The nurse who brought me food at 10pm after I hadn’t eaten anything for over 24 hours, just in time for my 12am food and water cut off ahead of surgery. The nurse who rolled me to my CT Scan and the three folks at the CT Scan who managed to quickly grab a barf bag when my stomach turned. The second person who took my blood this time at 4am. The person who was there when I woke up in post-op and handed me one by one two tiny cups of applesauce. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t see his face but I asked his name and then promptly told him I wouldn’t remember it but that I appreciated him. I did the same when I got into the operating room and a new guy entered with anesthesiology. “I’m sorry I can’t see you and won’t likely remember you but what’s your name?” All I know is that he grew up in Dallas, Texas and another person in the room grew up in Georgia. I asked them if they had found any good BBQ in Seattle and we all lamented the lack of good Southern cooking here. It was fascinating to feel myself be a part of someone’s work day, especially when I have worked remotely for so long.

I wanted them to know that I saw them as people and to see me the same while we were all in the midst of this medical machinery. I felt like I was on a conveyer belt or a long flight filled with delays and uncertainty. Likely from nomading so much, I have a strong ability to let go and embrace being along for the ride when things get really rough. An internal calmness settles in and I try to stay as present as I can with what’s needed of me in that moment. It’s when I still feel like I could do something to change the outcome that my anxiety spikes and the doer part of me tries to take over. There was nothing I could do to change the outcome of needing this surgery, as much as I didn’t want it. I settled in and, when I was put in my own room and left to my own thoughts, I thought back to my 6 year old self who had emergency surgery to save my left pinky finger after an accidental injury from my brother. The feelings of fragility, of smallness, of unpredictability washed over me but didn’t remain. I was steadfast and focused in getting through what was ahead.

It hasn’t always been like this. In the first year I lived in Seattle, I had a few week period where I thought I would need hand surgery on the UCL of the second metacarpal of my right hand. I collided hard with a man months prior playing soccer and was in searing pain any time I grazed a surface. I absolutely panicked when I heard I needed surgery and even tried (and fortunately failed) to break up with my current girlfriend by giving her a big out of our budding relationship. I remember feeling how vulnerable it was to not having a safety net of folks around me that I could easily lean on. Thankfully, I got a second opinion from a more reputable orthopedic surgeon through a family connection and learned I could just give my body time to heal (about a year) before considering any procedure. I ended up recovering from the hand injury sans surgery. Thinking about facing a surgery this time around, I felt completely different even though this was an emergency procedure I had little to no time to prepare for. I knew I had people in my life who would carry me through, especially my girlfriend who remains by my side and has had to navigate a world of her own health concerns.

Throughout the sterility and procedure of it all, I felt everyone’s humanness shine through. This included getting a range of conflicting information at different times, even down to “you won’t be able to go home after surgery” one moment from one person to “you absolutely will, please plan a ride home” the next. Some nurses seemed more concerned with taking my vitals than others. The surgical resident I spoke to carefully chose her words, trying not to influence me when we spoke whereas a nurse setting up an IV openly told me what she thought I should do. Nearly every person in the operating room introduced themselves before I went back, greatly lessening any unease. It was a sea of humanity and of humans helping humans amidst so much rigidity, process, and data.

I also felt how incredibly fortunate I was to be able to leave in the middle of the work day to go to urgent care, to get care without worrying about the cost, to know I would be able to take time off without putting my job at risk, and to trust the folks I work with to carry anything through. It’s such a shame this kind of support is as rare as it is. I’m 48 hours out from surgery and I am still catching up to what happened. I’m still sitting in gratitude for everyone who cared for me that day.