Diary of a Surgery: Day of the Knife

3:30 comes early:

The alarm clock sounded early and proud while I woke nervous and alone. Jen, next to me, but still asleep. Alarm clocks havn’t been used since retiring, so it came with some shock being startled awake by an Irish Sea Shanty. I had to take the second anti-bacterial shower inside of six hours. This followed by using some magic germ and bacteria killing wipe in the affected area. Dress in freshly laundered clothes after sleeping on a freshly laundered set of sheets. Trying to slow myself down so I wouldn’t be sitting twiddling my thumbs and thinking about the upcoming event in just a few hours. Dressed, bag and walker in the car, off to the hospital. I wanted to drive as I thought it would be a distraction and after getting there, I was thankful I had. Not sure two words were shared between us but could be due to Jen being asleep and I wasn’t sure what to say to myself that would be meaningful. Besides, I probably would have tried to talk myself out of doing the surgery. Twenty minutes to go, before having no control of the day’s primary act.

We arrived to a very nice man with smiles and “you got this” comments. The hospital is a very nice and quant facility. We were swept away to fill out one last piece of paper that ended up being consents for them to use me as a training session with numerous witnesses and have pictures taken. Thought at first to say no due to the imagination of photos released on the internet, but then thought it doesn’t matter? I’d be under anesthesia and there was about a 99% chance I’d never see any of them again. Besides, I got my no out me by answering no the question asking for participate in a blood glucose study. Probably would have said yes until they told me I would get stuck hourly to check my blood sugar. I don’t mind needles, but on the other hand, I don’t welcome them with open arms either. It seemed to be all I needed in saying no to something, ok point me in the direction of getting the surgery. I was summoned and swept off with goodbyes and kisses from Jen. Next stop, the pre-op prep room. I got ushered into my cubicle, the other three surgery buddies behind me. Ah but first a quick stop at the scales to confirm I was fat, yet again! I guess there was a need to confirm that it was indeed fact. Yep, nothing has changed and finally into the room, pulling the curtains behind me. Instructed to remove all my clothes, put in the bag provided, put on the gown with opening to the back and leave it untied, lay on the bed. I accomplished this in about 15 seconds and was laying on the bed waiting for my vitals check to confirm I was alive, breathing and I have a heartbeat. I forgot the IV, how could I forget that as it ended up being the most annoying of things during my stay. I laid there for another ten minutes listening to the woman in the cubicle next to me being confused by the apparently difficult commands she was given, chiefly arguing about being nude under her gown. It was finally handled in a very simplistic way, but then again everything up to this point was simplistic enough, when the surgery coordinator gave the ultimatum of nude under the gown or go home and reschedule. We didn’t hear anything from her again, but I did hear some other guys laugh under his breath. All of a sudden Jen was there to share my little story and we both got a good little shake of our heads in disbelief of how difficult things can be for some people. It’s always better to share a laugh than laugh to yourself like some street guy on a corner having an animated conversation with a tree and the guardian angel almost assured next to him. A couple of nervous comments and Jen was excused as I hurried away to my operating room.

Being wheeled through several turns and straights and numerous people mingling around like its morning coffee break around the water cooler. All seemed pleasant and had smiles and I’m sure I had the look of horror on my face being wheeled to my final destination. One last right turn and we arrive at my repair facility for a three hour rebuild of my lower back. I was wide awake and looking at the strangest contraption that turns out was to be my operating table. My last thoughts were studying this strange table and wondering how they were ever going to get my big butt on it. That was my last thought. Someone sucker punched me into la-la land with an IV concoction. Next thing I knew, I was fighting through some dude telling me to relax and that everything went great. My fog was more than I remembered from previous surgeries. This fog continued as I arrived at my room for the night and Jen and my sister, Sandra, were there to assure me I wasn’t waking up in some place I wasn’t ready to make the journey too. There were no dreams to remember, no visions of family members from my past, just lights out and back on. I made it! I survived and I’m alive but him sorry for being a grouch in my confusion. It’s nothing personal.

