It took us a whole day waiting for a vacant room in Lung Center Hospital. Then as we were settling down in our ward, a nurse came in. She asked me for my name, reading from her note, she told me that I was there to have “metastasectomy." She tried to pronounce it twice but failed. We all laughed, and I told her, “yes, I will have thoracic surgery to remove a metastasis in my right lung”.
My surgeon delayed the procedure for a couple of days. He told us that his fellows would not be available. We had to wait for them so we did not have to pay for people who would assist him in the surgery. We were thankful for the delay because we spent a couple of days receiving visitors. We were happy to reunite with family, relatives, and friends.
I also need to undergo several clearances. My cardiologist had to make sure my heart would not fail during the surgery. The pulmonologist conducted a series of difficult breathing tests. To make sure that my lungs would be strong enough to lose a chunk.
It was six o'clock in the morning when a hospital aide came and transferred me to the operating room. Our roommates, after sharing our two days with them, wished me "luck" that was the last time I saw them because they would check out later.
I had been under the knife before and I knew the routine. The anesthesiologist assured me that everything will be alright. She checked the drip needle that the nurse stuck on my right hand where she would inject the anesthesia. She told me that it was too small, and she had to stick a bigger one on my other hand. But I did not have to worry because she would do it when I was sleep already. I told her it was okay because at this point, I lost count on how many needles were stuck on my body.
Then she put a mask on my face, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was already afternoon. I could not breathe; breathing was so excruciating painful. I may have been crying out loud, and I guess I was. I looked out the viewing room, I saw my wife Narlin, my son Reuven, my sister Dadai and some friends. I may had looked so bad because they seemed to be on the verged of crying. I tried to smile to assure them I was alright, but it looked more like grimace. I tried to put up a thumbs up sign, but I guess nobody noticed.
When I got back to my room, the surgeon told me that he would release me the next day because of the hospital hazard. Most of the patients there have contagious lung diseases and it would be better for me to recover at home.
Unless... they removed the machines that pumped air on my lungs and drained the fluid. It caused me so much discomfort because I needed to go to the rest room and I didn't want to do it lying down. They brought an x-ray machine on the room to see if my lungs were inflated already. The doctors thought it was okay to remove and I felt relived that I could finally go to the rest room. And go home.
Then something happened that would extend my misery for the days to come. The doctor removed the six-inch tube from my lungs with no local anesthesia (ouch!). He was trying to be funny doing that so I won't notice him doing it.
As we were preparing to go home, the nurse removed the drip needle. Remember, the anesthesiologist stuck a bigger needle on my left hand. So she first removed the needle on my left hand and then proceeded to remove the one on my right hand. My wife, my sister, the nurse and me were having a nice chat that we didn't notice that I was soaking with blood. She forgot to tape the needle hole on my hand and the blood was flowing like a mini faucet from the hole in my hand. It was terrifying.
Then while I was changing my shirt, I coughed, fluids came flowing out of my surgical wound. A doctor came and patched it up. But the fluids kept on gushing out from the wound. The surgeon requested for ultrasound to know how much fluid remained in my lungs. After giving it a lot of thought, he decided to insert a JP drain into the surgical wound using a skin anesthesia. He did this in the emergency room. The procedure was so painful that I almost lost consciousness.
We would be traveling for more than four hours back to Malasiqui. The doctor knew that when the effect of the skin anesthesia would wear off in three or four hours. He taught me how to administer the anesthesia by injecting it through the JP drain. Before we left, we asked the nurse to do it for me, but she would not. She thought it was unusual to inject skin anesthesia inside the wound. So I had to do it for every three or four hours for a day for the next twenty-four hours.
It was a painful experience. I could not imagine the ordeals that our Lord Jesus had to go through. Besides all the pain and suffering He had went through, at the last minute of His earthly life, a soldier had to pierced His side. I can understand, how fluid (water and blood) flowed from His lung. My pains were nothing compare to what Jesus had experienced. He went through the pains and sufferings so that we can enjoy a lasting relationship with God our Father.
Our Lord Jesus understands our pains, hardships, difficulties and sufferings. He experienced all those for us.
Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
stricken by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
each of us has turned to our own way;
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
Isaiah 53:4-6 (NIV)
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