Saturday, April 28, 2012
Adapting
This is it. The inspiration for this entire blog. Granted, I am about 15 days post-op. I am healing well. I have gone to the doctor at 12 days post op to get a "walking cast.". Why in quotes? Because I cannot actually walk in the cast. If you recall, no walking until August. Sigh. I try not to recall.
Now, the actual physical healing is going well. I'm able to showern now. I can sleep without the cast at night if i decide to do so. I am plugging along. I have had an outing or two, including my son's baseball games.
The rest of it? You know, the asking people to help me with EVERYTHING?? The inability to vacuum, pick up scrap paper off the ground, sweep, pick up and console the children when they fall, declutter, shower, etc?!? I'm having a rough time.
I am usually the person who does all the shopping, because I enjoy it. I do the menu planning, the daily schedule/ routine. I attend the mid-day school events because I want to and because I can. Now,I have to delegate -everything,including the trips to Target. If you are the Target shopper, like me, then you know the "list" is a very loose list of the necessities. I mean,you don't know you need the pink sparkly wedges on clearance until you SEE them.
Now, I have to put together a list of what I need,send my mom or husband, and hope they find what I need. I can only imagine all the great deals I am missing out on. Sigh.
I am proud to say I have only had 1.5 breakdowns. Both alone, because of course I don't want anyone to feel bad. I HATE inconveniencing others or asking for anything. I have these standards for how the house should run and doing things around the house that I am trying NOT to put on others. It's beyond difficult. I don't have an option. So I ask. If I send ANY hesitation, I attempt it myself,which usually just upsets and pressures the person I am asking. It's a vicious circle.
I am hoping as my pain subsides and my balance gets better, I can do more and ask for less. I am hoping my control issues don't burn bridges. I am hoping the next three months speed by.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
D-Day
Well, I survived. Mentally and physically...so far. The emotional part is still being tested daily.
I will dedicate this post to my actual hospital stay - 5.5 days. I was actually discharged just a day and a half ago.
The day of - I was anxious as we were running late, getting to the hospital at 6:20 am when we were due at 6 am. That's right, anxious about being late to a procedure I have been having nightmares about for at least two weeks. Go figure.
I do have to say, once we got in my "usual" anxiety settled in. You know the ones where you wonder if you are rolling away for the last time from you husband, if you just said your last good bye to the children, if they will be the kids that lost their mom at such a young age and were scarred for life. I knew they were in good hands with my Parents and MBH, but, still, they were not my hands.
Spoiler alert, it went fine. I rolled in and had a small dose of anathesia do get me through the goodbye and into the operating room. Then it all went black. Next thing I know,
I am waking up in recovery at 8:20 pm and the nurses calling my name. (TWELVE HOURS after I went in. Insanity.)My thoughts were with MBH - that he has been waiting that long for me. I can only imagine.
That night is so groggy, I barely remember anything. I notice I am in ICU, had a circulation air pump on my legs. The legs were strapped together, with a pillow of sorts in between. I had a catheter in (lucky me), and IV's started in both hands. No pain. And lo and behold, I had a PCA (layman's terms: I controlled the pain medication with the touch of a button). I had heard about this magical invention, but never seen or used it. The nurse was AMAZING. I think the nurse can make or break the first day for you. She was gentle, tried not to wake me, asked me if I wanted water regularly, let me grip my cell phone, and used a flashlight to check my vitals...a flashlight?! {Insert appreciative sigh here}.
MBH had all intentions to stay the night, but then we were told that he could not stay in the ICU room. He could stay in the waiting room down the hall, but that defeated the purpose. I urged him to go home, get some sleep, and come the next day after he was refreshed. He wasn't thrilled and had the "angry white man lips" going.[You guys know what I am talking about, right? Where angry, usually Caucasian men, purse their lips so tight, they all but disappear into a line.] Not happy.
