I thought I was strong

Yesterday, I returned to the hospital for a planned day surgery. As I now face the dreaded wait for biopsy results, it’s surprising to realise this isn’t the scariest part of the experience. I’ve undergone this procedure several times before, so unlike the major surgery in December to remove a tumour, I knew what to expect. I kept reminding myself of this in the days leading up to the surgery. I told myself it would be straightforward – just one day in and out. However, the moment I walked into the hospital, all rational thinking abandoned me.

The familiar routine began: I was handed a gown, disposable underwear (the kind Victoria’s Secret definitely won't be selling), compression stockings, and a box for all my belongings. Seeing these items froze me. The last time I wore this ensemble was for my cancer operation.

As I was being admitted, the nurse leafed through my extensive medical history. “Gosh, this is a big file,” she remarked. Her face fell, and I guessed she had seen my cancer diagnosis from last year. Seconds later, she confirmed it: “But you’re so young.”

After a four-hour wait, I was taken to the anaesthetic room. Panic set in. I felt myself tensing up, fighting back tears. General anaesthetic had never fazed me before my December operation, so this reaction shocked me even more. My hands and veins were deemed “too small.” The painful attempt to fit the cannula in my right hand failed, necessitating a move to the left. Tears started to slowly flow down my cheeks, and with both hands occupied, I couldn’t even wipe them away. The assistant anaesthetist gently rubbed my arm and mouthed “I’m sorry,” which only made me cry harder.

Waking up in recovery, I felt a wave of emotion and just wanted to keep crying. When I was taken to the ward, my usual post-procedure hunger was absent. Normally, after 10-12 hours of fasting, I’d be ravenous. Yesterday, I had no appetite. I reluctantly accepted a custard cream but ate nothing else. I kept questioning, “Why am I here?”

In retrospect, I realise I’m being harsh on myself. I thought I was strong, but yesterday’s experience left me doubting. What I’ve truly learned is that since recovering at home, I’ve distracted my mind with loved ones and fun activities. But stepping back into the hospital’s white corridors made it clear that my emotional wounds haven’t fully healed.

This journey through day surgery has taught me that strength isn’t just about facing challenges without fear. It’s also about acknowledging our vulnerabilities and giving ourselves grace. It’s okay to feel scared, to cry, and to question. Recovery, both physical and emotional, is a process – one that requires patience, compassion, and a recognition of our own resilience, even when we feel most fragile.