On the heels of the blog I posted earlier today, a bit of perspective from that particular point in recovery, I offer you this blog from another perspective; the pre-surgical perspective.
I am 23 days out from surgery number two. This surgery is needed to correct a complication from the first operation. At this point, I kind of liken the whole experience to that of childbirth. During and immediately after childbirth you are aware of how scary it can be, how physically it is not the most fun a person can have. But, give yourself some time and you find yourself romanticising the whole thing. When Ava was one and we talked about having another baby my memory was all birth balls, dimly lit rooms, peaceful music, doting nurses, Jeff by my side, the miracle of doula care; perfection. And, in all honesty, that was true, but there were parts of it such as Ava's heart stopping and that she wasn't breathing and was immediately taken away to be revived. I forgot all of that. Until... our car was screaming down the Beltline in Madison, Jeff on the phone with the physician, then hanging up and admitting he'd made a wrong turn, getting to the hospital and finding they had no more maternity rooms, and that this baby was in a hurry. Being terrified that the baby wasn't advancing, that something was wrong, and then just moments later there she was in my arms. A lot of parallels here. Honestly.
Immediately after surgery as I lay there with my morphine drip, cards, flowers, visitors, and a pretty great menu at my fingertips, I thought this is not so bad. But, I had no clue. I hadn't yet tried to sit up, to roll over, to get to the bathroom, to move at all. But, I got to those things and through them. I made it home, I made it through the depression, I got better at walking and ditched the walker, I eventually drove again and got the green light to walk more. And all of a sudden none of it seemed all that bad. Then we found out I had to go back in. At first, I was extremely upset. I cried A LOT. I apologized to my family a lot. I felt terrible, like a huge burden. But all of that was emotional. I had kind of forgotten the physical struggles I would once again encounter. But now as I sit here 23 days out, I'm remembering quite clearly. I remember when the nurse and two orderlies came into my hospital room and woke me from my crazy morphine induced dream to get me up and "walking". The second orderly brought the walker in and I said "I don't need that" to which they smiled and said "you're still laying down". I sat up, with a lot of help, some unladylike words, and a lot of sweat. And realized pretty quickly that, yes, I would need that walker. That first time standing up was WOW. I know that'll happen again. I know I'll ride home in the car clenching every muscle in preparation for every bump, brake, acceleration, and gust of wind after psyching myself up for 5 minutes that I could even make the transfer from the wheelchair to the car. The first time I sneezed I went from gleeful anticipation of something fun and relieving the human body can do to Jeff standing over me saying "are you ok?!?!" I went down hard. It was like someone grabbed my spinal cord and yanked on it. Sneezes still take my knees out from me. It's just a lot funnier now (right, Toni?). What I am most afraid of though, bar none, is the very first moment I wake up after surgery. It feels foreign, cold, bright, loud, and I realize how little I'm in control. I want to wake up, to open my eyes, to move my body under my own control, but I just can't do it. And worst of all, that damn catheter. I told my surgeon, the surgical prep people, the pre op people, and my anesthetist to get that thing out before I was conscious. I also made Jeff tell whoever would listen the same. Throughout my lifetime of kidney issues I have had more time spent dealing with catheters than I would ever wish on my worst enemy. But, no. They save that for last. Maybe it's the last bit of power they wield over patients who refuse to get up and walk. That would do it for me.
Anyway, 23 days. Yikes. After the 26th I'm officially a shut in. Don't be a stranger. I'll even wear my good jammies. And, I might share the cookies Katie is going to make for me again. Right Katie??
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