Recovery
(The photo to the left is one taken of my back when I got home. There's stitches and staples down the center and a few "holes" where the surgical drains were. In the photo, they look like zits gone bad. Surprisingly enough, those hurt just as much as the main incision, and they took at least as long to heal. Along with the scars, I still have "dimples" where my drains were.)
First, I hear stirrings around me and groggily think that I must be done with my surgery already. That was quick. Easy for me to say. My surgery, I later found out, took seven and a half hours. Even before I open my eyes, I wait for the post-op pain. I’ve read enough about fusion surgery to know what’s coming next, but I’m actually quite comfortable. Then, just to test the waters, so to speak, I wiggle my torso just a bit, adjust myself in bed Yes, there’s the pain, but not as much as I expected. I keep thinking, “It’s done, it’s over. Yippee!” I consider myself very, very brave, and go back to sleep.
When I open my eyes, I see Hans waiting in a nearby chair, dressed in a cotton hospital gown. I ask him what time it is, and I realize he’s been there for a very long time. I’d told him to go on home or back to his office that day, and Dr Heary would call him when everything was done. Hans insisted on staying, so I know he had to be tired. Add to that the hospital gown, and I know it was time to send him home. I was okay, it was late, there was nothing more he could do, and I wasn’t in any condition to keep him company. In fact, I wanted to just close my eyes again. Before I did, I looked for that morphine pump they had promised me and gripped my fingers around the button. That, I was not going to lose track of.
Hans went home, and a few hours later I was moved to my room. As luck would have it, it was actually a private room located at the end of the hall, with only room for one hospital bed and its accoutrements. That’s where I spent the next six days, alternately snoozing, pushing my morphine pump, watching TV and seeing various hospital personnel come and go.
The nurses were actually quite nice. Even the one who woke me up in what seemed like the middle of the night and kept asking me if I wanted an enema (the answer was always “No”) was okay. On the second day, I got my back brace and could leave my bed for a while as long as I had it on. That also wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be or as restrictive or hard to get on and off. In fact, it helped hold me in and give me some “bracing.” I just had to drag along my IV, etc, though … very cumbersome.
The fourth day, I was asked to speak to a small group of surgical students about pain. My guess is that they were all so young and inexperienced with physical pain, but were about to enter a field where they would be constantly fixing people (like me) who were in pain. They needed to know about that one topic they would be concerning themselves with for the rest of their careers. Today I, full of pain and pain meds, would help.
There were six of them, in addition to their doctor in charge. They gathered around with chairs and asked questions. Some took notes. I held court from my hospital bed. I guess it went well because the next day, a psychiatry doctor and his medical students came in to talk to me, too. After thinking about this for a while, since I had plenty of time to think, I figured I was either very interesting to talk to or some weirdo the psyche students should be meeting. Anyway, when I was asked to speak with the second group of students I said, “Sure, bring the kids in.” It helped to pass the afternoon and was better than watching “Oprah.”
Towards the end of that week, my drains were running clear, my incision was looking good, my vital signs were normal, and I was able to walk up and down the hall, plus manage the stairs. These were the prerequisites to going my home, and I very much wanted to do that. The morphine was nice, but I missed my little family and my house.
So, on Saturday, October 30th, I left to go home. I had my prescriptions, my brace, my instructions, and my ride was waiting. I didn’t feel as bad, pain-wise, as I thought I would on the ride home, but that could have been because I was so happy I was going and not coming. Sophie was delighted to see me when I got home, and I, her. She came right into the car after me. I guess I was too slow getting out that time, brace and all, but she seemed not to mind. It truly was over; I was back home again in relatively one piece, plus a few extra pieces, as it were. Now, all I have to do is recover, and that will take a while.
First, I hear stirrings around me and groggily think that I must be done with my surgery already. That was quick. Easy for me to say. My surgery, I later found out, took seven and a half hours. Even before I open my eyes, I wait for the post-op pain. I’ve read enough about fusion surgery to know what’s coming next, but I’m actually quite comfortable. Then, just to test the waters, so to speak, I wiggle my torso just a bit, adjust myself in bed Yes, there’s the pain, but not as much as I expected. I keep thinking, “It’s done, it’s over. Yippee!” I consider myself very, very brave, and go back to sleep.
When I open my eyes, I see Hans waiting in a nearby chair, dressed in a cotton hospital gown. I ask him what time it is, and I realize he’s been there for a very long time. I’d told him to go on home or back to his office that day, and Dr Heary would call him when everything was done. Hans insisted on staying, so I know he had to be tired. Add to that the hospital gown, and I know it was time to send him home. I was okay, it was late, there was nothing more he could do, and I wasn’t in any condition to keep him company. In fact, I wanted to just close my eyes again. Before I did, I looked for that morphine pump they had promised me and gripped my fingers around the button. That, I was not going to lose track of.
Hans went home, and a few hours later I was moved to my room. As luck would have it, it was actually a private room located at the end of the hall, with only room for one hospital bed and its accoutrements. That’s where I spent the next six days, alternately snoozing, pushing my morphine pump, watching TV and seeing various hospital personnel come and go.
The nurses were actually quite nice. Even the one who woke me up in what seemed like the middle of the night and kept asking me if I wanted an enema (the answer was always “No”) was okay. On the second day, I got my back brace and could leave my bed for a while as long as I had it on. That also wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be or as restrictive or hard to get on and off. In fact, it helped hold me in and give me some “bracing.” I just had to drag along my IV, etc, though … very cumbersome.
The fourth day, I was asked to speak to a small group of surgical students about pain. My guess is that they were all so young and inexperienced with physical pain, but were about to enter a field where they would be constantly fixing people (like me) who were in pain. They needed to know about that one topic they would be concerning themselves with for the rest of their careers. Today I, full of pain and pain meds, would help.
There were six of them, in addition to their doctor in charge. They gathered around with chairs and asked questions. Some took notes. I held court from my hospital bed. I guess it went well because the next day, a psychiatry doctor and his medical students came in to talk to me, too. After thinking about this for a while, since I had plenty of time to think, I figured I was either very interesting to talk to or some weirdo the psyche students should be meeting. Anyway, when I was asked to speak with the second group of students I said, “Sure, bring the kids in.” It helped to pass the afternoon and was better than watching “Oprah.”
Towards the end of that week, my drains were running clear, my incision was looking good, my vital signs were normal, and I was able to walk up and down the hall, plus manage the stairs. These were the prerequisites to going my home, and I very much wanted to do that. The morphine was nice, but I missed my little family and my house.
So, on Saturday, October 30th, I left to go home. I had my prescriptions, my brace, my instructions, and my ride was waiting. I didn’t feel as bad, pain-wise, as I thought I would on the ride home, but that could have been because I was so happy I was going and not coming. Sophie was delighted to see me when I got home, and I, her. She came right into the car after me. I guess I was too slow getting out that time, brace and all, but she seemed not to mind. It truly was over; I was back home again in relatively one piece, plus a few extra pieces, as it were. Now, all I have to do is recover, and that will take a while.
posted by Karen | 7:41 PM
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