Chapter 26: Surgery Day
"I hate hospital gowns," Bucky muttered, staring balefully at the empty left sleeve. Frankly, he hated wearing anything with both sleeves intact. He never felt deformed or less than in his own shirts, but the space where his left arm used to be was made all the more obvious by the boneless circle of fabric that was supposed to surround it. On the bright side, his chest hair had never recovered from being eradicated at its onset by nine months of chemotherapy at age fourteen, so at least they hadn't had to shave him.
"I don't think they're anybody's garment of choice," Steve said.
"Whatever." An itch dashed across his nose and he wrinkled it in the best attempt at a scratch of which he was capable at the moment. His hand was currently occupied soaking in a basin of warm water because six pokes had failed to find a usable vein in his arm—even after half an hour with a heat pack taped to the crook of his elbow—and they wanted the best chance possible to nab one in the back of his hand. He was now annoyed on top of nervous as hell.
"How much time is left?" Bucky asked with a huff.
Steve glanced at the time and informed him, "Ten minutes."
"Ugh."
"You'll survive." Steve clearly had no patience for his whining. Bucky knew his own griping was definitely exaggerated and unnecessary, but if he didn't focus on the frivolities, he ended up thinking about his actual fears about today, and that was a much less enticing prospect.
"Help me pass the time?" he requested.
Steve flipped back to the first page in his book and read, "Chapter One: We are at rest five miles behind the front."
"No," Bucky interrupted. "I don't want to hear your depressing war book."
"Okay." Steve snapped it shut and set it aside. "Then what do you want me to do?"
"I dunno, just start a conversation or something."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Anything other than this." He rolled his head in a circle to indicate their current circumstances.
"Okay. April Fool's Day is next week. Anybody piss you off in the past year that you want to prank?"
"Really? That's the best you can do?"
"I don't know what you want from me, Bucky. I know this is scary, and I'm sorry I'm not a good enough distraction."
Bucky closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. "No, I'm sorry. You're doing great. I just…want this to be over already."
"I know. Me too. The anticipation is definitely the hardest part."
"No kidding. How come you were always so level-headed? I feel like I'm about to…shake apart."
"Me? Level-headed? Bucky, you did not see me before transplant. I was bouncing off the walls. Well, not literally. Didn't have the lung capacity for that. But metaphorically, that's what I was doing. I was terrified."
"You had every right to be. Lung transplant is like…the boss level of surgery."
"It's not a game," Steve said sternly.
"I know, I just meant that it's like the biggest scariest thing you could ever do. I'm here freaking out over a little rewiring." It didn't make any sense to him, why his brain was spinning out over this. He hadn't even been this nervous for the amputation itself.
"Bucky, the existence of other, more drastic operations does not invalidate this one. You have just as much right to be nervous as anyone else, whether they're having a triple bypass or an appendectomy. Please don't try to play this down or make like it's nothing. This is a big deal, and even I, who completed your so-called 'boss level' of surgery, can see that."
Bucky cracked a wry smile. It immediately disappeared when the nurse returned. Nurses meant needles. At least he got to take his hand out of the water now. He held his breath and refused to watch as she set up for poke number seven. Thank goodness, this one finally succeeded. The combination of relief and still-churning nervousness made him feel like he was about to throw up. Not that there was anything in his stomach to throw up. He hadn't eaten since last night and, though it was still early, it was edging farther and farther from what would have been his breakfast time and his stomach was none too happy about it.
"How soon until I can hit the hay?" he asked jokingly. His tone sounded light, but in reality, he couldn't wait to be knocked out just to stop the worrying.
"Now that this is in, it shouldn't be much longer," she informed him as she secured the IV with tape.
Bucky rolled his eyes. When people avoided giving an exact time interval, it usually meant it was longer than he wanted to hear. Forty-six minutes longer than he wanted to hear, it turned out. Those forty-six minutes were spent surfing the internet for TV and book recommendations to occupy him during his twelve-week leave from soccer. Steve kissed him just before they took him back to the OR. Bucky held that feeling in his mind right up until the meds knocked him out.
~0~
Steve had never seen Bucky that nervous. Not even before the final match of the World Cup, with the entire world's eyes on him and the entire country counting on him to play exceptionally. It physically hurt him to see his husband like that, but he was comforted by the knowledge that after this he wouldn't be in pain anymore. He texted Bucky's parents and less than two seconds later his phone rang with a call from Mrs. Barnes. Steve sighed, knowing she must've been glued to her phone all morning waiting for an update.
"Hey," he greeted.
"Hi. How'd it go?"
"He was understandably nervous, and eventually a bit frustrated. It took them seven tries to get a line in him."
"Did they use a heat pack first?" she asked urgently.
"Yeah. Even that didn't work. He soaked his hand for half an hour and then they finally got a vein there."
She tutted, and Steve could vividly picture her 'concerned mother' face. It reminded him of the one his own parents so often displayed. "It's weird being on this end," he admitted.
"I'm sure it is. But at least you both know what it's like to be in each other's shoes."
