The Really Long Story: Part Two

Where did I leave off? Oh yes, excrement and vomit. Well, this part involves drugs, blood, scars and gas. Much better, right?

The morning of the surgery arrived pretty quick. It may or may not be due to the fact that we didn't go to sleep until round about 3 or so, but hey, 5am isn't that bad, right? We headed over to the hospital, phoned my mom and dad on the way and made out way to the surgery check in. By now I am ravenous and the waiting room is stocked with fruit, cereal bars, cookies and coffee. Why they did that, I have no clue but it was just plain mean. Anyway, about 4 or 5 names were called and our little group was herded through the halls to the pre-op area. I donned my stylish yet air conditioned gown and hopped on the bed. It was definitely more than a little weird to be the one in the bed and not next to it doing the paper work.

What felt like 4 years later a nurse came to my little curtain cubicle and stated she would be starting my IV. She was aiming for my big, fat cephalic vein (I'm guessing here since I'm a little rusty) and before inserting the catheter she told me she would numb the area first. Now I know that it isn't the most comfy place to get an IV, but one stick versus three to get the lidocane in was my preference. Not too much later I realized just why she numbed it first. She couldn't get an 18 gauge in my big fat healthy 28 year old German pipe of a vein. As she fished I looked over to JB pleading and making that 'OMG WTF' face. I think I really pissed her off when I told her I didn't want to sign the consent form for a hysterectomy and colostomy bag. Of course I don't want to. I'm 28 for crying out loud! She snottily asked me why I didn't talk to my doc about it before today. I told her I did, but I was tired of signing away my rights to my uterus. It is really draining to sign consent forms for something that would pretty much send you into a spiral of self loathing and depression several times over. Why don't you just continue to beat me over the head with the thoughts of Cancer. Thank you ma'am. May I have another?

Ah, tangent. Sorry. The anesthesiologist student stopped by and he looked nervous. Maybe it was his first day. Maybe it was my fear induced humor that threw him off. In all reality it was probably the fact that I have a mouth the size of a child's. Really, it's tiny. I feel bad for anyone who has to intubate me and it looked as though he drew the short straw. He was kind and caring and promised good drugs, so I liked him.

A liter of fluid later, I had to pee. Like here drink four bottles of Gatorade and hold it while I put an ultrasound wand on your belly, bad. I was still hooked up to the IV and I had no idea where the bathroom was so I jiggled. And wiggled. And finally I begged JB to find someone, anyone to get to a bathroom or there was going to be a puddle. A nice man capped off my IV and showed me to the bathroom. JB trailed behind making sure I didn't show my behind. Finally, Nurse Brumhilda came by and demanded to know who stopped my IV. I didn't stop to get the guy's name so I had to point him out from across the room. She was livid, but of course despite our best efforts to flag her down, she spent her time sitting at the desk chatting. Turns out that guy was her boss. No wonder she was so pissed.

Thankfully, my surgical nurse came by to introduce herself. She praised my surgeon as if he were her own family. She held my hand and told me she would take really good care of me and as soon as the doctor got there, I could get a margarita in a syringe. I requested a daiquiri as I am more of a rum girl. Again with the stupid humor. A visit from the doctor and again reassurance that all would be well and she was back. She told JB to kiss me because after that I wouldn't remember a thing. She was right... mostly. I remember kissing him, getting teary eyed and then starting to feel warm and tingly and like I just didn't care. The next thing I remember is trying to scoot over to the operating table in a gown.

What I'm guessing was maybe 2 hours later I woke up with the worst cotton mouth of my life and shearing pain in my belly. All I heard was "you're all right baby girl". That's how you know you live in the south. It took all I had to ask what they took. When she replied, "just your ovary and your appendix" I passed out again choking back tears of relief and exhilaration. I think I woke up a few more times in recovery asking the same question over and over and asking for JB. If course he was waiting for me, but I had to wake up a bit first. This kind of makes me laugh because I have zero recollection of going up to my room or probably the first few hours there. I have a little flash of "Here's your morphine pump. Push this button if you feel pain." What I didn't realize was I only got so many pushes per hour. Didn't matter to me, I was going to push that thing until it broke if it meant I got more morphine. This mentality resulted in a beeping morphine pump through most of the night because it would alarm if I maxed it out. Why it did that, I have no idea but it sucked when it would beep for 5 minutes straight and even after pressing the call button for the nurses station, no one came to turn the alarms off. Between that and the regular blood draws and vital checks every few hours, neither JB or I got much sleep that night.

The next day, they pulled the catheter and I was on my own as far as peeing went. The first attempt at uprightedness ended up with the urge to vomit and after abdominal surgery, that is the very last thing you want to do. I got a round of some sort of drugs and then slept for another few hours. The second attempt at standing was successful. Thanks to someone pulling me upright from under the armpits. Holy man was it hard work to walk the 4 feet to the bathroom.

Every few hours, my condition improved. Sure I slept a lot and the fact that I was still only eating liquids wasn't great but I could tell that I was starting to get at least a little better if not a little more alert. Later that day I went for my first walk down the hall. I made it a good 50 feet and then decided a nap was appropriate. After dinner I made it all the way around the loop. Go me.

Dinner was more fluids. Not just any fluids, hospital fluids. *shudder* That night we slept better. Not great but better. Saturday as it now was meant I was walking laps like a champ. After a shower followed by a nap, I was promised real food if I could pass gas. I waited and waited and waited and JB did his best to show me up but still... nada. The nurse decided that because I had good bowel sounds perhaps some real food would help me along. I was promised a real lunch. When it arrived I found cream of chicken soup which was the consistency of snot and looked as though they just dumped the can in a bowl and didn't dilute it at all. I ate it all because I was dying of starvation and apple juice and pudding only get you so far. After lunch, my doc came in to check on my and my incision and was very impressed with how much the swelling had gone down and the fact that I had showered myself and made so many laps around the floor. If JB got me a turkey sandwich and I kept it down, I was free to go home. He also mentioned that there would be no driving, lots of sleeping, zero lifting and of course no housework for about a year or so. Not only is he a surgeon, he is a regular ol' comedian.

JB ran to Subway and got me the single best turkey sandwich I have ever eaten in my entire life. It was like I was eating a little slice of heaven snugly fit inside a Subway wrapper. Two hours later I was back in my own clothes and on our way home.

I slept most of the rest of the day and probably the day after. They all kind of started to blur together. I only had to text JB once to have him come un-turtle me from the recliner. The first two days, I needed the granny boost to get up and walking was more like doing the shuffle, but every day we could see improvement.

My mom came down a few days after the surgery and did a wonderful job of making sure I was eating, showered and that my house was clean. She is awesome. Just in case you didn't know that already. I am finally completely off any pain meds other than the occasional Aleve or Ibuprofen and while I get a little sore from time to time and I'm always tired, I feel great.

As it turned out, it was not a cyst at all, but a tumor that was ballooning my ovary up which explains the mind-numbing pain. While in surgery they also found endometriosis so they cleaned that up and took out my appendix. Not really sure why on the appendix, but whatever. It's not like I need it. JB and I are so thrilled with the results of the surgery and the prognosis of a little one(s) eventually.

Every day I get better, less tired and my incision is a little less itchy and sensitive. I really can't say how thankful I am for Dr D, his awesome staff, my wonderful mom, my devoted husband, everyone who sent flowers to cheer me up, fruit to get my appetite going again (that's you N!) and those who prayed.

I'm on the road to recovery and life is looking good.