The First Cut is the Deepest!
It was almost time for surgery. This was the first surgery I’ve ever had, in fact it is the first time I have ever been in the hospital other than to visit someone. I did have stitches as a kid when I fell off the monkey bars (I think those have been outlawed now). …
The First Cut is the Deepest
It was almost time for surgery. This was the first surgery I’ve ever had, in fact it is the first time I have ever been in the hospital other than to visit someone. I did have stitches as a kid when I fell off the monkey bars (I think those have been outlawed now). Fourteen stitches later I was back hanging upside down showing off for the ladies. But this time it’s not outpatient, I’m actually being admitted to the hospital. I get a cool open-view gown to wear, an adjustable bed with just enough buttons for a man to feel like he actually has power, and someone at your beckon call when you push one of those magical buttons! I was about 24 hours away from getting sliced and diced. The hospital just called with a reminder of all the pre-surgery requirements, most importantly was not to eat or drink anything after 8 p.m. WHAT?!
It was the night before surgery and all through the house,
I was hangry as hell and could have eaten a mouse.
I could have no water, no food, or no coke,
my mouth was dry and I started to choke.
The morning came with no food in sight,
But everyone else was eating and I wanted to fight.
Okay, enough of that! I was hangry. I have eaten 6 meals a day for the past two years. I get up at 4 a.m. every morning and eat my first meal before going to the gym and then eat immediately when I get home, and then another meal about 10:30 a.m. My surgery was scheduled for 10 am so basically I was missing my first three meals and by the time I woke up and in my room, I should have been eating my fifth meal. That is missing nearly two days of meals for the average man! This was not cool. I will admit now that I did take a few drinks of water, chewed some gum and ate 5 pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
About a week or so prior to my surgery I asked my “friends” on Facebook to help me come up with a surgery playlist. Most of my friends understood the challenge but a few of them missed the mission totally only making it even funnier (most of them were blond, but I won’t mention that). It was simple: “Suggest songs that I can listen to prior to surgery and after, that have surgery references in them or lyrics that could be translated in a weird way to support this mission.” I received over 175 songs! That is awesome and my friends are so warped which I also love. There were easy ones like Bryan Adams, “Cuts Like A Knife” or Sheryl Crow’s “The First Cut Is The Deepest”, to the more obscure ones like “Staying Alive” or “Another One Bites The Dust” (Which is also a GREAT wedding anthem I might add).
I had my bag packed for my overnight adventure, music loaded, phone, charger, and a large snack bag for the After Surgery Party. I really wasn’t nervous. I had never had this experience, so really did not know what to be nervous about other than the doctor having too much caffeine and getting the shakes before he started slitting my neck, but he was a professional so I trusted him. We finally arrived to the hospital in Panama City (Yep, the same town that was destroyed by a hurricane less than a year earlier). I figured just to up the difficulty level of having surgery, you might as well go to a war zone and have it done! The hospital was awesome and got us checked in and we went to sit and wait until we were called for pre-op. One of my coworkers/friends came by to hang out for a bit and pray with me. They called me back and we got up and started to walk out. The nurse awkwardly asked if my friend (male) was coming back to the pre-surgery area. So, I appropriately introduced him (just to have a little fun) as my partner (coworker-partner, whatever). It was fun to watch them both squirm.
I arrived in the pre-surgery area and got my air-conditioned robe, baggie to put my valuables in, and fancy socks with grips. I got in my bed with buttons and got ready for the barrage of questions that would be repeated about 1000 times. Can you tell me your name? Yes! (Awkward Silence! I was taught never to ask a close ended question unless you didn’t want an answer) I always relented and finally gave it to them: Benjamin Brice Early. What is your birthday? May 23. (Are you going to send me a card?) Do you have any allergies? Pollen. Have you ever had any problem with drugs administered during anesthesia? I have never had anesthesia, but I have never had a problem with drugs—I have liked every one I ever took! (God help these nurses). Do you struggle with depression? Only when they play rap music on the radio. Can you tell me why you are here today? Well, I was the 10th caller and won a free spa day and here I am! And the list went on and so did my answers! Every time a new person came in they asked the same series of questions I gave the same series of answers, at least for a while. Sometimes it gets tiring being so funny.