"Yeah. I'm actually…not sure what to do now. I brought a book, but I don't think I can focus enough to really read it. This waiting room is painted to be calming I guess but it's so overtly intentional that it feels almost sinister."
Mrs. Barnes chuckled. "They always miss the mark with designing waiting rooms, don't they?"
"The least they could do is stock magazines more recent than nineteen ninety-five."
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that. Is there anything I can do?"
Steve thought about what his dad did to calm him down before his transplant: telling old army stories. The same thing would really help him now, so he requested a story from Bucky's youth.
He felt more than heard Mrs. Barnes' loving, nostalgic sigh. "He was such a bleeding heart as a kid, especially when it came to you."
Steve smiled. "Oh yeah?"
"Bucky always wanted to fix everything ailing everybody. He's a lot like you, Steven."
When his mom used his full name, it always meant he was in trouble, but Mrs. Barnes used it more as a term of endearment.
"I'll never forget, the morning after we had your family over for dinner that first time, when you moved to the neighborhood, I took him to the library, like most Sunday mornings. He hadn't really learned to read yet, so he always just picked them out based on the pictures on the cover. But this time, he ran off through the shelves and I didn't find him until twenty minutes later. I was scared half to death, but it turns out he'd chased down the first librarian he saw and asked if they had anything about sixty-five roses. I almost didn't believe her when she told me that's what happened, because Bucky was so shy he never spoke to a new person without me practically forcing him. In fact, I was worried about having you all over that first time because I was afraid he would try to hide or spend the entire time crying. But he warmed up to you like I'd never seen before."
Steve's heart swelled. He loved that undying devotion more than anything else about Bucky. That, and his dry wit.
"They had exactly one children's book, and Bucky made it very clear that he disapproved of the fact that there weren't more," Mrs. Barnes continued.
"You should've asked my mom. She collected those things like mint condition baseball cards when I was a kid."
"I did. She loaned them to me."
"She did?" Steve didn't remember a chunk of his childhood book collection ever going missing.
"Yeah. I asked if you would miss them, but she said you were so deep in your Knuffle Bunny phase that you wouldn't've noticed if literally ever other book vanished from your shelf."
Steve laughed so hard that he got funny looks from the half dozen other people in the room. Bucky was definitely going to hear about this when he woke up.
~0~
Bucky awoke irritated for some reason. He couldn't feel any pain—or anything at all, frankly—on his left side, which was good. Waking up meant it was over, also good. So why was he irritated? Too tired to try and parse it out, Bucky drifted back to sleep.
When he crawled his way back the second time, he was more coherent, and less irritated. Nobody had bothered to retie his gown behind his neck, and without an arm to hold it in place, the left half just lay haphazardly across his chest, revealing a swath of ace bandages that he could feel wrapped all the way around his torso, under his right arm. Well, that was fun. He knew they must've told him at some point how long this would need to stay on, but he couldn't remember. Hopefully it wasn't too long. It was just tight enough to be bothersome.
Was Steve here? Bucky craned his neck as much as he dared, but his husband was nowhere in sight. That was disappointing. He considered asking the next nurse he saw when Steve would be coming, but at the moment it sounded like more effort than he was capable of. Maybe if he went back to sleep, Steve would be there when he woke up again.
It worked! The next time he drifted awake, he could feel Steve's strong hand in his. That was nice. He was no longer irritated, just relieved to be done. Bucky opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh lighting, and tilted his head to the right.
"Hey," Steve greeted with a smile.
Bucky offered half a smile in return, then swallowed against the coarse ache in his throat. "Hey," he rasped.
"How're you doing?"
He paused for a moment. They must've had him on some pretty good meds, because the only remnant of phantom pain he could detect was an itchy pins and needles sensation, accompanied by a dull throb radiating from the incision. But he didn't feel like explaining all that in the level of detail he knew Steve would want. Instead, he turned his gaze to his empty left shoulder, looked back to Steve with false fear and astonishment in his eyes, and gasped, "My arm's gone!"
Steve rolled his eyes. "You're a punk."
"Hey, that's my line."
"I suppose you must be feeling okay if you're being this stupid."
"'M not stupid. It's really gone."
"Bucky, it's been gone. For nine years, exactly. Happy stump-iversary, by the way."
He shifted to a more comfortable position, which earned him a spike of pain just above the threshold the meds were capable of handling, and grunted, "What a way to celebrate, huh?"
"We can have a party later. And next year makes ten, so we're going all out."
"Can't do ten," Bucky said glumly. "I've only got five." He flexed his fingers in Steve's direction.
"Somebody's definitely high," he remarked with a grin. God, Bucky loved that stupid smile.
"I don' need to be high to be stupid."
"You're right." He paused. "So, I called your mom while you were back there. She told me a story about when you were a kid."
"Which one?"
"The day after we met."
Bucky didn't remember anything story-worthy happening that day. He tilted his head inquisitively.
"She said she took you to the library and you snuck away to ask a librarian for books about CF."
