Unanswered phone calls and e-mails aside, I am in fact ALIVE! However, do not ever let anyone tell you that there is any such thing as a "simple surgical procedure," that will be "mostly painless." Either that, or I am a grade A wuss!
Let me just say right off the bat that nurses ROCK. Just today, I was reading a book that said that doctor's build up professional walls around their patients, and it was up to the nurses to break them down. I've never felt that so acutely than Friday morning, when I was sitting in a hospital bed for a procedure that I was terrified to have. My nurses were incredibly sweet- patting my hand, squeezing my shoulder, teasing me about how intently I was reading my book. They were incredibly empathetic, and I had a fleeting moment where I suddenly realized why someone would choose to be a nurse and work around people- there is something wonderful about being the sole source of comfort in a terrifying situation.
Now, maybe I have been reading The Underwear Drawer for way to long, but I somehow expected the anesthesiologist to be warm and witty like Michelle always appears to be, and the surgeon to be kind of a jerk. Well, it is WRONG to stereotype. When the anesthesiologist came in, she was sharp and drill sergeant like- directing questions to me through the nursing staff. "*deep sigh* Why is she still wearing her glasses?" "When was the last time that she went to the bathroom?" I was laying there thinking, "OK, I'm not drugged yet! And I have a name- I bet it's even written on that chart there!" And then the surgeon came in and was so sweet, telling me not to worry, to stock up on chicken and rice soup and remember how good I would feel once I had recovered.
After a few more hand squeezes from the nurses, I was rolling away. The anesthesia tech told me not to feel bad if I didn't remember the rest of the afternoon after that point, and I cracked up. Whatever they gave me had worked quickly, and the last thing I remember is a hazy face saying, "Oh, we've got ourselves a giggler!"
Until I woke up, which apparently took over an hour. Jon told me that I reminded him of a Stepford wife that had short circuited- I kept saying three phrases: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not normally a wuss, but this really hurts!" "I'm so sorry, but I can't breathe... shit this hurts... thank you!" and "Where's Kody?" (Yup, I came out of anesthesia looking for my cat. Shut up.) While giving me another pain injection, my delightful anesthesiologist asked if it was getting better; in a haze, I told her that I didn't think so, but I wasn't sure. Her response? "Well, you MUST be a little better, since you aren't thrashing around screaming anymore!" Which made me freak out, and I started to cry and said, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that!" (apparently, anesthesia really brings out the guilt???) Seriously, never be this woman's last case of the day, because I guess she really wanted to get out of there! Thank God for those saintly nurses, who kept saying, "Are you kidding? This is a very painful surgery, and if anyone calls you a wuss, we'll kick their butt!"
But, we made it home. I think Jon still has bruises from me clamping down on his hand- he was stunned and pretty upset by how painfully I woke up. He's been dutifully bringing me Popsicles ever since! Which is actually just about the only thing I've felt like eating.
I am feeling a little silly at this point, because I really thought I was tougher than this. I was convinced that by today, I would be ready to be back to work and be extremely bored at home. Pain meds? I would have taken one and thrown out the rest! Instead, I'm still very painful and very nauseated. I still feel pressure all over my body from the CO2 that was pumped into my abdomen, although not nearly as bad as the first two nights, when I woke up gasping in pain, convinced that a suture had torn, and my abdomen was filling with bile and that I would drown in it. (Don't laugh- the one gallbladder surgery I saw was on a dog and his bile ducts did open up and fill his abdomen with bile. He lived, but just barely.) Jon would have to haul me off the couch, and I would walk up and down the hall for hours at a time to make it dissipate. Seriously, surgery sucks!
Anyway, there is my whining for the day. I keep telling everyone that I am feeling fine, but mostly I am just trying to save face. Because I really feel like I should be back to work, or at least cleaning my house by now! Don't think less of me for not!
2 responses:
I so glad you're okay! Boo to the anesthesia doc and yay for the nurses for taking good care of such a sweet girl. And don't be embarrassed - drugs bring out the weird in everyone!
Take the time you need, allow yourself to heal. Otherwise you won't and all of this will take much longer to blow over than it will if you let it run its course!
Love you lots and lots!
Once I woke up from anesthesia to the face of my mom and a nurse. I looked at the stranger for a moment and said, "My God, you are so beautiful. Everybody must want to have sex with you."
So yeah, don't sweat recovery room antics -- they're the best part of surgery. Well that and morphine.
Peace,
Pennsy
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