Well, I didn't wake up in a cage in an undisclosed location. So, either my surgeons didn't figure out the big secret (which would make one wonder how good they really are?) or they had compassion . . . or worried that outing me would mean my health insurance wouldn't cover all the messy, icky things they did to me. Probably the health insurance stuff.
They actually managed to take me back early. I've been trying to remember what I remember. I remember the little guy trying really had to pull up a vein so he could get the initial IV in . . . and the doctor telling me that they would get a larger one in once I was "out" and wouldn't feel them digging. Fun!
I did tell the doctors about how Phenom likes to do an impression of the Alien from the movie Alien and how my response is always to yell "I don't want to kiss the alien" and if they witnessed this after they started giving me the "good" drugs, not to be alarmed. Ah, the things we have to confess to in the course of medical treatment. I remember moving over to the operating "table" . . . and them setting up arm boards for me . . . I seem to vaguely remember a woman with glasses peering at me and then nothing.
I woke up in a darkened recovery area . . . I remember there being quite a few "beds" around me. There was a tube in my nose that went into my stomach to keep me from dying in a pool of my own sick. There were tubes and wired coming out of me from all angles. They finally brought the Phenom back. He was tremendously happy and enthusiastic to see me. I suspect as each second of the surgery ticked by, a year came off his life.
The original plan was for him to spend the night and go home early Thursday to give midterm exams. But, they told us that I wouldn't get a room until possibly noon the next day because the hospital was full up. Phenom was willing to camp out in the waiting room all night. But, they convinced him to go home. So, he brought my bags in and reluctantly left. About 1 am I got a room.
The way to become every nurses' favorite patient is a) have your belongings in a Holly Aiken bag that reads "am I in the mood for evil or pie? on the front (lift the flap and it says "evil") and b) have several copies of the "Better Pain Scale" for your nurses to better communicate with you.
Thursday, I was totally worthless. They gave me morphine in my IV for a while and seemed to respond more to my indications of pain than some prescribed schedule. Then, they set up a morphine pump for me. They also took the nose to stomach tube out . . . which made me feel like I was drowning. I kept forgetting to hit the morphine pump until I'd hit the point where I was past the point when it would have been really helpful.
Friday, they made me get up and move to a chair . . . which was accomplished with much cursing and several people pulling me along . . . and I counted the minutes until I could get back to bed. Then, they changed my wound dressing . . . . which is complicated and let's just say there are not stitches, they want the skin to heal itself . . . but it's a big wound. It was hands down, the most painful experience I've ever had. There was much cursing and pathetic behavior. THEN, they discovered that a big dose of pain meds had been ordered to be given 30 minutes before the procedure.
Today, they took me off the morphine pump and I'm now on a med that has a serious street value. The first dose, we decided to go down the middle of the range the doctor had prescribed . . . and it knocked me into a dopey sleep. So, we've cut back and seem to have hit the happys without the nap. And, I was able to get up and move to the chair with no profanities. Progress is being made.
But, there are still miles to go before I stop annoying the doctors . . .