The next few days passed with progress: removal of some of the IV's, removal of the catheter, I opted to use my PCA and pain pills as needed, and did not go crazy with power, and then I started physical therapy my second day. The nurses ALL warned me to take both pain pills and a quick "bump" off my PCA before starting my first session. Thank god I did. It was bearable even with those precautions. I made it...started to use a walker, a commode (fancy word for higher toilet seat) so I didn't have to pee in a bed pan. Though MBH wanted to stay with me every night, it just wasn't feasible with two little kids who were already having difficulty without mom around. The next best thing: my mom. She stayed every night and did everything and more my nurse would do. Dealt with my whining, bitching, complaining, while giving me sponge baths, changing my sheets and clothes daily, watching trash TV with me, getting us real coffee from down stairs, acted as the buffer between myself and my father (whose coping skills are only rivaled by those of a newborn baby with mood disorder), and never complained once.
We made it home in one piece. I had brought back a ten pound splint on my leg, a walker, wheelchair, commode, a bandage on my hip, and the faith that the next four months would "not be that bad."*
*I'll get into the trials, tribulations,and frustrations in the next posts. I wanted to end on a happy note.
I will dedicate this post to my actual hospital stay - 5.5 days. I was actually discharged just a day and a half ago.
The day of - I was anxious as we were running late, getting to the hospital at 6:20 am when we were due at 6 am. That's right, anxious about being late to a procedure I have been having nightmares about for at least two weeks. Go figure.
I do have to say, once we got in my "usual" anxiety settled in. You know the ones where you wonder if you are rolling away for the last time from you husband, if you just said your last good bye to the children, if they will be the kids that lost their mom at such a young age and were scarred for life. I knew they were in good hands with my Parents and MBH, but, still, they were not my hands.
Spoiler alert, it went fine. I rolled in and had a small dose of anathesia do get me through the goodbye and into the operating room. Then it all went black. Next thing I know,
I am waking up in recovery at 8:20 pm and the nurses calling my name. (TWELVE HOURS after I went in. Insanity.)My thoughts were with MBH - that he has been waiting that long for me. I can only imagine.
That night is so groggy, I barely remember anything. I notice I am in ICU, had a circulation air pump on my legs. The legs were strapped together, with a pillow of sorts in between. I had a catheter in (lucky me), and IV's started in both hands. No pain. And lo and behold, I had a PCA (layman's terms: I controlled the pain medication with the touch of a button). I had heard about this magical invention, but never seen or used it. The nurse was AMAZING. I think the nurse can make or break the first day for you. She was gentle, tried not to wake me, asked me if I wanted water regularly, let me grip my cell phone, and used a flashlight to check my vitals...a flashlight?! {Insert appreciative sigh here}.
MBH had all intentions to stay the night, but then we were told that he could not stay in the ICU room. He could stay in the waiting room down the hall, but that defeated the purpose. I urged him to go home, get some sleep, and come the next day after he was refreshed. He wasn't thrilled and had the "angry white man lips" going.[You guys know what I am talking about, right? Where angry, usually Caucasian men, purse their lips so tight, they all but disappear into a line.] Not happy.
The next few days passed with progress: removal of some of the IV's, removal of the catheter, I opted to use my PCA and pain pills as needed, and did not go crazy with power, and then I started physical therapy my second day. The nurses ALL warned me to take both pain pills and a quick "bump" off my PCA before starting my first session. Thank god I did. It was bearable even with those precautions. I made it...started to use a walker, a commode (fancy word for higher toilet seat) so I didn't have to pee in a bed pan. Though MBH wanted to stay with me every night, it just wasn't feasible with two little kids who were already having difficulty without mom around. The next best thing: my mom. She stayed every night and did everything and more my nurse would do. Dealt with my whining, bitching, complaining, while giving me sponge baths, changing my sheets and clothes daily, watching trash TV with me, getting us real coffee from down stairs, acted as the buffer between myself and my father (whose coping skills are only rivaled by those of a newborn baby with mood disorder), and never complained once.
We made it home in one piece. I had brought back a ten pound splint on my leg, a walker, wheelchair, commode, a bandage on my hip, and the faith that the next four months would "not be that bad."*
*I'll get into the trials, tribulations,and frustrations in the next posts. I wanted to end on a happy note.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Less than 24 hours...
Twelve hours to be exact...until I have to get up, get ready, prep, and silently take a 35 minute car ride to the hospital. I have been counting down, in hours, since I got up this morning. I have nothing else to focus on at this point. My recovery room (downstairs)? Decorated. My meetings at work? Done. My files for work? All turned in. The house? All cleaned (Thank you to L!). What else is there left to do? Perseverate.
