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Confessions of an Anesthesia Nurse: When the Tables Turned

 Experiencing True Empathy Through My Own Surgery


It was a rainy day.

I had a graduate class early in the morning, so I decided to grab breakfast at a nearby fast-food restaurant. As I rushed out of the subway station into the drizzle, I entered the shop intending to place an order through a kiosk. Suddenly, my foot slipped on the wet floor, and I fell straight onto my cheekbone. Immediately, a tingling sensation surged through my face, and I feared nerve damage.

My first instinct was to visit an oral and maxillofacial surgeon, mistakenly believing I'd injured my jaw. After being rejected by a local clinic that specialized more in cosmetic jaw surgeries rather than trauma, I visited a neurosurgeon. Imaging confirmed fractures in my cheekbone and orbital bones, along with facial nerve compression.

The very next day, I was scheduled for facial reconstructive surgery under general anesthesia. As someone who had spent the last four years as an anesthesia nurse, regularly administering propofol to countless patients, being on the receiving end felt oddly surreal. Lying on the surgical bed, I knew exactly what to expect—the cold sting of propofol entering my veins, followed by an instant plunge into unconsciousness. Before I knew it, I woke up in the recovery room, shocked to find my throat hurt even more than the surgical site.

I remembered routinely informing patients about postoperative throat discomfort, yet I realized now I’d underestimated how debilitating it could actually be. My pain was so intense I briefly wondered if multiple intubation attempts had occurred. Despite the strong pain medications and the amnesia effects of anesthesia, this throat pain was unforgettable.

After titanium plates stabilized my facial fractures, the recovery period coincided awkwardly with my graduate exams. But what lingered most vividly was my newfound empathy—combined with guilt over previously downplaying throat discomfort to patients.


The Swiss Army Knife Incident

Have you ever heard about someone almost amputating a finger with a Swiss Army knife?

I foolishly attempted to cut a cable tie with a knife, and in a split second, chaos ensued. My finger bled profusely, and in panic, I dialed emergency services, barely able to articulate my condition. Thankfully, paramedics quickly transported me to a specialized hospital.

As an anesthesia nurse accustomed to bloody surgeries, I was surprisingly hysterical when the emergency physician anesthetized my finger and stitched it up temporarily. The next day, a hand specialist revealed nerve damage, recommending microsurgical repair with a brachial plexus block (BPB).

At my workplace, BPB was meticulously performed in the comfort of a warm recovery room, accompanied by detailed explanations and patient reassurance. Here, however, I found myself in a cold hallway, receiving minimal explanations and shivering uncontrollably under the stark reality of patient care. The irony struck hard—I, who once ensured patient comfort meticulously, was now neglected.

This harsh experience reminded me of the importance of empathy, compassion, and patient-centered care—values I had upheld throughout my career. Despite the discomfort, I felt reassured knowing my past efforts to comfort patients had been worthwhile.

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