中With almost four weeks to prepare for the operation, mine was clearly “non urgent”.
I was so ignorant about operations that I didn’t know they are categorised as “emergency”, “urgent” or “non urgent/elective”, so I took some time to read around the subject. “Emergencies”, as the name suggests, are life-threatening conditions that require immediate surgery, such as severe brain trauma from a traffic accident. “Urgent” operations could wait for a day or two, but patients’ conditions are expected to deteriorate rapidly if left for longer; bowel obstruction is an example. Any operations which could be scheduled in advance are “non urgent” and “elective”, such as the excision of tumours or hip replacement for the elderly. Initially I thought the word “elective” refers to a patient’s choice of having an operation or not, just like “elective modules” for university students; after all, a patient does have the right to refuse treatment at one’s own peril. Now I know it refers to the flexibility in scheduling the operation.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the operation was definitely going ahead. Like sitting for an exam, I couldn’t “cheat” or “delegate”, but friends and family tried in various ways to help me get prepared:
It started with numerous kind messages and blessings from around the world —— just missing Africa and the two poles, too bad I don’t have contacts there! Since receiving the diagnosis, many friends and relatives, some I hadn’t been in contact with for years, suddenly got in touch to show their support upon learning about my illness from a third party. Some friends also messaged to reassure me that they were following the latest news on Facebook despite not leaving comments. A Japanese friend taught me a new word, “doron”, a noun that describes a ninja’s act of vanishing behind a cloud of smoke to escape. He wished my tumour would be gone just like that. How fitting!
When I received the preliminary diagnosis, my boss was abroad on a business trip. Two days later, he hurried back to the office as soon as he got off the plane, not to grab me for a work chat, but to hand me a few slices of my favourite cake that he carefully brought all the way back to lift my spirits up in those difficult times. The cake was special, not only because it’s a foreign delicacy that’s hard to find in the UK, but also because he purchased it specifically from the airport cafe that I once said I preferred.
A very good friend who inspired me to get into crochet many years ago sent me a special book with Japanese crochet patterns shortly after my diagnosis. She wanted the book to reach me sooner because the operation was supposed to be imminent (the postponement came quite a bit later), and that I could do some beautiful handicraft while recovering from surgery.
During the four months’ wait for surgery, I drafted a plan on delegating about 20 tasks to some trusted colleagues whom I thought were best suited for them. After speaking to them one by one, they all were happy to help with no quibble whatsoever. They also reminded me to watch my workload and stay fit for the best possible outcome from the operation.
Many neighbours offered to help with my grocery shopping during the lockdown. Although I was independent throughout, I’m grateful that they thought of me often. One neighbour in particular gifted me a beautiful window ornament (in teal, my favourite colour!), which she said helped her remain hopeful through some rough patches, and now she wished to pass the positivity onto me. To this day I still have the ornament up for everyone to see, so she knows that I do treasure it.
In June, as we passed the peak of the pandemic, hairdressers were planning to reopen on 4 July. You wouldn’t be surprised that loads of people were desperate to get an appointment with their stylists after having DIY haircuts for four months with mixed success. I actually did a good job trimming my own hair (my stylist said one day I could consider going into hairdressing, ha!), and I wasn’t booked in yet for the operation, but my stylist offered me priority booking anyway, since it would be much easier to have a haircut before than after the operation. She bet the operation date wouldn’t be bang on 4 July or before! And she’s right; the beginning of the incision was quite close to the hair line, having shorter hair was not only convenient for the doctors but also for my personal hygiene post-operatively.
A teacher who had had an operation in the past reminded me to include a pen and a notepad in my hospital bag. It had to be a notepad, not loose sheets of paper, since the latter could easily end up on the floor with a whiff of wind, and I might not have the energy to pick them up.
My brother-in-law is online shopping savvy. The week before the operation, I asked him to be ready to put through an order for some thick, metal drinking straws if the surgeons went with Plan B. I chose metal ones as they could withstand heat and are reusable, whereas the thickness should help with drinking thick soups. Post-recovery, the straws could be repurposed for bubble tea and wouldn’t collect dust in my kitchen cupboard.
In anticipation of the possibility of losing too much weight after a “Plan B” operation and slowing down recovery, I had to fatten myself up! Friends and family supplied delicious treats: traditional Japanese filled pancakes “Dorayaki”, premium chocolate, perfectly ripened dark cherries. The most impressive was the mini Korean BBQ banquet prepared by my sister and her husband! With just three days to go, I quipped, “this is the last supper!”
Last but not least, in a pandemic, the most important preparation of all was our family’s discipline in keeping the virus out. Since my parents’ home is closer to the hospital, we decided quite early on that I would relocate to my parents’ at the run-up to the operation and stay there for the post-operative recovery period. If any of us caught the virus, not only could it be an unpleasant experience for the sufferer (let’s hope one would get away with light symptoms) and/or cause further delay to the operation, it would also throw up loads of logistical questions on how to enact “self-isolation” at home. We just couldn’t be more careful. Thank you, my dear friends in the UK, for your understanding of my social-distancing practices, which might appear over-cautious both during and after the lockdown. Rest assured I would love to set foot in your homes or give you a lift in my car again one day. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of throwing away months of anti-COVID effort......