It’s been just about 48 hours since I got out of the operating room and it already seems like a distant memory. Actually, it seems more like a story I overheard; my last memory before going in is being given something in my IV that would relax me, and my next memory is of the nurse waking me in recovery. I remember 
absolutely NOTHING about the surgery. I’m not complaining, but they had been so reassuring that I would be conscious the whole time that I’m surprised I didn’t feel even a little bit like I was.
This surgery is, for the most part, much easier than the C-sections were, but not nearly as exciting. There’s really nothing to distract me from the pain, and that’s not cool, but there’s also nothing keeping me from getting the rest I need.
And I am definitely getting lots of rest. Seems like every time I wake up, there’s some new treat for me, too. The kids and my mother-in-law brought a beautiful vase of lilies, Lori sent a care package of yummy Philosophy scented lotions and shampoos and lip gloss, Kathy and Mom sent a gorgeous arrangement of cheery flowers, Dawn delivered a huge pan of her to-die-for macaroni and cheese, and Darlene brought the beloved and coveted cottage cheese loaf. That’s not all! Dawn invited Katie over yesterday, where she spent the night—and is still there, in fact—and tonight Jack is having a sleepover at his friend Alec’s. The dogs and cat curl up against me whenever I lay down. Every few hours I turn on the computer and read new e-mails from friends and family. All of these things make me feel loved and cared for and right now I can really use the smiles.
Victor’s been amazing. I’m being fed and watered as often as needed. I get my medications on schedule. I just took my first post-surgery shower, and when I walked out of the bathroom I saw he had put fresh, cozy sheets on the bed. The only thing he’s doing wrong is making me laugh too much. Ouch.
I guess that’s the suckiest part of all of this; the pain has been pretty bad. I can take the Vicodin every four hours but if it were up to me I’d take it every three. That last hour is a real bitch. Until today, I’ve had no nausea but this morning was touch-and-go for a long time. I’m still not feeling totally confident I’ll keep down my lunch. The dizziness comes and goes, so I sit and wait a LOT.
After my C-sections I was given a binding to wear that was supposed to be supportive and help me heal. Every time I’d lie down it’d work its way up around my waist and after a few days of fighting with it I finally ripped it off and threw it away. The surgeon didn’t give me any kind of a binding after this procedure, and if he recommended something specific, I slept through his instructions. Yesterday my pain was severe; whenever I tried to stand, sit, roll over, shake, or fetch it was a definite 10 on the pain scale. Last night just before I went to bed, and in anticipation of another restless night, I thought I’d put on a pair of those Spanx things the celebrities rave about. Magic! Gravity be damned, these things were exactly what the doctor did not order but should have. I slept well throughout the night and am feeling much more mobile today.
The real beauty of today was being able to shower. They said I had to wait for two days and I was beginning to smell like feet a lot farther from my feet than I should. You’re welcome, neighbors. Please stop the anonymous notes.
It appears that Vic handled blogging duties well while I was unable. Maybe I’ll ask him to do that more often. He learned at least one very important thing: you can’t mention cottage cheese loaf without explaining what cottage cheese loaf is and why anyone on earth would want to eat cottage cheese loaf.
More later. ‘Sgood to be back.
a few years ago but hasn’t been notarized. That whole “being of sound mind and body” thing has me stumped; would any attorney, physician, or notary believe that I am of sound mind? Because it’s when I try the hardest to seem normal that I seem to be of the least sound mind. Or… whatever.
easily, and wake up pain-free and with bigger boobs. Oh, and the tumor would be nothing but a mass of scar tissue or something else harmless, as the surgeon expects.
