Tail between legs

I have had my surgery, and I am shocked to say, it was a humbling experience.

This was a (close your eyes and ears, underaged readers!) vaginal hysterectomy.

Or, in Hubby's words, "They took your squeaker out!"

When I still could not find anything funny by Saturday morning, Daughter said, "Oh Mommy - did they remove your sense of humor while they were in there?"

It turns out that modern medicine still has not solved the pain problem. And because of that, I experienced a series of events which, had I known about in advance... well...

... I might not have been quite so determined to have the operation.

Now, I can hear the shocked exclamations from here. "What! The opinionated -itch, nearly admitting to a mistake!"

Well, I still don't like any of the alternatives I had been offered to this surgery. I already take armloads of pills, so pills to reduce bleeding still don't seem like a great invention to me. And the underlying problem was anemia, anyway, so once the "bag" was filled up, making it come out slower didn't seem to be productive. IUDs were also offered, and I've never been fond of foreign objects piercing my tender bits.

So, to me, the surgery seemed the best choice. What worried me was how they were going to handle my pain.

I am very sensitive to pain. And I don't suffer quietly. In this case I wasn't making it up - my doc came by and said he wasn't a bit surprised I should have lots of pain, because the uterus was much larger than expected and, in his words, "I had to move everything around in there in order to get it out." It was also prolapsed, meaning folded in on itself, meaning just one more difficulty. The doc could easily have switched to a traditional cesearean, but stuck with the plan because of the length of the recovery time.

So far, so good. This was only the morning after. I'm happy pushing my button for my pain-killer, which sure seemed to beat waiting for somebody to get around to giving me pills. And about halfway through the second day, my pain was still so intense the decision was made to increase my dosage. I felt almost immediate relief.

But I also began to feel nausea.

Hmm, that's a toughie. I find it difficult to sleep through either symptom. In the end, I decided pain was the worse of the two evils and poked that button every time I found myself conscious.

Then came day 3. The nurses were adamant I had to get out of bed, I had to lose the cathether, I had to start walking.

No more button. Pills. Oh, joy. My throat's already scraped and I'm severely naseous. Sure, give me a bunch of foul-tasting pills to cram down my sore throat on an empty stomach.

So, of course, I brought them all back up, along with all the liquids I'd managed to keep down.

This was the worst day. I was soon suffering withdrawl symptoms: mine were sweats, chills, and headache. The nurses kept taking my temperature and assuring me nothing was wrong. Oh yeah? So why can't I keep a teaspoon of water down, then?

Hubby managed to twice change my bedding before they found out what he was up to. Yes, I had sweated right through everything, and so I was now cold. Didn't matter what the thermometer said - I was cold, because I was wet. And as soon as Hubby went home, I stayed that way. I do believe it was the longest night of my life. I couldn't cough because it upset my tummy. Couldn't sip any liquids, couldn't hold any meds down, couldn't walk because I was freezing. I woke up shivering every fifteen minutes and counted the hours till daylight.

Fortunately for me, the worst was over. By the time the nurses arrived, I was sitting up, smiling broadly, asking when the doctor would arrive to send me home. "Oh, you want to go home," they laughed. D'uh.

Hubby bought me a REAL tea, which helped me get my pills down, even though I was still experienceing violent burps. He brought me my shower gel and scrubbed my back for me, which improved the air quality in the hospital immensely.

And once, while he was off the hallway to make an inquiry, a woman whose bed was in the next room came in to talk to me. She said it sounded so good to hear me laugh this morning, because for two days all she'd heard was me crying and vomiting. And so she was very very happy for me that I'd be able to go home.

Ouch. I seriously do not suffer in silence. I began to wonder if the whole ward had heard me in my angst.

Well, the doc came and sure enough I finally escaped. Though, if you've ever tried to get into a hospital, let me tell you, getting out is much, much more difficult. I had no fewer than five conversations with different nurses asking when I'd be discharged, over the course of four hours.

But home I got, and this is where the tail truly went between the legs.

I seriously do not think I would have made it through without Hubby's presence and big, warm hands. He couldn't do much, and we both knew it, but he came, and sat by me, bored out of his gourd, I am sure, and just held me and teased me and tried to quiet me.

And even last night, at home - riding out the night in a post-op situation, one really understands just how small, how fragile we are. Like, seriously, my leg was KILLING me - and I began to consider that I might in fact already have a blood clot in the leg, which just might kill me before morning. That the world might go on completely without me being able to watch my Daughter and Stepkids and see what became of their lives. That my dog and cat would be left to mourn their mommy, and the world wouldn't take a blind bit of notice. That I had so few quilts to leave behind as a record of my existence. That I might not be there in Hubby's moment of need, when they start taking things out of him... And all because I'd been bull-headed enough to insist on the surgical option.

So now, I think I get it. Surgery is always an extreme answer. It is definintely NOT Star Trek out there and yes, the pain is unbelievable. And yes, my lazy lifestyle can kill me. In the blink of an eye.