It is now two full weeks since I went into the hospital to have a hernia repaired. Talks with my doctor, my mother (who is the reason I had to have this done, since she's the "source" of the hernia gene), and several others who had this done had me prepared for a quick and easy recovery.....
I have never been so wrong in my entire life.
When we bumped into friends yesterday and Bill was relating the story of the surgery day, I found myself listening in like a new observer, as I was too far out of things to fully express what I was feeling from behind the medication barrier short of there was pain. Lots and LOTS of pain!
I remember being given the first injection of medication that would put me under at around 7:30 in the morning. I remember them rolling me, bed and all, through the hallways, and only vaguely recall taking out my dentures to put into a container with some water until I was awake enough to put them back in, preventing any breathing issues while on oxygen.....
And I remember opening my eyes to pain.
Bill remembers being brought into the recovery space, where I greeted him cheerfully enough, but where my eyes were way out of focus and I kept drifting in and out of the edges of sleep. He was told they had given me some pretty strong pain meds, but since I have a bad reaction to morphine, they were concerned about whether or not I was painless enough to start getting dressed. An attempt at that dressing thing proved that no, I was NOT painless enough, so they gave me some more medication and waited a bit to try again.
This "test and give her more meds" thing went on for a couple of hours before he was able to help me sit up and finally pull my clothes back on. After helping get me into a wheelchair, he went to pull the truck over to the emergency room door while the nurse brought me down to meet him, concerned when I was still flinching despite having enough pain meds on board to put a bull elephant to sleep.
Long story short, they managed to get me into the truck for the trip home. Once there, Bill managed to walk me up the stairs and all the way to the bedroom, pausing only long enough to allow me to use the restroom, as his next task was to go and get the prescriptions filled so that I would be as painless as possible over the next two weeks.....
And neither one of us has come up with the how or why I managed to get myself out of the bed and partway down the stairs a few hours later, so drugged out that I didn't even realize what I was doing until Bill had me by the shoulders, asking me repeatedly what I was doing, and getting nothing for his efforts but a blank look, as if I was questioning why he was being so rude to me in my dream.....
This photo, taken of the surgery area just a few minutes ago, may or may not explain why there was so much pain and so much confusion that first couple of days, when my loving husband thought several times that he might have to load me back into the truck and return me to the hospital until the pain level was more controllable:
My mother, in a conversation with me on Saturday, stated that she had 4 very small scars from her hernia surgery that she can't even find now. My siblings have all stated the same. This battlefield of a stomach, with the lowest opening to the lower right of the screen and the opening in the center of the belly button being reopened scars from an ovarian cyst surgery I had in 1993, isn't quite what I thought I'd be looking at two weeks out. I'm still trying to figure out why there are 8 places that they opened me up, and, having joked with people all winter about finally getting my stomach back into bikini shape, I'm very disturbed by what this will most likely look like even after all the scars have healed....
Needless to say, I'm already discussing a cover-up tattoo before I consider showing this mess off to anyone in a bikini next summer (as I've already resigned myself to using the one piece I bought last year for this summer's swimming activities). My lovely daughter, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, suggested that the naval could be a bat cave and each small scar could have a bat to cover the scar tissue. My husband, teasing about the "Crazy Cat Lady" tattoos I have on my shoulder blades (a tiger on the left, an ocelot on the right) suggested something like a lion, with the nose at the naval, the mought at the scar just below the naval, and a big mane to encoumpass the other scars.
For any who haven't figured it out yet from prior posts, I'm a HUGE fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, and after thinking about it myself for a day or two, I'm thinking that Smaug would be an interesting cover-up characther, with his head and shoulders closer to the observer over the three larger marks up the left side of my stomach and his body and tail curling around to cover the other scars, perhaps even with the Arkenstone at the tip of Smaug's tail/covering the large scar at the top of my naval.....
Of course, if any of you, my Constant Readers, have suggestions that might work, I'm willing to hear them/see your design, if you can draw, before I sit down in my tattoo artist's chair to begin the inking process.....
I've already spoken to Jen in a Facebook message and have arranged to go see her some time this summer after some of the disasterous colors have faded from the "canvas" so that she can have an idea of the size and shape that her design has to be. Hit me with a message here, or drop me a line at debi.emmons.author@gmail.com, or come find me on Facebook if you have some design thoughts for me.
I have every intention of turning this time of pain and frustration into a beautiful piece of art work to share with the world next year and for years to come.
As to today: I have an appointment with my little dog and my car, as I promised Pookah that, as soon as I felt better enough to pull it off, he and I were going to do a "bug out day": going down to our friend's camp to confirm ice out on Little Sebago, taking the camera out to get some shots of some big red barns in the area for the Northern Bard Publications art director to use for the new cover for thier version of Night of the Tiger, getting some scented candles and insense to get rid of the nasty hospital/sick bed odors that it's not quite warm enough to chase out by opening all the windows and letting the spring breezes roar through the house, etc......