It wasn't this bad until yesterday, after my pre-op at the hospital. I have successfully been able to minimize this surgery to everyone, including myself. I think I just felt like I couldn't let on how BIG this was to my kids, my husband, my parents, friends...myself. When the nurse said I would wake up in ICU after the surgery, I was in shock. "ICU?!" In my mind I associated ICU with sick and dying people who are on the edge. Not (mostly) healthy 34 year old's undergoing surgery for her hip. I mean, really people, MY HIP.
I vaguely heard her say that it was ICU because of the graft. The nurses need to be "on top of" the graft, as it is very sensitive. The room has to be a certain temperature, as does my body, and they have to check consistently how the graft is taking.
I got back in the car with MBH, who had of course driven with me there, and started to cry...and stare out the window. I am sure I was great company for the 40 minute drive back to work. He didn't know how to help me. He even asked and I stated "There's nothing you can do. I just have to get over it."
The last day has been ups and downs. One minute I am fine. The next, someone says "good luck" or "how are you handling it" and I start tearing up. I have a lump in my throat. I utter "fine" in a broken whisper. Sigh.
Today I realize I can't say good bye to the kids. I am making MBH take them to my mom's tonight. I will say bye here, at home, so I don't make it harder on everyone else by crying in front of them. Sadly, I am still trying to protect THEM from being sad or worried. I will probably be in the fetal position by the time MBH returns from dropping them off. Or maybe I will have mastered the art of meditation in the short amount of time and be just fine. I can't drink any alcohol as of this morning, so I won't be able to cope in my preferred manner: a glass or two of wine.
My fear is just the one: anesthesia. That is synonymous with being out of control for 7-10 hours. Just not knowing what's happening to me during that lost time. The possibility of dying while I am under or some other crazy emergency. What if they have to stop for some reason and I have to go through the process all over again? I am slightly nervous about the pain, but shockingly not as much. Bizarre, I know.
I am hoping my next post is filled with how wonderful it all went and how calm I was during the process, as well as how it was so much better than I feared. The anxiety is normal, I know, but validation does not alleviate ANY of it.
Wish me luck.
It wasn't this bad until yesterday, after my pre-op at the hospital. I have successfully been able to minimize this surgery to everyone, including myself. I think I just felt like I couldn't let on how BIG this was to my kids, my husband, my parents, friends...myself. When the nurse said I would wake up in ICU after the surgery, I was in shock. "ICU?!" In my mind I associated ICU with sick and dying people who are on the edge. Not (mostly) healthy 34 year old's undergoing surgery for her hip. I mean, really people, MY HIP.
I vaguely heard her say that it was ICU because of the graft. The nurses need to be "on top of" the graft, as it is very sensitive. The room has to be a certain temperature, as does my body, and they have to check consistently how the graft is taking.
I got back in the car with MBH, who had of course driven with me there, and started to cry...and stare out the window. I am sure I was great company for the 40 minute drive back to work. He didn't know how to help me. He even asked and I stated "There's nothing you can do. I just have to get over it."
The last day has been ups and downs. One minute I am fine. The next, someone says "good luck" or "how are you handling it" and I start tearing up. I have a lump in my throat. I utter "fine" in a broken whisper. Sigh.
Today I realize I can't say good bye to the kids. I am making MBH take them to my mom's tonight. I will say bye here, at home, so I don't make it harder on everyone else by crying in front of them. Sadly, I am still trying to protect THEM from being sad or worried. I will probably be in the fetal position by the time MBH returns from dropping them off. Or maybe I will have mastered the art of meditation in the short amount of time and be just fine. I can't drink any alcohol as of this morning, so I won't be able to cope in my preferred manner: a glass or two of wine.
My fear is just the one: anesthesia. That is synonymous with being out of control for 7-10 hours. Just not knowing what's happening to me during that lost time. The possibility of dying while I am under or some other crazy emergency. What if they have to stop for some reason and I have to go through the process all over again? I am slightly nervous about the pain, but shockingly not as much. Bizarre, I know.
I am hoping my next post is filled with how wonderful it all went and how calm I was during the process, as well as how it was so much better than I feared. The anxiety is normal, I know, but validation does not alleviate ANY of it.
Wish me luck.
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