Just A Biscuit

Small things done with great love will change the world.
~ Mother Theresa

“But it was just a biscuit!”

The voice carries clearly across the surgery prep area. I am there too, in another little curtained pod, wrapped in a hospital gown, waiting for my time in the operation room. I, however, am a veteran of the O.R. I have arrived right on time, dressed in loose comfy clothing, easy to put back on in a drowsy state. I have not had a drop of water nor speck of food past 11:55PM the night before. I immediately said yes when questioned about whether I was nervous and received “a little something to relax me.” My valuables are home, except for my phone I am using to pass the time. And I think the conversation across the curtain is hilarious. I unsuccessfully stifle a giggle and successfully take a series of selfies I also find hilarious, but later will regret.

The biscuit conversation continues. The anesthesiologist explains the dangers of having food in one’s stomach during surgery. The patient explains she just needed a little something to settle her stomach. She’s nervous, she’s having surgery, for goodness sake! While she may not fully comprehend what’s going on at the moment, this biscuit, this small inconsequential bit of food, has changed the course of her day.

I understand her discomfort. After a dozen surgeries in a handful of years, I know the worst part is those hours between waking in your own bed and going back to sleep on a narrow operating table. I know the unsettled stomach, the fuzzy brain, the caffeine headache. After one bi-lateral mastectomy, seven breast reconstructions, two ovary removals (couldn’t just take them both at once), a humerus nailing, and screw removal, I know not to eat the biscuit. I know to get medicated as quickly as possible, both for nerves and nausea. I know the delight found in the little sip of water they give you to take a pill. Savor it. That’s the last time you’ll drink a drop of liquid for hours. I know to tell the nurse my veins roll and because of lymphedema they can only stick one arm, so please get it right the first time. I know nurses pray over their patients: sometimes for healing, sometimes just to get the dang vein. I know if you don’t control pain early, it’s really hard to get under control.

My bi-lateral mastectomy was January 20, 2011. I thought they prepared me for everything. Baggy sweats, recliner in place at home, no food or drink. I really just wanted that cancer gone. I was ready! I wanted to get this part over with so I could go back to normal. This most important thing, this extensive surgery, would change my life.

When you’re the patient, there’s not much to tell about the surgery. One minute I’m laughing with the anesthesiologist and the next I’m in the absolute worst pain and getting sick every time I’m given pain meds. Turns out the big thing, the surgery, is radically affected by the small things. Like knowing what pain medication wouldn’t make me sick. Like knowing the anti-nausea patch needed to be on me hours before the surgery to take effect. I was so worried about the big thing, the mastectomy, I overlooked the minor details that make it all bearable.

It’s the small things I remember now. I remember even the grumpiest anesthesiologist has the gentlest touch of all the medical professionals. I remember all O.R. nurses have nothing but reassuring words and smiles as they wheel you back to the operating room and strap you to a table. I remember the recovery nurse who sent me home with a hospital pillow and blanket so I’d be comfortable on the drive home. I remember there’s always one face I look for when I wake, and even The Engineer can be a patient nurse.

And I know this. Even the smallest gesture can radically alter the way a person’s day goes. Whenever I’m feeling small and inconsequential, I think of all the small gestures done with love I’ve experienced. It gives me hope that in my small and inconsequential way, I too can make a difference in this life.

I guess what I’m trying to say is each one of us is a biscuit. Just one person among the billions on this earth. One person able to affect such change with just a touch, a kind gesture, encouraging words. Maybe one day when someone says “it’s just Erin,” the response will be that the world has changed because I was here. Because I was just a biscuit.