Where to start? Well, my shower and bachelorette party were this weekend, and Special K and I were really touched by how generous everyone was with their time and their gifts and just all the love that we’re surrounded by. (Yes, I just ended a sentence with a preposition. I’m living on the edge.) We had friends come in from out of town, and we were lucky enough to spend Saturday with a bunch of people we care about, most of whom we just don’t get to see often enough – it was wonderful and we had a blast.
However, there was the part that I was lying prone for a good bit of it because I had surgery on Wednesday. Leading up to surgery, I barely got any sleep, but not for the reasons you might think. I was trying to get one major project done for work, and much like the wedding invitations, it just took a heck of a lot longer than I thought it would. Yeah, I was a little nervous about surgery, but not in a consuming, I-just-can’t-sleep way, more in a “wow, I hope this works” way. So I went in Wednesday morning, accompanied by Special K and my parents. It was early and I’d gotten about 2 ½ hours of sleep in the last two days, so I was tired, and kind of looking forward to being forced to “sleep”, even though it wouldn’t be the nice, restorative “I dreamed I could fly and talk to bunnies” kind of sleep. We arrived, I checked in, and I got all decked out in an oh-so-stylish hospital gown. They led me back to the pre-op area, and people came to hook me up to IVs, ask me a lot of questions, and make sure I was comfortable. When they first give you an IV, they also give you a mild sedative to relax you, which was redundant in my case because exhaustion is a pretty good sedative on its own. By the time my entourage was allowed to come back to see me, I was chilling out, waiting for my doctor, and trying to stay awake, with limited success. They chatted with me for a while, and then I was knocked out and brought into surgery.
The next thing I knew, I was in the recovery room, feeling like my eyelids were being held down by 100+ pound weights. I struggled to open them and remember (very vaguely) seeing my doctor, but I couldn’t tell you what he said to me if my life depended on it. Some of the nurses that I remembered from the pre-op ward were there, all very nice ladies. I decided that I should just ride the wave and go back to sleepy time for a bit, if they would let me, since dragging my eyelids open was exhausting, but something that I was curiously insistent upon doing.
My attempts to return to sleepy time were, however, interrupted by my neighbor in the recovery room who insisted on bellowing “IT HURTS A LITTLE” over and over again. Had I been able to use my words, I would have said “OH REALLY? Because my herniated disc was licked away by fairies. Now SHUT UP!” Instead, I mumbled something that probably sounded a lot like “msngfdajlysbrrpznts”. As I was wheeled out to the next room, the nurse taking me said “just imagine what he’d sound like if it hurt a lot.”
I was moved from my gurney into something that resembled a recliner, which was somewhat painful, as I was reminded that someone had, very recently, cut a hole in my back. I eased into the recliner and lay there for a while, feeling vaguely nauseated. The nurse brought me some ginger ale, and said that my doctor had prescribed me a certain painkiller that I really don’t like. It’s made me very nauseated in the past and is generally a key ingredient to a very unpleasant post-op experience. I made some sort of pleading mumbling noise, and said that the medication in question was bad, so she said that she’d have him write me a prescription for one that worked better for me. They gave me a few courses of anti-nausea medication, and also stuck one of those pink, crescent-shaped bowls under my chin, just in case feeling turned to action. My parents and Special K came back to see me, and K told me the first thing I asked for was lip balm. Not surprising, as I’d been breathing through my mouth (well, through a tube stuck down my throat via my mouth) for a couple hours, and my lips were chapped. I hate chapped lips. I had to eat a cracker before taking a pill, and had several more swallows of ginger ale.
For some reason, not that I think it’s particularly odd, I just don’t know why, you have to be able to urinate before they’ll let you go home. Presumably, not being able to do so is a bad sign. So after a few glasses of ginger ale (nausea unabated), and several IVs full of fluids, I had to go. I was wheeled in, and a young girl in a medical careers program was sent in to help me. Poor girl. It was at this point that I promptly turned sharply (which I’m not supposed to do, lest more stuff shoot out my disc) and threw up in the sink. Five times. Which was impressive, since I’d only had ginger ale and a cracker in my system. Which I can testify to, because I saw them go in and come out.
I’ve had finer moments.
This lovely and patient girl then helped me get dressed and into a wheelchair, and helped me into my dad’s car, where I was whisked off to my parents’ house for a few days. Upon arrival, I was helped downstairs and into bed, and I promptly fell asleep for another six hours. I woke up, had some simple foods (soup, Jello, and some crackers), and watched a little TV with Special K and the parents before falling asleep again.
The next day, I wasn’t terribly hungry, but I had breakfast and watched a little TV. I took a nap shortly before lunchtime and woke up around 4 pm, still not hungry, but needing to use the bathroom because when your body is trying to get rid of all of that anesthesia, you feel as though you have a bladder the size of a walnut. In the bathroom, I started to black out, but I cleared my head and remember thinking “just make it back to your bed, just make it back to your bed.”
Well, I didn’t quite make it.
Just short of my bed, I blacked out completely and came crashing down on my right side, knocking my head on the nightstand (ouch), cutting up my chin on the wicker waste basket (double freaking ouch), and scaring the shit out of my mother (sorry, Mom). Who was on the phone with Brunette at the time. And found me on the floor, not answering her, and trying to pull myself up and crawl into bed. For the next few minutes, I was dazed, upset, and very confused about what had happened and what I wanted to do. My first thought was that I’d hurt myself again, because I was in a lot of pain and I was startled. I also didn’t know what the heck happened. My mom wisely brought me a bagel with some peanut butter and a banana, and my ghostly pallor gave way to my normal pasty complexion. The only thing I can really come up with is that I had some very low blood sugar going on, which means that I should probably make sure that I eat something.
For the next day, I was scared to get out of bed, and basically stayed there as much as possible. Friday afternoon, Special K brought me back to my house, so I could shower (finally!), and be there for the out-of-town guests who were coming to stay. Saturday was just a whirlwind of people and parties, and I really did do my best to be “good”. No sitting, no lifting, no nothing. Just enjoying our great friends and their kindness.
Now, from the day after my surgery, I’ve been making a point of walking, even if it’s just “laps” around my parents’ basement, because that’s supposed to help me get better faster. But I am normally a very active and independent person, so having Special K need to act as my virtual Sherpa really bothers me and stresses me out because I can't lift anything. I know he doesn't see it that way, because that’s his personality, but I am just feeling like I’m a burden on the people I love right now, and it’s driving me nuts. I can’t even put on my freaking shoes by myself, and I’m concerned now that I’ve re-injured myself because I’ve got some pain coming back in my right leg, especially when I try to raise my leg (which is a sign that nerves are being pinched.) Now, this could all be part of the healing process (I don’t think it is), the nerves could just be “remembering” being pinched (I don’t think they are), but still, it’s freaking me out.
I’m just terrified that all of that was for nothing and that I’ll have to go through it again. I have tried really hard to be upbeat and positive and I am just exhausted. Surgery isn’t fun, there’s no way to sugar-coat that. I couldn’t take it anymore last night and just had a meltdown. It wasn’t pretty. Unfortunately, it has continued into today, and I’m not doing a good job of snapping out of it. I just want to feel better and I want all of this to be over. But right now I’m feeling frustrated and overwhelmed and I can’t see a way to do anything about it, which is how I normally make myself feel better. I need to be taking action, and I feel immobilized right now, literally and figuratively.
Well, I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so maybe I’ll give myself the rest of today to wallow and feel like crap. After that, I’ll have to suck it up and figure out what to do. But any prayers and good thoughts (for my physical and mental health) would be appreciated. I think I’m going to go crawl into a cave now.
