Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Back at Home

Now that I'm a bit more out of that drug induced haze, I have a few more memories of my lost week in the hospital. (Which I would like to point out we purposefully did during Spring Break, but the result is basically that I did not have a conscious Spring Break this year! And the reason it was not "conscious" did NOT have to do with alcohol!)

Anywho, I checked into the operating room with a blood pressure registering at, oh, about 85 over 55. That would be considered "low." The RN freaked out and had me sit down immediately. I pointed out that following my "bowel prep" from the day before, I was a bit dehydrated. She tried to get an IV in me, but alas, I have no veins. They scurried me into the OR prep where more than a few folks fretted over my pathetic veins. (The anaesthesiologist the day before had said that if needed, they'd stick the IV in my neck. Thanks!!) Fortunately, another anaesthesiologist with a talent for finding crap ass veins got my one good dehydrated vein right off the bat and gave my fluids and a sedative.

The next few hours after the surgery remain a haze involving scooting over from my recovery to my hospital bed (owwwwwwww!), repeatedly hitting the button on my morphine pump, and begging for something to drink to wet my parched lips/mouth. Ice chips are nice, but not as helpful as one would imagine for Dr. Dehydrated. Also, my blood pressure remained looooow (95 over 65) until we finally got off the morphine pump. Who knew?

Three days into my stay, after the doctor queried whether my hair would continue to grow bigger and bigger, I opted to take a shower to wash my frizzfest hair and change into my red reindeer pjs and out of my lovely hospital gown. Sitting in the shower sideways on my cold metal shower seat trying not to let the water directly hit my wounds and unable to lift my hands, I would like to officially name that bathing incident as the Worst Shower of My Life. I came out of it wet but not clean and my hair ended up turning into a ginourmous dreadlock that I was only able to untangle yesterday at home. Nonetheless, my red reindeer pjs and animal print fuzzy slippers made me a bit of a (stinky, dreadlocked) fashionista in the surgical ward during my stay. That and the fact that I was about 40 years younger than everyone one else.

A few comments about my family support. My mom moved in with us on Weds and has been as close to wonderful as I could possibly imagine. It's nice being back in NC and having my Mom so close again. Dave has been exceptional, per usual, taking care of both Conor and me and not going too crazy in the process. But Conor. (((sigh))) Can I tell you a little bit about my son??

I called the house early, early the morning after the surgery because 1) I hadn't slept and 2) I missed Conor. Dave put him and the phone and we started the normal toddler conversation "How are you, Conor?" "I'm fine." "What are you doing?" "I'm making breakfast." And then he interrupted me, "Mommy, how are you feeling???" I thought my heart would explode.

After Dave dropped him off at school that morning and came to visit me at the hospital, he brought a card Conor had made for me. It was a picture of Conor and the words that Conor had wanted written under it "Mommy, I want to give you a kiss. Conor" Again, I thought I was going to die.

Then on Friday afternoon, Conor showed up with a project he has spent all of day making for me carrying it in a big bad labelled "For the Best Mommy From Conor". Within it was a big heartshaped decorated card that said "Mommy, I want to give you hugs! kisses too, and I want you here. I love you." (I think the teacher came up with that one!) and about 10 sheets of drawings and Conor practicing writing his name and "Mom" and "Dad".

The piece de resistance, however, was on Saturday night, when we were walking around the hospital corridors getting exercise and Conor kept holding and kissing my hand and saying "I love you, Mommy!" while every nurse, nurse's assistant, technician, patient and visitor melted at how adorable my son truly is.


So now I'm back home and getting off the pain pills. I feel like I'm either pushing myself too hard or not quite pushing myself enough. I'm trying to do work and still take it easy. Traveling is a bit harder than I thought it would be, but I can't stand just sitting here all the time. I get my staples out on Thursday (Have I mentioned that it looks like a metal millipede is eating my belly button? No? Well, yeah. I have a picture! It made my Mom scream!) :-)

Ok. It is time to figure out what I can get done for the day and when I can nap and should shower. It's been an eventful two weeks, no?


Anonymous said...

So, hmm...not back to teaching this week after all, eh?

Anita, I'm go glad to hear that all is well. And the anecdotes about Conor? "Sigh" indeed :-)

Three cheers for mom's who move in for the duration, and for Dave for holding down the fort so effectively, and for YOU, the heroine and survivor of this tale!

May your medical dramas be over for a good long while now, Kiddo -- you've earned your stripes!


scott said...

You funny

Elizabeth said...

I'm glad you're feeling better, but try to take it easy. As a veteran of too many surgeries, I feel obliged to stress that the time to be extra careful is when you're feeling better. This is a time to listen to your body and not try to power through it.

And Conor is truly a sweetie! Like father...

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