It has been a few days since I even felt like getting online, other than a couple of quick phone to Facebook updates for friends and family. I had no idea I would feel as awful as I have. It’s like someone performed major surgery on me and I have had to recover from that. Oh, right, in fact that is what has happened.
I’m not sure what I was expecting. After a lifetime of no surgeries at all, I now have had 3 in two years. It’s like a later life hobby, but frankly I really think I should find a better hobby. This one kind of sucks.
It is a long slow process to recovery and there is no way to really hurry it up. The trick is finding the right combination of rest, movement, and painkillers. I’m learning. It is getting a bit better, day by day.
To go back to the day of surgery, it started with my brother driving me bright and early through an eerie morning fog, to the main city hospital, where I had 4 rather larger vials of blood extracted from my arm. I’ve never had this done before, but apparently it gives the medical team, MY medical team, an accurate idea of the exact blood type I would need should I start bleeding all over the place during surgery. It’s not just about type, but the details too.
As much as my brother suggested my blood type should read “blue blood”, for a princess like myself, I was reminded by the intake nurse, John, that I am AB. AB+ I think he said. I knew it was one of the rare ones. Seems like I am a rare creature all around. I probably should have some endangered species protection you know. I knew that I was a rare blood type when I was a kid and the whole class found out their blood types. It was par for the course, being the only kid in the class of that type. Outside looking in. Odd duckling. All that. Par for the course.
I actually arrived for my surgery two hours early. I am never early for anything. Of all things to be early for, the surgery wasn’t a great one. They didn’t push another patient out of the queue seeing I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. They, rather, admonished me for being so early and told me to wait the next two hours in the stuffy and crowded waiting room. Instead I went for a walk to the university bookstore and for once in my life took my time looking at all the books!
I was starving by the time I came back to properly wait for my surgery. It had been about 13 hours since I had anything to eat so when a nice young Italian man showed up with coffee and baked goods for his aunties waiting for another family member it was difficult not to join them. Then, while they munched on delicious looking treats, the aunties started talking about their favourite recipes. I think perhaps they weren’t actually waiting for anyone to come out of surgery – they most likely got their kicks from hanging out in waiting rooms full of starving people while they ate and talked about food. They seemed to be enjoying it far too much.
Fortunately, my call up came soon and I was able to FINALLY get in to have my turn of fun. John, the nurse, greeted me jovially. That mood soon changed when, after I had dutifully cleaned and changed, he was interrupted in our intake by the surgeon himself, who was ready to go. The surgeon spoke to me a few minutes and did his best to reassure me while I did my best to annoy him (not the smartest thing) by being a difficult patient. Then the surgeon left, the unsaid message to John being “My time is way more valuable than yours so get this one in the OR immediately – we are ALL waiting for you now.”
Poor John. People kept coming by to check in on me, greet me, tell me who they were and what their job was and John was trying to race through about 15 pages of questions and information in between. And he was doing his best to not make me feel like I was being rushed to market. He did an amazing job and I only felt a little bit shaken by the rush. They wheeled me into the OR, maybe traveling a bit too fast as we almost crashed into a few things and people. We passed a few scrubbed up nurses sitting up on counters kicking their feet idly while waiting for me. I could almost see the expressions under the masks; “Oh! FINALLY! We were ready to go to lunch.”
The anesthesiologist had introduced himself to me earlier and he seemed cool and confident so I trusted him. I barely blinked when he informed me he would just set up IV in the OR and then told me I would have a tube shoved down my windpipe for air as I was going to be flipped face down once they knocked me out.
He was merrily chatting away with me while other people grabbed my other arm and someone shouted over the din who I was and what they were all about to do to me. I thought to myself, “OMG! This is chaos! I hope they…..”
And then I was awoken from a nice dream. I was moving through a hallway and people were talking. “She’s awake” were the first words I heard.
It took a moment to remember where I was. Wasn’t I supposed to be having an operation done? Oh. Oh, maybe it HAS been done? Yes. My leg feels a bit sore. I think something happened.
It’s a very strange thing, to one moment be awake and fully together physically, and the next moment be not only somewhere else but missing a chunk of yourself.
They took me into a recovery room and talked to me and gave me a sip of water and asked about my pain. It wasn’t too bad at that point. Presently the surgeon came by and said all had gone real well, he had taken out a wedge of muscle and flesh (30-50% of the muscle.. I’m not sure why he was still uncertain on the size) and that his assistant would see me in the morning. After the surgeon left I looked at the nurse and said ‘God he’s gorgeous!” and she smiled weakly and said “Yes dear. And how is that pain now?”
About an hour or so after surgery, they took me upstairs to my room. I had asked for a private room, being a spoiled princess of rarity, but they said “staffing concerns” made it more important that I be in a different room with others. It was actually the surgical observation ward, and after I got over my initial hissy fit (kept to myself other than a slight pout) about sharing the room with “commoners” I was actually very grateful for the increased care and attention in that ward.
But I shall save that for another post as this has been long enough, and I need to have a nap now. A princess needs her sleep. Especially a wounded princess.