Thnak you for continuing to read my blog. I solemnly vow to be a LOT more careful about what I allow the doctors to talk me into "fixing" in future so that I don't end up losing another two weeks to pain (brain) killers.
I have never been so wrong in my entire life.
When we bumped into friends yesterday and Bill was relating the story of the surgery day, I found myself listening in like a new observer, as I was too far out of things to fully express what I was feeling from behind the medication barrier short of there was pain. Lots and LOTS of pain!
I remember being given the first injection of medication that would put me under at around 7:30 in the morning. I remember them rolling me, bed and all, through the hallways, and only vaguely recall taking out my dentures to put into a container with some water until I was awake enough to put them back in, preventing any breathing issues while on oxygen.....
And I remember opening my eyes to pain.
Bill remembers being brought into the recovery space, where I greeted him cheerfully enough, but where my eyes were way out of focus and I kept drifting in and out of the edges of sleep. He was told they had given me some pretty strong pain meds, but since I have a bad reaction to morphine, they were concerned about whether or not I was painless enough to start getting dressed. An attempt at that dressing thing proved that no, I was NOT painless enough, so they gave me some more medication and waited a bit to try again.
This "test and give her more meds" thing went on for a couple of hours before he was able to help me sit up and finally pull my clothes back on. After helping get me into a wheelchair, he went to pull the truck over to the emergency room door while the nurse brought me down to meet him, concerned when I was still flinching despite having enough pain meds on board to put a bull elephant to sleep.
Long story short, they managed to get me into the truck for the trip home. Once there, Bill managed to walk me up the stairs and all the way to the bedroom, pausing only long enough to allow me to use the restroom, as his next task was to go and get the prescriptions filled so that I would be as painless as possible over the next two weeks.....
And neither one of us has come up with the how or why I managed to get myself out of the bed and partway down the stairs a few hours later, so drugged out that I didn't even realize what I was doing until Bill had me by the shoulders, asking me repeatedly what I was doing, and getting nothing for his efforts but a blank look, as if I was questioning why he was being so rude to me in my dream.....
This photo, taken of the surgery area just a few minutes ago, may or may not explain why there was so much pain and so much confusion that first couple of days, when my loving husband thought several times that he might have to load me back into the truck and return me to the hospital until the pain level was more controllable:
My mother, in a conversation with me on Saturday, stated that she had 4 very small scars from her hernia surgery that she can't even find now. My siblings have all stated the same. This battlefield of a stomach, with the lowest opening to the lower right of the screen and the opening in the center of the belly button being reopened scars from an ovarian cyst surgery I had in 1993, isn't quite what I thought I'd be looking at two weeks out. I'm still trying to figure out why there are 8 places that they opened me up, and, having joked with people all winter about finally getting my stomach back into bikini shape, I'm very disturbed by what this will most likely look like even after all the scars have healed....
Needless to say, I'm already discussing a cover-up tattoo before I consider showing this mess off to anyone in a bikini next summer (as I've already resigned myself to using the one piece I bought last year for this summer's swimming activities). My lovely daughter, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, suggested that the naval could be a bat cave and each small scar could have a bat to cover the scar tissue. My husband, teasing about the "Crazy Cat Lady" tattoos I have on my shoulder blades (a tiger on the left, an ocelot on the right) suggested something like a lion, with the nose at the naval, the mought at the scar just below the naval, and a big mane to encoumpass the other scars.
For any who haven't figured it out yet from prior posts, I'm a HUGE fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, and after thinking about it myself for a day or two, I'm thinking that Smaug would be an interesting cover-up characther, with his head and shoulders closer to the observer over the three larger marks up the left side of my stomach and his body and tail curling around to cover the other scars, perhaps even with the Arkenstone at the tip of Smaug's tail/covering the large scar at the top of my naval.....
Of course, if any of you, my Constant Readers, have suggestions that might work, I'm willing to hear them/see your design, if you can draw, before I sit down in my tattoo artist's chair to begin the inking process.....
I've already spoken to Jen in a Facebook message and have arranged to go see her some time this summer after some of the disasterous colors have faded from the "canvas" so that she can have an idea of the size and shape that her design has to be. Hit me with a message here, or drop me a line at debi.emmons.author@gmail.com, or come find me on Facebook if you have some design thoughts for me.
I have every intention of turning this time of pain and frustration into a beautiful piece of art work to share with the world next year and for years to come.
As to today: I have an appointment with my little dog and my car, as I promised Pookah that, as soon as I felt better enough to pull it off, he and I were going to do a "bug out day": going down to our friend's camp to confirm ice out on Little Sebago, taking the camera out to get some shots of some big red barns in the area for the Northern Bard Publications art director to use for the new cover for thier version of Night of the Tiger, getting some scented candles and insense to get rid of the nasty hospital/sick bed odors that it's not quite warm enough to chase out by opening all the windows and letting the spring breezes roar through the house, etc......
Thnak you for continuing to read my blog. I solemnly vow to be a LOT more careful about what I allow the doctors to talk me into "fixing" in future so that I don't end up losing another two weeks to pain (brain) killers.
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