Monday, August 2, 2010

Cleanest cut he's ever seen

At quarter-to-five the next morning we began our pilgrimage to the hospital. (Yes, pilgrimage. With a half asleep baby, a full diaper bag, my gigantic purse and a very unsteady me on crutches, this journey was nothing short of a pilgrimage.) Adam had gathered all the necessary paperwork and packed the diaper bag the night before, only stopping once to frustratedly ask "How do you do all this?". He first took the bags out to the car, then came back for Morgan, then made a final trip up the stairs, following behind me to ensure that I didn't trip and tumble back down them.

The very last thing I did before we left the house was take my antibiotics and pain medication with a few sips of water, as instructed. (This comes into play a bit later in the story.) On the way to my mom's house, where we were dropping Morgan off for the day, I began filling out some paperwork that the hospital needed before I went into surgery. I had glanced at the papers the evening before, but hadn't really looked at them until that moment which is why I hadn't noticed before that scrawled across the top, in bold letters, where my name should have been it read: Jenica Rachelle Shepherd. Um, last I checked, that wasn't my name.

When we arrived at the hospital, the first thing I did was make sure that I was in fact the one whose chart the nurse was holding; that they wouldn't put me under thinking I was Jenica Rachelle Shepherd and I'd wake up an hour later missing my spleen. The nurse assured me that everything was in order and even showed me the charts with my name on them. She told me she was going to go get everything she needed to start my IV, and in the few minutes that she was absent from the room, I started feeling ill. Really ill. It started in my stomach and soon turned into the worst heartburn I've ever felt. When the nurse returned, she assumed that I hated needles and was having anxiety about getting an IV. I assured her that not only was I completely un-phased by the sight of a needle, but that there's a really great vein in my left forearm that is just fantastic for IV's.

My before-surgery digs. Be jealous.

She got the IV started without a problem, but my heartburn only got worse. There I was, sitting there with a severed tendon, waiting to go into surgery and I'm literally crying over heartburn! I know it sounds ridiculous, but I rarely get heartburn. Even during my third trimester of pregnancy I didn't have it. However, on the unfortunate occasion that I do get heartburn, a couple Tums or a glass of milk usually takes care if it pretty quickly. Considering the circumstances (going into surgery in a matter of minutes) they wouldn't allow me to have either of those things.

The nurse still insisted that I was having needle-anxiety, but as soon as I told her that I'd taken my pills on an empty stomach, she nodded her head and said, "That'll do it" then added "you aren't supposed to take them without food, you know." Rather than telling her that of course I know that and that I've been taking pills--antibiotics in particular-- for as long as I can remember, and I only took them on an empty stomach because I had specifically been told to do so before I came in... I simply nodded and said, "Well, next time I'll be sure to eat something with them."

 Dr Z. poked his head in the room to see how I was and upon seeing my discomfort, he ordered some sort of medication to be administered through my IV. Twenty-five minutes later, my chest was still on fire, but the anesthesiologist was ready to get the show on the road. No more waiting around for me to feel better because once I was sedated, I certainly wouldn't be worrying about my heartburn. (I like the way he thinks!)

So then it was off to the operating room. Adam kissed me goodbye and as soon as the front wheels of my bed entered the OR, my heartburn was gone! Oh sweet relief! Now that that was over with, I was sure surgery would be a piece of cake. The anesthesiologist positioned me on the operating table and said "Okay, lets see if I can make you a little sleepy."

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the recovery room. Adam came in just minutes after I awoke as the nurse was taking my vitals. Dr Z. came in, told us everything went well and that Adam did a pretty good job; that it was, in fact, the cleanest cut he's EVER SEEN! (What can I say? My honey is good at what he does.) And that was that. I was sent home and told to take it (super) easy until my follow up visit a week later.

Adam told me I looked drunk as I was coming out of sedation, so this is me trying my hardest to look normal. Oh, and I'm totally wearing Piper's shirt!

That visit will be tomorrow. Hopefully he'll be able to tell me a little more about what to expect as far as recovery time. But for now, I'm learning how to better maneuver on crutches and with a little ibuprofen, some ice packs (or, today, a pack of frozen hot dogs because we forgot to put both ice packs back in the freezer) and some rest, I'm actually feeling really good. Now if I could just figure out how to get that almost-one-year-old to take it easy as well...

1 comment:

  1. The Boot.... My son had one of those last year and they are heavy... you will be gettin muscle back in no time... Happy Graduation day.... Before you know it you will be free yay!!!

    ReplyDelete

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