After a short while, I was wheeled into the Operating Room. I moved from the gurney to the operating table while someone made sure my gown didn’t ride up during the process. More people introduced themselves to me saying, “I’m going to…” explaining their role in my operation.
Despite all the friendly greetings and explanations, despite the fact that I’ve had prior surgeries, I felt some anxiety. I stared up at the bright lights of the OR and my last thought before they put a mask over my nose and mouth, was to wonder how it felt for the women undergoing fistula repair as they stared up at the lights of the O.R. in Phebe or Bomi.