The memory came surging back to him. "Oh yeah." Mom had scolded him for running off, but immediately afterwards had hugged him and praised him. Bucky remembered being confused, wondering how it was possible that he'd done wrong and done good at the same time. "I guess I've just always been a hopeless romantic," he said.
"Yes, you have."
~0~
Bucky didn't seem to be in much pain when he woke up, which was a huge relief for Steve. The past few weeks had been especially hard for him. Once he knew to look for it, Steve could see it in Bucky's expression and body language every time the phantom pain spiked. Now that the hard part of today was over, hopefully the pain would fade a little more each day.
Bucky took another nap after their conversation, and woke up just in time for Darkhölme to check in on him. Steve listened while Bucky answered all her questions. They'd already gone over this before the procedure, but Darkhölme reminded him of what the next weeks would look like. The ace wrap would stay on for two weeks to protect the nerve endings from shifting around. During that time, he was essentially supposed to pretend that his phantom arm had been immobilized and not move it around. Once it came off, she wanted Bucky to start physical therapy. The notion of PT for a nonexistent limb they both found endlessly hilarious, but the faster his nerves got used to their new muscular home the faster his pain would diminish.
Before she left, Darkhölme presented them with a parting gift: she emailed them the photos and videos from the surgery. Steve didn't even know Bucky had consented to this, but he must have because he didn't look surprised in the least. In fact, he looked downright excited. Steve, who remembered Bucky getting squeamish dissecting a frog in middle school, was somewhat more apprehensive.
"Are you sure you want to see that?" he asked.
"Yes," Bucky affirmed. He was sitting mostly upright now, and his complexion had almost returned to normal from nearly four hours under anesthesia. When he moved, he did so with the caution and slowness of someone in pretty intense pain, despite the meds still supplied through his IV.
"Come on Steve, I wanna see," he said with a completely unnecessary sense of urgency. He gingerly held out his hand and curled his fingers expectantly. Steve opened the files, plopped the phone into his hand, and scooted his chair closer to look over Bucky's shoulder. As soon as he pulled up the first picture, Steve realized he should have been more worried about the strength of his own stomach than Bucky's. Everything was draped, so there was no indication in the image itself that it was Bucky, but Steve already knew it was and seeing his chest flayed open like that was deeply disconcerting. Bucky, on the other hand, was unfazed.
"You okay?" he asked when Steve held a fist to his mouth and swallowed audibly.
"Yep. All good."
"Don't be a wimp. This is cool shit."
Steve steeled himself and watched the first video. He had to admit, it was pretty cool. They used a pen-like device to send an electrical signal through the nerve, and watched the reinnervated muscle contract to ensure they were successful in connecting it. Steve focused on that and not the shining silver clamps and bright red exposed tissue. In total, they inserted five nerve endings into different sections of his pectoral muscle.
"Some people who have this surgery then move on to get a myoelectric prosthesis," Bucky explained. "They place electrodes over the relocated nerves and the signal can do things like open and close a hand or bend an elbow."
Steve remembered this discussion from the consultation. Darkhölme proposed sending Bucky to a prosthetist to discuss potentially getting fitted for one, but Bucky shot her down before she could even get the full sentence out. He'd always been adamant that he didn't want nor need a prothesis, and Steve had yet to see any evidence to the contrary. There wasn't a single thing that he wanted to do that he couldn't.
"We should frame this," Bucky suggested.
"Absolutely not."
"You're no fun."
"No, I'm just looking out for every single person who's ever going to set foot in our house."
"Fine."
They started the wean-down around ten that night, a few hours after Bucky had gone to the bathroom and eaten a little bit. Bucky slept on and off throughout the night, but didn't speak much when he was awake, leaving Steve to worry in silence. He'd made sure to pack all his necessary meds and equipment because he knew they'd be spending the night in the hospital and he wouldn't have the nerve to leave Bucky alone. Plus, it was a long drive back.
Overall, it was an uncomfortable but not abysmal night for both Bucky and Steve. A nurse pulled his IV that morning, taped a bandage to the site, and removed the EKG pads still stuck to his chest from during the surgery. They sent Bucky's prescription to their local pharmacy: three days' worth of oxy for the worst of the post-op pain, and instructions to take over-the-counter meds as needed after that. Bucky was anxious to leave the hospital, but discharge was a slow process. Steve had to buckle his seatbelt for him because he couldn't twist enough to secure it on his left side. He worried that it would rub or put pressure on his tender chest, but Bucky didn't appear bothered by it. Steve drove carefully to ensure he never had to brake too quickly, and made the pit stop at the pharmacy as quick as possible. It felt strange to leave there with only one bottle when normally he had a full bag's worth of his own meds.
When they arrived home, Steve helped him out of the car and Bucky made straight for bed, but not before snatching the American flag blanket from the couch. Since he'd barely eaten since the night before surgery, Steve tried to coax some food into him, but he insisted he was still nauseous from the anesthesia and just wanted to try to sleep it off. Steve didn't press him on it, just texted both his parents and the Barnes to let them know they were home.
