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.