The first 24 hours:
When I came to after surgery I was really groggy. I could feel the affects of the medication in my body dampening my senses and thankfully dulling my oh so frayed emotions. The sun drifted in through the window reflecting off the foreign winter snow. It comforted me. I’ve never been more scared of a choice that I had made in my life and I was exhausted from hoping, praying, wishing that I had made the right one in having this surgery. I was breathing, I was awake, I was able to feel everything so this must have gone well, right?! I needed to call people, to tell them I was ok. I remember wanting to make sure that people had been called and those closest to me were aware that I hadn’t died in surgery, been paralyzed from the waist down, or ended up with a screw jammed into a spinal nerve! Earlier I had spoken with my husband and made him promise, the promise of a strong married couple, the kind that doesn’t waver… Dear, if you love me at all, you will NOT let me use the phone while I am high on drugs, please. No matter how much I want to call someone, please do NOT let me have the phone. No matter how much I beg or plead, you make the calls; you tell them I am ok! I don’t need stories floating around on facebook about how I sang some silly song, or said something amazingly and embarrassingly stupid, like pledging my undying love and devotion to the orderly or shift nurse. He’s a good man, put his hand on my arm as if to say, I’d never let you hurt yourself, looked into my pain-filled eyes, smiled and said, “ OK, Amy, I promise I will not let you have your cell phone no matter who you want to call. You have my word.” That was a smart move because I sure was drugged up. Oral meds, IV meds, and who knows what else, and I sure wasn’t afraid to ask for them. This was my first surgery rodeo and I had no plans of feeling pain. I was all done with that, or so I hoped, I mean really really hoped.
When I finally got around to assessing my body and how it felt I realized my breathing was really shallow, I was stiff, like I had been frozen in place, unwilling to attempt movement. Fear creped up my chest like a cold hand preparing to strangle me. What if I moved, what if it hurt, what if the surgery failed, what if the pain never left, what if a still couldn’t bare weight, what if we did all this and nothing changes!!!! The familiar tightness in my chest grabbed me, threatening to pull me under into the emotional torrent of failed treatments, false hopes and despair. My mental anguish was arrested by my husband's kind eyes, “... your awake!” How do you feel? I don’t know yet? I am afraid to find out – my voice was raspy, it didn’t sound like my own – then I remembered a tube had been down it…. He handed me water and encouraged me to drink, “Take a moment and figure it out, then let me know.”
I focused on my body and found that both butt checks were very painful-everything felt swollen and it hurt to move. I had been told the post-operative pain wouldn’t be too bad. I wondered if maybe something was wrong, because this really didn’t feel good. There was tremendous pain when I attempted to move my body and engage the muscle that had just been invaded. I wanted to stay still, to breath and just not move until the post-op pain went away. What should I say to my husband to assure him? What should I tell this man that has stood by me and cared for me and honored our vows in such a real and true way, in sickness and in health… he’s been through so much with me…. “ I hedge my bets… I need him to help me believe I can get through this…. ‘ I’m really sore and afraid to move – I don’t want to screw up the surgery”. His kind blue eyes smile at me, “ you can’t move the screws, Aim, they are in there good and tight.” I tell him my plan to stay here in bed, motionless until the post-op pain leaves.
Nature is unkind and rarely adheres to our well made plans, I soon realized I needed to use the bathroom and the idea of standing up was overwhelming. The machines and monitors with all of their colors, noises and chords made me think that even for an agile person this might be difficult. But nature called and I was NOT using a bed pan. I still had a sliver of dignity that I was desperately trying to hang on to. The only way to retain that was to get out of bed. My body groaned in protest but once I was up, I was surprised that I was able to get to and use the bedside commode. It was a strain on my system, my body called out through the medication that it had recently been cut into and would like some rest before it was challenged to perform basic tasks. On my feet I felt like a new born colt – or Bambi in the movie where he steps onto the ice, Thumper says, “ Kinda wobbly aren’t ‘ya!” I shuffled more than walked and felt as if I were attempting to stand on legs made of jello. I was encouraged that I was able to move at all, thankful nature's call had been handled and more than satisfied to spend the rest of the day in bed, sleeping. The rest of the day was washed in pain meds, nurses, blood pressure tests, meals and sleep in between all the poking, prodding and monitoring.