They came to put in my IV for fluids and get me ready for my drug cocktail. Now this may sound weird (shocker), but nurses get pretty excited about sticking me with needles. I have great veins! I have been to other doctors’ appointments where one nurse will call another one back to look at my veins—I felt like such a piece of meat! Or another appointment where they were simply doing my weight and blood pressure, but once that blood pressure cuff tightened up the nurse looked at me and said, “I would like to get you in the lab to draw blood.” It felt a little forward, but I took it as a compliment. So, I knew I wasn’t going to disappoint for my first surgery ever. My nurse got a little twinkle in her eyes when she saw these blue veins staring her down.
My anesthesiologist came by to talk about what she would be doing. After asking me 20 questions, she asked if I wanted Pina Colada flavor for my drug cocktail (I like her). I told her no it was too sweet but I would like to keep it tropical. She asked, “Margarita?”. No, to salty, been watching my sodium levels so I don’t retain water. It is almost speedo season. I told her I would prefer to go with the Long Island Iced Tea. We laughed and she drugged me…
Finally, the doctor came in and gave the final orders and asked if I had any questions. I couldn’t resist, so I started with:
1) Can you tell me your full name?
2) Why are you here today?
3) When is your birthday?
4) Is there anyone at home that makes you feel unsafe? (that is a fun one to answer)
5) Is there someone here that will drive you home after work?
I stopped there in light of time, but I think they got the point. No questions. I told all my new nurse and doctor friends it’s been nice knowing you as they put all my hair in a new plastic cap as if I was going to go prep some food somewhere, and then they wheeled me off.
We went through some big metal doors and into the operating room. I was a little nervous at this point, not due to the surgery, but mainly due to my open air gown and the table I was going on was cold medal. And then at the foot of the bed they rolled up a covered table and where they then took the white sheet off of it as they adjusted the lights above my head for my upcoming photo shoot (I guess). Laying on the table were about 200 really shiny surgery tools. At that point I took it upon myself to remind them that I was only there to get a tumor taken out of my neck and apologized for all of jokes about a spa day.
That’s all I remember. It was pretty magical. Nothing! Blank! (they should bottle that stuff and send it with you to staff meetings or family reunions) I woke up in another room I had not been in, with nurses I had never seen, on a different table. My first thought was, I sure hope the transfer with this open air gown went ok. My second thought, YES—new people to work my jokes on. New nurses came by asking if I felt ok. Really? I had no clue how I felt. They did keep offering me ice chips so I took them. I finally asked if they had any flavored snow cones. The doctor came out and spoke to my wife while I was in recovery. Everything went great, better than great. He expected a 4-6 hour surgery and was able to finish in 1.5 hours. (AWESOME--That means I have only missed 4 instead of 5 meals!) No nerve damage and no neurological damage that we can see (Thank God, because I didn’t have much to work with) and your tumor was pretty impressive in size (Well thank you very much doctor). He only had to make a 7-8-inch incision instead of a 14-16 inch because he could reach down into my chest cavity and pull it right out (Okay, that is gross).
I was pretty bored for the next hour as I laid there eating non flavored ice chips and talking to random nurses to pass the time. I even tried to talk to some other patients that were coming out of surgery to see if I could get any good dirt on them, but the nurses started shutting curtains like this was not normal behavior. Must be those hippopotamus rules they try to keep around here. Finally, another new nurse came and got me and wheeled me to my room where I got a fancy bed with buttons. I could even operate the TV from my bed. Why would anyone want to trade this in and go home. It was genius! Do you know how many times a day I lose the remote? Or when I need to get someone’s attention in the other room I have to scream across the house, but now I can just push a button.
The rest of time was pretty uneventful. Some new nurses arrived, so I was able to recycle some old jokes, blue veins, protein bars, and the occasional push of the nurse’s station button just to make sure my bed was working. Don’t worry I always told them something important when I called like, “thanks for dinner it was really great”, or “Good night, I will see you in morning unless you have a shift change or I die and if so it was great to meet you.” I am sure they really appreciated this personal touch.
Tumor Extraction Party Day, with my wife, Jordin
I sat and continued to listen to my surgery play list and take in the experience as I listened to “Cuts like a Knife” and “First Cut is the Deepest”. I started thinking about life and the surgeries that we all probably need to undergo. Not physical ones necessarily, but emotional, spiritual, mental, etc. It was interesting how many people touched my chart from the time I arrived to the time I left. Well over 30 people I can remember. Over 30 people for a tumor! What would it look like if we allowed 30 people around us to help us with the tumors of our life. The tumor of abuse as a kid or an adult. The tumor of addiction. The tumor of depression or anxiety. The tumor of unethical decisions. The tumor of a failing marriage. The tumor of a broken dream, a lost job, a friendship gone bad, a miscarriage, a health report, a rebellious child, a distant parent. Tumors come in many shapes and sizes don’t they? They are placed all through our lives and affect us even when we don’t realize it.
