How it Felt to Wake Up During Surgery

I recently noticed an assignment for being awake during surgery. Instead of doing the long and drawn out research on the statistics of people whom have awaken during a surgery, I thought that I'd share my story of being awake during surgery. It began with an injury that I acquired while "on-the-job". Working in a group home for boys there was a daily routine of activities that was followed day-in and day-out. This particular day was like every other, until rec. time. It was just after supper time when I decided to start recreational activities for an hour. Usually being before dinner, this week rec. time was held after dinner due to the excruciating heat-wave that plagued the facility throughout the day. Basketball was the game of choice this evening, and a game of three-on-three ensued. Just before wrapping up I tried to make a final play. It included me catching an "alley-hoop" in the air and dunking it. For those that may not be familiar with basketball jargon, an alley-hoop is simply the act of catching a pass from a teammate, while suspended in the air, and simultaneously catching and dunking it. I had performed this highlight dunk at least 3 times prior to this final one, as the final dunk would prove detrimental to me physically.

Before I explain what happened next, I must rewind time for you first and take you back a year and exactly 1 day prior to this incident-April 19th, 2008. Once again it was rec time and after dinner. The sun was relentless on both of these days at exactly 1 year apart. Therefore rec. time was also held after dinner on this date and again engaging in a game of basketball I hustled and bustled to keep up with the little rascals. While dribbling the ball in a very calm and collective manner, I walked casually away from the hoop. Deciding on what my next move would be, I suddenly rolled my right ankle. Realizing what was getting ready to happen, in an instant I tried to compensate by manually rolling it back toward the left, however this turned out to be overcompensation. My ankle was already touching the ground by the time my body reacted to what my mind was thinking and not only did I have a nasty hard roll to the right, but the overcompensation led me to have an even worse roll back to the left.Instantly, I dropped to the ground in agony, while overhearing the taunting laugh of a fellow opponent. Angry and embarrassed I tried to immediately get to my feet, but it was to no avail. The sharp and intensive pain placed me back down into the position from which I had risen. In even more pain now I began to let out the sounds of someone who is suffering extreme torture. I rolled around about the pavement while catching my mocking opponent with a new look of much worry and concern about his face. Trying to comfort me during the agonizing pain, he retreated the cellular phone that had dropped and skated away about 10 yards, and used typical jargon like "Are you o.k.?" as I tried to get my bearings. I soon called for help then proceeded to remove my shoe during the wait. As I uncomfortably removed the shoe, before my eyes I could see the circumference of my ankle rise like baking dough. Just about the size of a softball was my ankle, by the time more adult supervision arrived. I was then driven to the emergency room just after receiving an ice-pack for the ride and diagnosed with a torn ligaments.

This wasn't a typical recovery for me either, for if I was about 10 years younger I am almost sure that I would have recovered the next day. However, this injury was very long and drawn out. Of course everyone, even the doctors, were quoted saying; "You'd been better off just breaking it." Weeks turned into months before I even thought about doing anything athletic with my ankle again. It was approximately 8 moths of a combined boot wearing, "cruching" around and therapy taking before I tried to run and I was still very timid. However, a major turnaround was my condition by month 9. I felt more confident and secure with doing extracurricular activities that involved that ankle.

By the month of April of 08' I was not only feeling very confident, but I actually gained some extra height in my vertical. Now I could touch the rim and soon would be able to catch alley-hoops and dunk the basketball. Now you have to understand. At about 5"5 and 3 quarters-let's just round it up to 5"6, this was a very wondrous and exciting accomplishment for me.

This brings us back to that date of April 18th, 2009 and back on the basketball court during rec. time. Catching and dunking that last alley-hoop was the detrimental part and it involved me circling the rim to muster up a good jump that allowed me to get high enough to grab the rim. However, the ball had bounced much higher. Instead of immediately letting go with the risk fo falling on one of by boys below, I waited momentarily till the smoke cleared from beneath me. Meanwhile, the ball has now fallen prey to gravity and is making its way back down in a linear fashion. While still suspended in the air I attempted to grab the ball and guide it into the hoop. The problem was
that I attempted this with the same hand that I was using to hold on to the rim with. We all know what happened next. When reflecting on the incident, I often remember those Warner Brother cartoons that involved scenes like Wil-E Cayote running off of a cliff yet remaining suspended in the air until he looks down and realizes......Uh Oh!

Again I was greeted with taunting laughs upon my reintroduction with the pavement and again I tried to rise up and shake it off. Immediately I felt intense pain in my back, however upon rising and reaching for the ball, I noticed a distorted shape to my arm. Particularly in the wrist area. The forward momentum from my jump combined with a delayed release resulted in me falling back on my back but breaking some of that fall with my left hand. Come to think about it, I heard a pop in the wrist when I landed, but it felt and sounded more like a pop that you experience from cracking your knuckles. Examining my arm more, after the fall, I really noticed that something was very wrong. My hand was curved forward and bent inward, as if it was knocked off the hinges. A swan or dove is what I tend to think about when I vision that moment. The curved neck of the swan was my arm in that instance. Again I was aided with a cellular phone that seemed to again escape my person and was again driven to the emergency room assisted with an ice-pack. Hoping to get in and through triage quickly, (we all know how them emergency room wait times can be) my wishes were met. One look at my swan of an arm and the triage nurse sent me past fast-track. By this time the shock and adrenaline of what I was seeing before me had worn off and pain was rapidly setting in. I roared and groaned in extreme agony within minutes where appropriate and efficient drugs were readily available. The doctor said that I experienced something called dusting, where the little bones in my wrist were smashed in from the fall and basically disintegrated them due to a high pressure fall mixed with speed. I was surely due for something more than a simple cast. Ten days later I went in for surgery.

I knew that I was going under and the anesthesiologist said specifically that I would not be completely under, however I wouldn't remember anything because I really wouldn't be conscious of anything. On the contrary I must say. Soon after our talk the anesthesiologist prepped me for the needle and soon after a new scene of a dreary and confused me was awakening. I heard light whispers of words like "he's waking up" and quickly a bunch of gathered nurses threw some sheets over my face. They murmured words I didn't understand anymore, none-the-less they felt consoling and distracting. In an instinctive manner I attempted to prop myself up a bit only to find that my hands and feet were belted to the operating table. What! I think to myself, as I then turned and tried to see what the nurses were trying to shield me from. There was however, another barricade of those special blue paper-like sheets that covered what the doctor was doing. I caught a glimpse of him as he was fully engaged in his project like a mad scientist clinching his hands together in a dreadful manner, or a person of glutton-digging into their meal with ferocity. I then began to make sense of the nurses' words once more as they encouragingly said things like: "You're doing well Jay...", "We're almost done! Way to go...". On the other hand, I was feeling a constant tug in my shoulder. It was a cross between almost hurting and extreme pulling, as if someone was forcefully yanking you by the forearm. Since there was no feeling until the top of my shoulder, all of this pressure was concentrated there, and I could feel it. I tried to Shrug it off-no pun intended-and I focused in on the nurses. However, my attention quickly reverted back to a loud and "Texas chainsaw massacre" like sound. It was actually the sound of a power drill that was used to screw in several screws about a titanium plate that was affixed to what was left of my bone as support. The tugging feeling also grew immensely with the use of the drill, as I expressed this with an uncomfortable reaction in which resumed the consoling dialog of the nurses.

I was all stitched up and ready to go in about 90 minutes, as it was a simple outpatient procedure for the Doctor. It was a crazy, exciting and interesting experience I must say, but I am not sure if I would want to experience it again.