Sneaky, sneaky–but at least I didn’t have to use a bedpan! *shudder*
By the following morning I’d gotten better at being able to unhook and rehook myself (though the compression things were tough since I couldn’t bend real well). Good thing, because just as I’d get comfortable and start to fall asleep, I’d have to get up again. It wasn’t what you’d call a restful night.
On the up side, had I not been in the hospital overnight, therefore not being on an IV or being checked on by nurses, I might have ended up back in the hospital before too long. Apparently it’s very easy to get pneumonia while recuperating from surgery (something about the anesthesia and lying prone for so long, etc.) and during the course of the night I spiked a fever and they MADE me get up and walk around the halls to try and keep fluid from settling in my lungs (as well as work out the irritation to my diaphragm). Plus there was this breathing thing I had to do–sorta like a game where you had to make the ball stay in this one area while you inhale and exhale. I hated doing it (because it hurt to breathe deeply) but I kept trying. It took most of a week before I could sustain it (and the rattle to go away when I breathed). Now I know what they meant by “death rattle” in all those period books!
Turns out that once he knew I’d woken up and been moved to a recovery cube, he’d gone to drop off my prescriptions to be filled so we could pick them up on the way home. This made perfect sense, I just wish he’d told someone. Or had his cell phone on. Or, you know, left the bag with my glasses in it with me. But what can you do?
So, yes, they wheeled me (who still wasn’t supposed to be talking but, yay drugs!) down the hall to the nurse’s station so I could whisper to Mom that I was fine.
One other thing I wanted to mention about this incident before we move on to another vignette, drugs make you think horrible ideas are awesome. Seriously. Case in point:
Because my throat was going to be a bit sore for a week or so, I was on a soft (and cold) food diet. Bring on the puddings, applesauces, popsicles and juices. Everything had to be liquid. And what wasn’t (like the Vioxx and Darvocet and whatever else that didn’t come in a liquid form) had to be smashed up and mixed into one of the above items (I still have trouble drinking white grape juice thanks to having to dose it with Vioxx every 4 hours). But even as early as the trip home I decided that I couldn’t stand the thought of sweets for a week (yeah, I heard myself) but that I knew what I COULD eat that would solve that: baby food.
See, this sounded like SUCH a good idea when I was still processing all those meds in my system. So my husband went and got me a variety of baby foods and that first night I was absolutely convinced that I was a freaking genius. (Well, more so than usual.)Â Then the morphine wore off. Suddenly I could actually TASTE again and, well, that was enough of that. Don’t get me wrong, the sweet potatoes and some of the other veggies were okay but those meat-ish mushes were, just, no. Luckily, a friend of ours had a child just getting into jarred food and we gave her the unopened containers. But really, never trust as idea hatched within 24 hours of surgery.
The thing about general anesthesia is that it doesn’t feel like you just took a nap, it feels like you just lost 2 hours of your life! But, you know, despite the fact that I’d just lost those 2 hours or so and had various areas in my throat altered (they removed my tonsils, adenoids, uvula–the hangy thing in the back of the throat–and part of my soft palate) I didn’t think to ask where was I (in post-op) or how everything went (just fine and dandy), no, I wanted my book (Why Girls Are Weird, by Pamela Ribon of pamie.com) because I quickly surmised that this dim room with the mist blowing on me was absolutely not interesting or entertaining so I would need to keep myself occupied for however long it took.
And the drugs I was on? Didn’t feel a thing. At least not any time soon.