Surgery was six (eight) days ago. Oooooh, my Doctor lied when he said this surgery was going to be as easy as the last one. Liar! Good thing he's the nicest doctor I've ever had, or I might have gone al yo-mama on his buns.
So, Thursday (the 31st) was intense. My MIL stayed the night and took Roman back with her when Dustin and I left in the morning for my appointment. I swear on all the cheeses, I cried so hard inside and out as we drove away from the house - my first time ever staying the night away from my child.
Traffic wasn't as bad as we expected and we showed up with plenty of time to park and check-in on time. We waited about a half-hour past our in-take time and they finally called me in to prep...
...And now im sitting here, two days after I initially started writing this post anWd almost a week after the actual surgery, and I'm coming off of my pain killers. I feel like royal crap.
We had a hard time finding the right pain killers for me, as I'm hyper-freaking-sensitive to everything. I've had good experiences with morphine In the past, so we decided to use a long lasting, 12-hour pill and it worked for a few days, but then the terrors (? I don't know what else to call them) came. Anytime (ANYTIME) I would fall asleep, even for a nap (and morphine makes you tired, mind you), I would startle awake, drawing in a huge breath. Have you ever had the dreams where you're almost asleep and then you start falling and jolt awake? Well, multiply that crap by 26 and that's what started happening. One night I had Dustin sit next to me while I slept (I've been on the couch, he on our IKEA guest futon that swapped places with our dinner table) and woke after having the MOST vivid, fear filled, terrifying, gruesome dream of my entire life. I literally grabbed him and scream-cried like people do in the movies, a waterfall of tears running down my face as I relayed my entire two hour dream to him. I'd never been more afraid in my life. It was the pills. No amount of pain was worth fearing for my life every time I closed my eyes, and luckily I was far enough from the surgery that round-the-clock extra-strength Tylenol was enough to control my pain.
Like I said, the coming off the drugs was rough. ROUGH. On top of the (TMI) surgery constipation, feeling like I was hit by a truck and extreme sensitivity to any and all smells, I was nauseous as hell. I had, what Dustin calls, an exorcist moment while I was in the bathroom. Thank God for stainless steel bowls and my husband's strong stomach.
Let me take a minute to talk about Dustin. If there was any doubt in my mind about this mans love for me, it's gone. Hella gone. Washcloth baths. Around the clock medication service. Taking care of the little nerve numbing tube that was sticking out of my body. PULLING the tube out of my thigh (as instructed by the doctors. So gross.) on the third day. Helping me to the bathroom and holding my leg while I went. Dressing me. Tea. Blankets. Complete silence. Anything I wanted (short of feeling completely better), he got me. This guy even changed my freaking pad (yeah, period fairy delivered the day of surgery). He's my hero.
[Today, two days later.]
Ive been feeling the best I've felt since my surgery. I went out today for the first time. I went to my optometrist and picked up my new boxes of contacts. Being out was amazing. Bubby and I sat in the sun on our front porch and drank Starbucks and made fart noises with our hands and mouths like we were six years old. He washed my hair in the sink for me (no shower 'till next Thursday the 14th) and gave me a washcloth bath. (fresh pits for the win)! We soaked in somemore rays and talked, and then went for a trip up the street to our local market to get a few things for dinner. Watched United States of Tara (my new fave on Netflix). Ice cream. Blogging and movies for me, playstation for him. The best day so far.
Tomorrow we are going to try to go out for a bit longer than today and see how I do. Sunday (sweet Sunday!), I hope I will be feeling good enough to pick our baby back up from Camp Grandma and Grandpa. Words can not express how much I miss my child. I know that I did this whole thing for the greater good, for a better future for the three of us (and any babies in the future), but it has been trying on my heart. I put a pair of my kid's socks on my teddy bear and have been weeping into them, for goodness sake. The stress, fright, pain and aggravation that I was experiencing made having my sweet, ornery, happy, loud baby around me all day too much for me tolerate. He came for a few visits and I treasured every second of them, but once the noise started up, my chest would fill with tension and my heart would race and I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin. (Roman, if you read this later in life, don't take that a me being an ogre. Everyone except Daddy made me feel the same way. Drugs = intense.)
There are a lot of memories attached to hospitals and laying around feeling like death that are rooted deep in my heart. This has been hard on not only my body, but my mind as well. There were a few times where I would just sob and ask Dustin if this was all worth it anyways. What if I got sick again and had wasted a whole week of my life not seeing my child? I remember more than once while I was in major pain, trying to get up (even with Dustin's help) and use the bathroom and after trying for a good thrre minutes with nothing but searing pain and defeat, i would finally make it up, shaking, and would cry out, "Work hard, play hard," -- my last little bit of inspiration to myself. If I can get through this, I will be rewarded. Do it. Push it. Count to 30 and take deep breaths. It has been my personal surgery motto this past week and will continue to be these next few months as I continue my journey towards walking again.
As of this second, I just want to throw my hands up and thank God for blessing me with such an amazing spouse and family. I want to thank Him for helping the pain go away. For not falling. For no fevers. For comfy couches, giant televisions, washcloths and Netflix.
Amen.
