July 12, 2009
On July 10th at 0-my-goodness AM, Jeff and I got up to go do my tubal. I was the doctor's second surgery of the day and they were just warming up. The anesthesiologist was a bit concerned that I get motion sick. Have had anesthesia before, I wasn't worried. More the fool was I.
As I chatted with the surgery staff, waiting for the drugs to kick in, noting that my toes were cold, I remember talking to them all about what they liked to read. Someone mentioned "fantasy" – so I recommended "Rosemary and Rue" to them. Other mentioned disaster books – so I recommended "Grants Pass" to them. The third one talked about epic fantasy and liking religious based books like CS Lewis and, immediately, I told them about Ken Scholes and "Lamentation." Then, I think I passed out. Now I wonder if they were just talking to distract me of if they really will look up my book recommendations.
The doctor told Jeff that I 'did not like going to sleep' and that I 'had problems with the breathing tube.' Apparently I threw up twice while they were trying to get it in. Ew. I feel bad for them but thankful that I was unconscious. Also, the doctor showed Jeff pictures of the insides of me. He says that my ovaries are "white and bumpy and have clips" now.
While I was waking up from surgery, I was in a whole lot of pain. Enough that I said something about it.
"How much on a scale of 1-10?"
"5. 5.5. 6. 5. 6. Ow."
"OK. We'll get you something for it."
Two Percocet doses and 90 minutes later, they sit me up. Bad move. I was very calm. "I don't think this is going to work." *pause* "I'm going to throw up." They got me a bucket just in time. Yark #1. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Yark #2. Pant. Breathe. Pant. Yark #3. Ok. They lay me back down and give me some anti-nausea (KNOCK YOU ON YOUR ASS) medicine. The funny thing was that Jeff could hear and recognize my yarking. That's just a bit weird but funny.
They wobble me into the room to get dressed and, wow, did I need help. They asked if I wanted a wheel chair and I said yes just to get them to leave me alone. All I wanted to do was sleep. The doctor was trying to give me the aftercare instructions and I desperately tried to listen but I could barely keep one eye open. Finally, she gave up pretense of talking to me and told Jeff what needed doing and I gave up pretense of listening to her.
Finally, I could go home. I slept 90% of Friday and about 50% of Saturday. Today, I've done a lot more and I'm feeling a lot better but the painkillers have the side effect of making me not hungry but I need food in my tummy to take them. So, getting food and liquids down is difficult. However I did manage to get out of the house with Jeff and give my opinion on some stuff about the house.
I'm not in pain at all if I don't move and 90% of the pain comes from transitional movement – getting up, sitting down, turning to stretch for something. For the most part it is livable. It has allowed me to write – which is one of the best painkillers of all. Just forget the world and let the worlds inside my head flow out through my fingertips. I even did some pays-the-bills writing. It felt good.
So, I'm alive. All seems to be well and going according to plan. I'm still on pain meds but not desperately so. And writing is the best medicine I have.