It took me over a year to even have my tumor in my neck looked at. It took me over 20 years to have the tumor of sexual abuse looked at. Thirty people are you kidding me? Wouldn’t it be easier to just learn to live with the tumor? Yes, and no. Yes, you can live with it but it will have its consequences. It reminds me of throwing a rock into the water of a lake and watching the ripple effect go out from where the rock started the motion. Did you know even after you can’t see the ripple effect it is still going, in fact it hits the shore and then bounces off and starts coming back. Trauma (no matter how small we think it is) does the same thing. When it happens in our lives it is like the rock dropping in the water and from that the ripple effects and consequences start happening and it doesn’t matter what is in the way IT WILL affect them (and us). You may not even be able to see the consequences at first but they are there and will eventually break through.
I started to think about all the training and organization that went into my neck surgery. The parking valet for patients, the receptionist girl that welcomed me and got me registered, to the nurses, doctors and even home health care folks that came by to make sure I had everything I needed when I left. How different this is than how we care for one another in our lives in the midst of our trauma and surgeries that are needed. Oh, we might have one or two professionals helping us (if we are really brave) and a couple friends we have let know what is happening (at least sort of know). But what would happen if we purposely surrounded ourselves with other transparent leaders with different skill sets to lighten our load during our surgery so that when we are healed up, we can do the same for them and others. Imagine your family, your team at work, your circle of friends, your neighbors (even that guy that won’t mow his yard) ALL working together in tandem helping you. Seems a little strange doesn’t it unless you are in the hospital. I wonder how excited and confident you would feel in the operating room and if it was only the doctor and one other person. The same two people admitted you, took your vitals, parked your car, registered you, gave you the good drugs, rolled you down to surgery, did surgery, hung out with you afterwards, took you to recovery and then to your room, went and got your food, came running every time you pushed your buttons on the magic bed, and then went and printed your papers for discharge. That seems even MORE strange and dangerous, and you would agree that the level of care would drop dramatically and you probably would just want to keep the tumor because it was safer.
Stay with me for just another couple paragraphs. Maybe, this is why we try to live with so much pain in our lives. We don’t have anyone to help us. If we do, it is only one or two people and I hope you can see that is not enough. You see, transparent leadership involves everyone in your tribe, not just the warriors. Everyone caring for everyone so everyone can be better. That sounds like a pretty counter cultural view of leadership doesn’t it? I thought I was supposed to rise to the top and tell those who are below me what to do so we can make more money, have more power, create more influence? That would be closer to being a great dictator or at best a king rather than leader.
Who in your life do you need to let in? I promise there are people waiting and wanting to help—they just don’t know. And here is some free insight from my life. It is actually easier to deal with my old tumors in life—the ones that are there that need to be dealt with but seem to be lying dormant—rather than the new developing tumors that are happening in real time that I can see every time I look in the mirror, or go to work, or engage with certain people. But here is the thing that I have found in life—EVERY TUMOR IS CONNECTED IN SOME WAY(S). It’s the ripple effect in the water. They all keep crossing and bumping into each other affecting the direction of my choices in life. Most of the time I find my past tumors have unfortunately helped form my new ones. The attitudes, behaviors, insights or lack thereof that I have come out of my inability to process the tumors I had in my life as a child, teenager, and young adult.
I need help and so do you, and just like Sheryl Crow said, the first cut is the deepest, but it opens the wounds of life to breath. And I hear they can even heal if we surround ourselves with the right people and enough of them. My encouragement is to gather your tribe and be brave and trust them to talk alongside of you. Share your tumor(s) with them. Show it to them. And let them play their role in helping you heal so you can help others do the same. Being a transparent leader sucks some times, but as you work through the pain or problem you and everyone around you rises to a new level. One last piece of advice and I will stop typing. If you don’t feel like you aren’t making progress its okay to go get a second or third opinion, but I would also challenge you to see how many people you have brought around you - maybe it’s time to expand your tribe!