It was surreal to me. Waking up at four in the morning, to shower with that crazy antibacterial nonsense and be at the hospital by 6:15. Changing into the gown. Enjoying the toastiness of that rubber blanket rather coincidentally called a "hot dog." Getting my first IV. Sitting there with that ridiculous hat on with an ekg strip across my forehead, laughing about the picture of a pelican above me. "You will no longer eat like a pelican!" (as my brother informed me, they ate everything in sight)
And then it all gets a little hazy, after a bump of something from my anesthesiologist to relax me. The lights of the hospital were covered with pictures of clouds, and when he gave me the medicine it looked like they were rolling by. I even asked my family if they were -- several times.
Within no time they were wheeling me back to the OR, and I got another shot of that happy-fun stuff on the way. From there all I remember is sliding onto the table (which I don't remember as being cold or steel...seems like it had material of some sort) and that is all she wrote. No counting back from 100 or some jive. I was out like a light when the electricity bill hasn't been paid -- or something like that.
"Andie? Andie, can you hear me? You're out from surgery. Everything went great..."
My recovery nurse was absolutely a sweetheart. I obviously didn't feel patronized by her size 4 self, as my first response was not "Yes, I can..." but "Am I skinny yet?" to which she laughed, informed me I was on my way and later informed my family about my silly slip up. Honestly, I'd been planning on saying that for ages, but I expected it would be to my mom or surgeon -- haha. I just can't believe I had the wherewithall to remember my rehersed little line.
I remember being in the recovery room with at least one other person who was immediately beside me, but there was a curtain between us. The sweetheart nurse was at a computer, watching my vitals and asking me to rate my pain every-so-often while I faded in and out of consciousness. The first time it was a three. By the time I was asking her to take off my oxygen mask (it was actually making me feel like I was suffocating), it was a five, and by the time I got back to my room all I would say was "oooh, my belly!" while my recovery angel comforted me and told me I wouldn't feel so good that day.
And such was my script for the next few hours, while my family sat together awkwardly in my room, watching me doze. "How are you feeling, Andie?" "Ooh, my belly..." "Do you need anything, Andie?" "Ooh, my belly..." It wasn't such an excrutiating, stabbing pain as it was the dull, crampy sort that just won't go away. So, as needed, I'd push my morphine pump and sleep through my discomfort.
By that afternoon, I finally started to come around, and I was aware of two things. One, was that I had a catheter in that I hadn't gone to the OR with. Two, was that even though I hadn't eaten "real food" in ten days, and nothing since midnight that morning, I didn't feel as if I had an empty stomach. Quite the contrary, really -- as I constantly had that slightly sickening feeling of some excess something sitting in the back of my throat. But regardless, I temporarily had but one goal -- to get that catheter OUT.
Of course, the requirement for such is getting out of bed and walking the halls. So, around 6:00pm the day of my surgery, I let a nurse disconnect me from all the little gadgets I was attached to, and made the rather tender journey upright.
Standing was weird. It had hurt to get upright, but stopped once I was. I was just so
weak. I was gripping my IV pole for dear life...my legs trembling with each heavy step I took. It was hard, but I made my lap, and exhaustedly heaved myself back into that bed, displayed myself with both my mom and brother in the room, and praised the Lord while a nurse removed my torture device / catheter.
Sometime during all of this, Phillip dropped by -- a post-opper from my church and one of my biggest motivators for pursuing the surgery. His visit was the first time I had gotten emotional all day, which was surprising to me. I'd expected to cry on the way back to the operating room....but I guess I never got the chance.
In any case, the rest of the day was spent accordingly. I got some sponges and ice water to cure my parched mouth...later some ice chips. My mom babied me...applying some lip balm to my chapping lips, feeding me said ice chips, etc. We ooed and aaahed over how they could perform such drastic surgery with such tiny incisions, and then we all got settled in for the night (both my mom and brother were staying with me).
Sometime throughout the course of the night, I seem to have woken up on a bit of a trip and gotten tickled that my finger was glowing in the dark from my heart rate monitor. As the story goes, I woke my brother up with "ET phone home!" followed by "Oooooouuuch!" I also insisted on a picture.
...
So tired, and I just realized why. Yikes at the time. TBC with day two!
