Resurfacing. Part I
This is a birthday gift to myself. I am writing with no expectations, no filter and my only intention is to reach out and reconnect to this blog and to the people who read it. I have missed you during this hiatus, truth be told. I need this. I need you. We have much to catch up on friends, here we go…
Part I – Lost and delirious.
I went into the operating room feeling just about as good as a person could, I made it very clear to the spunky nurse during the pre-surgery routine of inserting IV’s, running tests and talking through what would happen over the next several hours that the first and most important priority was to keep my bum covered at all times when I was under, secondly, not to let me die, and last but not least to fix my shredded Achilles tendon. Yes very much in that order. Lots of support from my posse of family and friends that made the obscene 5:00am early morning trip to the hospital, along with a simply stellar staff of doctors and nurses who kept me calm and laughing right up to the very moment they put the mask over my face and told me to think of my happy place. It all was going so well, I didn’t notice the curve ball heading my way. I didn’t see it, but boy would I feel it.
Waking up in recovery happened very much like watching a freshly baked and perfectly iced cupcake fall from your hands into the dirty gravel road below, a tumbling free fall in slow motion, witnessing it happen but not sure how to make it stop. I began screaming for someone to help me the moment I gain consciousness, begging to make them stop cutting on my leg. Immediately the nurse ran over to me and with lightning fast ninja moves I promptly puked on her, then began to cry and apologize all the while pleading for them to stop the pain. The pushed meds into my IV, but nothing helped, and after a few moments discovered the pain block they gave me before surgery didn’t take. What the, what? The pain block didn’t work? How about someone double check that shit!
Apparently it sometimes happens and in the big scheme of things, it ended up being just fine ter afthey just called the emergency pain team, like you do, and they gave me another one. To be honest I only remember bits and pieces of the whole thing, which is probably good. I have no idea how I got my clothes back on after surgery, which I decided in my own mind it was done by the very cute nurse who made sure I had a warm blanket when I was cold and was not in the room when I puked to high heaven. I will say this, I had the mother load of pain meds trying to control the pain so I was high as a kite leaving the hospital, and I only know this because I slept through most of it, including being wheeled though the hospital, on a crowded elevator and still sleeping when my mom found me in the lobby of the valet area. Apparently the only time I came to was a brief moment of lucidity where I informed my friend Bob to turn right instead of left for a quicker route home.
Speaking of Bob, he is a major player in this who ordeal. Flying in from Florida, putting his life on hold for three weeks to come stay with me. Put up with me. Laugh with me. Save me in those moments it just seemed to damn hard. Oh we had fun though, who knew there was a television channel dedicated to old game shows, or that watching season 3 of Orange is the New Black over again who prove to be just as entertaining watching it in a oxycodone haze. Over the next several weeks I took up the fine art of coloring, had time to rediscover my love for reading, and the dogs had no idea what the hell was going on.
Which brings us to Tristan. My sweet boy. This whole thing has been hard on him for a lot of reasons, my knee scooter terrified him but just like everything else we have worked through, we go slow and figure it out together. I roll toward him on the hardwood floors, piling up pillows on the edge of the couch so I have a chance of getting up again, plop myself down and it only takes a moment before he has scooted himself down to me, kissing my face, and hands and basking in the scratching of that spot, the one just behind his ears that he loves so much. There has been a glorious parade of people in and out of the house, many familiar to Tristan but some not and he has done an amazing job of doing his best and being incredibly brave.
I thought that the surgery being over would be my biggest challenge. Once that was done my life would get back to normal. I was wrong…
Story continues next time.
A few pics from this part of the journey…