The Bionic Mom

Well, it certainly took me long enough to get around to writing this...

I got up at 4a.m. on Monday, Jun 18, got dressed and called a cab to take me to the hospital. Brian stayed at home so that he could take Kassia to daycare later in the morning. I know it sounds terribly melodramatic, especially in hindsight, but I admit I was terrified. It was a beautiful morning and walking into the basement surgery intake area was like walking into a tomb. (Ok. Melodrama over.)

I went through the whole triage thing, after which I got to sit on a cold metal chair in my oh-so-fashionable hospital gown with unshaven legs (I wasn’t allowed to shave anything for a week before the surgery… ewww.) for about 30 minutes before they finally called me in. Thus far, I was unimpressed. Anyway, they loaded me onto a gurney and started a barrage of medical history questions – all of which I had answered about a hundred times already over the course of the preceding few weeks. I was very nervous. I remember hearing myself making the same really stupid jokes over and over with each new nurse who came over. Finally the surgeon arrived and we went through the medical history questions again. Then he wrote his initials on my right hip with a purple magic marker… so he wouldn’t forget which one to replace…! AAAAAK! He told me not to worry; that this was going to be “a breeze”. Then the anesthesiologist came over with a couple of nurses to start an IV. They tried my arm. Couldn’t find a vein. They tried my wrist. Couldn’t find a vein. They tried my arm again. Still no vein. Then the first nurse gave up and the 2nd one went for the back of my hand. Owwwwwwwwww!! “I’ve almost got it… I can feel it rolling around.” I almost puked. Finally, she gave up and got the anesthesiologist to do it. Again in the hand.

I don’t remember much after she turned on the IV. I sort of remember being wheeled toward the door, but that memory could be mixed up with the next memory I have which was waking up.

Oh. My. God. It freakin’ HURT. I was barely conscious and faces were everywhere asking me if I knew who where I was. All I could think was “Will you all please just shut up!?” but talking was really hard. I kept trying to ask if somebody would please put a pillow under my knee because lying flat was like being stretched on a rack. You’d have thought I’d asked for a direct line to the President. They spent an eternity trying to decide if this was a good idea or not. C’mon folks… you just ripped my leg out of its socket, sawed off the top, replaced it with a ceramic/silicone/titanium contraption, popped it back in and you’re wondering if a pillow is going to do me any harm??? Hello??!!!! Finally, some compassionate nurse gave me the pillow. I remember asking if Brian were there; then I remember being wheeled through the hallway and hearing somebody calling him. The lights seemed unbelievably bright. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in my room.

Brian was there holding my hand. I was cold. I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold. My teeth were chattering like a room full of typists. I know Brian was talking to me, but I kept dropping off. The surgery had been at 8am. I wasn’t really aware of the time again until around 4pm. I guess that’s when the anesthesia finally wore off – mostly. I was still shivering. Then somebody else came in to say that they were going to give me a unit of blood because my temperature and blood pressure were still too low. Brian left not too long after that. He had to go pick up Kassia at daycare. I didn’t really mind. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Somebody came in to tell me how to use the morphine button, but I guess I wasn’t paying very good attention. They said I could press the button every 10 minutes as needed… but somehow, I got it into my head that I could only press it every hour. Needless to say the next 6 hours before my wonderful night nurse came in and set me straight, were rather uncomfortable. After that though... aaahhh... mmmmmmmmmmmmorphine :-)

The IV came out around 10am the next morning because a physical therapist was coming to get me "up on my feet". I wasn't sure I still had feet. My nurse gave me a bunch of towels, some soap, a disposable toothbrush, some toothpaste and a plastic bowl of warm water so I could clean up as best as I could without disturbing the tube things that were still in my hands. I ended up drenching the bed, which, I think was the plan. That way I'd be more receptive to getting out of bed so they could change the sheets while I was up. With the help of an all-too-perky PT nurse, (who reminded me that I still indeed had feet by having me stretch them in various directions), I hauled my useless legs over the side of the bed and put my feet on the floor. Not fun. Even less fun trying to move those legs while clutching a walker, but I managed to make some dopey joke about how come my walker didn't have tennis balls in front... I've never felt so disgusting and helpless in my life. I made it halfway across the room to the chair where Miss Perky helped me sit down, said that was enough for today and disappeared. I was supposed to stay in the chair for 20 - 30 minutes. 15 minutes... they change my bedding... 35 minutes... 40 minutes... tick tick tick. My hip is really hurting now. The guy who changed the sheets left my call button thingy across the room. Ow ow owwwww! I'm getting a little freaked now. I try a tentative Hello..? Nothing. A few more minutes. Hello..??! Is anybody out there?? The Perky one pokes her head around the corner of my room and I just lost it. My leg hurts so much and I can't call the nurse... Can I just lie down? I burst into tears as she and my nurse help me into the bed. I was hysterical. Crying and apologizine. My nurse was very nice. She told me that it was just everything finally getting to me. Maybe she was right. I slept 'til Brian came in sometime that afternoon.

Bla. Bla. Bla. Another day in the hospital. The food is nasty. I learned to love oxycodone, how to use crutches and how to get on and off the toilet. Can I take a shower? No. Can I pleeease take a shower? No. Sigh. By that afternoon, I was still cold and my blood pressure was still low. My doctor decided to give me another unit of blood (good thing they left those tubes in my hands, huh?). But, he says, if everything looks ok the following morning I'll be able to go home! Can I take shower? No.

Wednesday morning. I wake up and cannot take one more moment of wearing that hospital gown, so before my breakfast comes creeping in the door, I get up, and find my pj's and lurch into the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth and get "dressed". Ah. That's a bit better. After breakfast the nurse comes in with my pain meds and is surprised to see me not looking like an old hairball. I try one more time. Can I take a shower?? Um... Let me ask the surgeon. Wait. Wait. Wait. Ok. As long as you keep the incision dry. I'm going to go find you some plastic wrap. Wooo Hoooo!!

Believe me... no shower -- not even the one I took after my daughter was born -- ever felt so good!!! By the time my surgeon comes to see me, I'm dressed and ready to sprint out of the room. Ok... "sprint" might be a bit of an exaggeration... but he tells me that I can go home, after my appointment with the physical therapist, and I was on the phone to Brian before he was out of the room.

Two hours later a beautiful little redhead pokes her head around the door... Mimi!! There you are! I looked and looked for you!

That's only the beginning of the saga. The five weeks since then have been a whole other adventure... which I might find a minute to write about... someday. I've gone from crutches to cane and hope to be free of that by next week. Stairs (especially subway stairs) are still a menace. Kassia is all too aware that I can't chase her. Grrr. But I'm getting faster every day. Boy is she going to be surprised when I can finally catch her!