Twelve hours of fasting, not even water. We arrived at Bupa Santiago, found the admission area and waited until they took me to a small room. There I had to undress completely, put on disposable underwear and the classic surgical gown which, for those who do not know, is tied at the back… badly, leaving my butt in the air. To this day I don’t understand the logic of that design.

I had to arrive three hours early, so I was scheduled at noon, with the surgery scheduled for 3 pm.

I was moved to an area with stretchers separated by curtains. The parade of people started asking me the same questions over and over again: name, date of birth, what surgery I was going to have, etc. They took my blood pressure, shaved the areas to be operated on -twice-, put compression stockings on me to prevent thrombosis and an intravenous line in my left hand. It was a long time before the surgeon appeared, who explained to me what the operation consisted of and wrote the medical license.

There were no watches in sight and I was not allowed to wear mine, so I lost all track of time. I only regained a glimpse as I was transferred to the operating room: there were windows in the hallway and the sun was already setting. Considering it was winter, it was probably around 18:00. Quite a bit later than expected.

Already in the operating room, a nurse connected me to the cardiac monitor, another one held my arms and then the anesthesia mask arrived. It only took a few minutes for me to get the anesthesia mask.

According to the surgeon, it would be 45 minutes per side, so I was estimating an hour and a half total. But that was before I went to sleep. After that, time ceased to exist.

I woke up shivering from the cold. I was put on a thermal fan that blew warm air under the blankets, but I still couldn’t control the shivering. My throat was sore, and a nurse explained that it was normal, that I had been intubated. I didn’t know that was going to happen.

Soon after, Osita, my companion, arrived to tell me that there were no rooms available, so I would have to spend the night in the recovery area, next to other stretchers. Since no companions were allowed there, she had to leave… and she took everything with her: clothes, cell phone, keys. Everything. The fashion of the technological reset by force.

It was only around midnight that someone showed up saying that there was already a free room. They moved me, but I had to move myself from the stretcher to the bed. That effort marked the beginning of the real postoperative pain.

A technician and a nurse came from time to time to check on me. They offered me water and tea, nothing with calories. I still hadn’t eaten anything since the day before.

The next day, they finally gave me something solid: bread with turkey ham and another tea. Osita arrived, and while they were preparing me for discharge, a nutritionist appeared -a rather plump woman- who recommended a “soft” diet: no fats, no condiments, no fiber. Basically, a white, bland diet, with a texture similar to expanded polystyrene (or “plumavit”, as we say in Chile). Luckily, Osita’s culinary skills helped to make that stage more bearable.

The following days were hard. I had to go for a walk every day, although every step was slow and painful, especially for someone used to moving fast. A couple of days later, an official from the insurance company showed up to verify that I had not gone on vacation to Cancun as if I were a public employee with a fake license.

And speaking of the insurance company, it was a hassle to get approval for the operation. At Bupa they already knew how everything worked and scheduled the surgery so that the approval would arrive just before the admission.

Today, almost two weeks later, I still feel the same groin pain that prompted this surgery, in addition to the post-operative abdominal pain. It is still not clear to me if it was all worth it.