No one had been saying anything about the three-hundred-pound gorilla in the room for the last four months, but you could see it in faces and sense it in body language. Maybe it’s just natural as people start getting older and have to go through a major surgery like this. Whether they would admit it, I felt it, but I was having the same thoughts myself. Guess I’m stronger than we all thought and, other than me, no one was really aware that the only number than doesn’t sit in the normal range of results is my build. I observe people that have physically reacting allergies, drugs to correct their bad lab results, etc. I guess its ok though, I could certainly do something about mine naturally and the notion that if I don’t, I’m going to go for round three of back surgery. If it wasn’t incentive, nothing would be. I need to feel better, but again on my own. I don’t need everyone giving me their two cents of wisdom in adjusting my lifestyle. Not that I don’t appreciate they love me and want to make sure I’m here for them, it’s just my opinion that if you don’t do something for yourself your way, it just won’t be sustainable.

Recovery:

The next couple of days were dependent on a few milestones being achieved that would allow me to be discharged. I need to walk 120 steps on my own and be able to do a few stand-in-place tasks to make sure I have good nerve conduction. Urinate and the biggie while taking pain meds, have a bowel movement. I was urinating so much that one of the doctors believed I might have a prostrate problem and wasn’t emptying my bladder. After a couple bladder scans, his theory was dispelled, and I could go on urinating with freedom of the gloom of prostate cancer. The staff is generally satisfied with passing gas as it shows the system is working, but the stimulation isn’t there for most. If they would have sent me to the garage, I would have accomplished it in one day, but as one nurse said, “it’s always easier to go on your own throne”.  However, it was the last one that ended up increasing my hospital stay by two nights. The surgery drain needed to be below 40ml in an eight-hour period. The first day wasn’t even close with the first two periods being above 250ml. After a good night’s sleep and laying on ice packs, it dropped to 150ml. Sunday was not the day I was going home, but I was still hopeful for Monday. Monday’s three 8hr periods resulted in a continued drop, going from 100ml to 50 ml. Monday night, 10PM, was the start of the last 8hr period needed. With change out of the ice every two hours and me laying still for longer stretches, we finally got to 30ml.

So excited, I just had to text someone, and Jen and Dad were the most obvious choices. Dad awake and Jen still in dreamland, but both seemed to respond quickly and with equally excited messages. PT, doctor visit, PT again, breakfast, drain removal, and then wait, and wait, and wait. Why on earth does it take five hours to discharge someone? I want out before someone can find some excuse to get a little more money out of me or my insurance. Jen arrived after dropping Lucy off for a haircut and she sat and waited with me. Not many words shared as I sensed a small amount of dread in Jen. I get it, how needy was I going to be, and would she have any time for herself? This is something important to both of us at this stage of our life, both willing to put in the work for each other, but also very satisfied with our daily freedoms. I need to make sure that I don’t become a burden and besides, if I want to get back to my own independent life, I needed to challenge myself to do things for myself and only leave those tasks that are just too impossible to do myself.

The next day:

A fairly easy night. Had to figure out how to get in the bed due to its height, and we figured out where things needed to be to make it easier. Fell asleep pretty quick, after I got my body temp under control and my breathing issues that came with it resolved, I was in dream world. Midnight and I startled awake from a dream. Jen and I laying on our bed that was outside for some reason when the weight sensing adjustment kicked off on the bed and next a cougar was jumping in the air to pounce on me. I ducked right and woke up. I didn’t just dream the duck to the right, I actually did it. I woke Jen up to tell her I had to get up, but really to share the dream and the fact that I moved in my sleep.  We got a quick laugh from it and I apologized for waking her. The next morning, I woke to being out of position again. We decided that I might need some rolled-up towel guards tucked next to me to prevent my vivid imagination from causing bed misalignment. Made coffee and breakfast on my own and was resting in my chair when Jen got up. Okay, I can be fairly self-sufficient but also need to keep myself in check and make gradual gains daily. Erica is coming tomorrow, and we don’t want her trip to be wasted or the feeling of it. Maybe she can help Jen with some groceries and to figure out easier ways to do things. I have no chores for her, but maybe she can help Jen do shopping since it has only been two months since her own back surgery. I can’t forget we are really going through recovery together. I feel good and am realizing this is going to be better than I worried about. It is going to be a good year, one step at a time.