The smell of banana filled my nose.

Geeze was I hungry.

It was 4:15 a.m.

My dad sat in the front seat eating a banana with peanut butter on it as my mom drove down 35 towards Dallas. I hadn’t had anything to eat since midnight, and I wasn’t going to be allowed to eat all day.

It was gonna be a rough day.

We reached Dallas and it was time.

The painted red crayons on the ground greeted me.

We finally got inside away from the biting cold that was seeping through my skin.

There wasn’t any point in bringing a heavy winter coat even though it was the middle of December. I wouldn’t be able to wear it when I finally got to go home the next day anyway.

On the short walk from the front door to the elevator we counted at least three Christmas trees.

In an attempt to cheer up the little ones who were stuck in the confines of the jail, the halls were coated in Christmas decorations.

We arrived at the floor for check in and they took me back to my room.

My bed was right next to the window, so I got to watch the sun rise above the Dallas skyline.

That was the best part of having to wake up before the chickens.

A nurse came in to take my stats and ask all of the general pre-op questions prior to surgery.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”

“No.”

“Have you…?”

So on and so on.

Not long after she left, one of the hand specialist surgeons came in to mark which one of my wrists they were going to cut open.

Thankfully he had a good sense of humor. My stomach was twisted in knots. There was no way of escaping. The surgery was inevitable.

The time finally came for me to be wheeled down to the holding room. They gave me some laughing gas which definitely didn’t make me laugh.

Once the operating room was prepped, they rolled me through the doors and laid me down on the metal table.

I stared at the bright lights that were above my head and my surgeon came to ask if I was ready. As if anyone ever is.

The last thing I remember is the anesthesia mask encompassing my nose and mouth, and then the world went black.

Waking up in recovery was filled with pain.

“What did they do to me?”

“Weren’t they supposed to give me something to get rid of the pain?”

If they did, it certainly wasn’t helping.

Well, they did saw a hole in one bone and move others around.

I couldn’t think of a way to describe the pain until my surgeon came in to check up on me.

She used the analogy of a cherry bomb. And boy was she right.