In which I paid complete strangers to cut my husband’s neck

Yesterday was Operation Day. Not fun.

M was recently diagnosed with hyperparathyroidism. Per the Mayo Clinic:

Hyperparathyroidism is an excess of parathyroid hormone in the bloodstream due to overactivity of one or more of the body’s four parathyroid glands. These oval, grain-of-rice-sized glands are located in your neck. The parathyroid glands produce parathyroid hormone, which helps maintain an appropriate balance of calcium in the bloodstream and in tissues that depend on calcium for proper functioning.

According to the docs, this problem occurred because one of M’s grain-of-rice-sized glands had an adenoma (noncancerous tumor) on it. Best course of action? Surgical removal. So early yesterday morning, we drove more than an hour north to Mary Hitchcock Memorial Hospital, the only teaching hospital in New Hampshire.

As far as hospital experiences go, this one was pretty good. The place was immaculate and quiet. Most of the doctors and nurses were both competent and caring (one was more competent and cocky). And the waiting room staff kept me updated on the surgery’s progress (via beeper).

M was a real trooper, though. Over the course of several hours, he was poked, prodded, drugged, anesthetized and then cut open and stitched back up. He’s home now and in bed recuperating, but it looks like someone took a garrote to his neck.

As for me, I held up my end of the “in sickness and in health” vows. I maintained my composure during the drive, admission, the pre-op tests and procedure — but lost my cool when I visited M in recovery. Just seeing the man I love hooked up to a bunch of machines measuring his vital signs and completely out of it from the anesthesia made me burst into tears. I guess I was so focused on the surgery that I never really allowed myself to consider the aftermath. Thankfully, the moment passed quickly and I was able to resume my wifely duties of hand holding and ice chip feeding.

While I’m thrilled the operation was a success and we were well cared for, I’d like to avoid going to another hospital any time soon.

Or, ever.

—Photo by Nuiiko. Used with permission.