The Surgery

The day was warm and bright. Spring in Oklahoma. Of course, I wasn't blessed with a morning surgery so I woke up hungry and thirsty. Made worse by the fact that I couldn't have anything to eat or drink.

I had carefully planned how to adjust my weightwatcher points (I like to defy the odds and did not gain or lose any weight during the recovery phase of my first surgery--typical gain is 30 lbs) so I could watch my intake after surgery. I did not want to destroy what I had worked so hard for in the past three years.

I dreamed of what I would have to eat after surgery....and dreamed of what I couldn't have prior to! Anyway, I had some time to kill....I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and put on my "surgery" clothes. Post surgery I would come out with bandages and a brace the size of Texas. And I had lost a lot of weight and didn't have any "big" clothes anymore. I needed clothes that would allow enough room in the leg to accommodate this brace. I had picked out a cute "jammy" outfit with Tweety Bird on the front. I had borrowed crutches, I had on clean underwear (I am vain, I bought new underwear too), clean socks (who wants to show the doctor anything but brand new underwear and clean socks?), and I shaved my legs.

Finally it was time to go. We stopped by and picked up my CPM machine. This marvelous invention bends your leg for you over and over. I will be spending many hours per day in this blessed piece of machinery.

JB and I reached the surgery center, checked in and promptly discovered that the crutches I borrowed were not the same height. Great. So he would take care of that. He announced he was hungry. That, translated into "Can I leave you here and go get something to eat?" I answered back, "Join the club", which, translated into, "Heck no you can't leave and go eat when I cannot!" Nice try though.

Apparently things were delayed. That helps with anxiety....if one wishes to increase it. Finally, I get called back. You know, I recognized the nurse as the same one who had taken me back to be prepped for the second surgery (bone spur removal from the kneecap). It's really rather sad when a nurse who sees hundreds upon hundreds of patients and she still recognizes you. She greeted me with something that let me know she remembered me, ..."So, you are back again huh?"

I got the standard questions, she handed me a couple of pills, gave me two drops of water to swallow them with and then promptly followed that with, "have you had anything to eat or drink since Midnight last night?" DO YOU HAVE AMNESIA? YOU JUST GAVE ME WATER!!!! I wanted to say that but I didn't. What I did say was, "Other than what you just gave me? No, I have not had anything to eat or drink."

Prepping for surgery is something else. I'm scared of needles, I'm fascinated by what certain drugs do to the body, I'm anxious, I'm scared I will die on the table, all sorts of things to think about. First and foremost is that IV...you see, as scared as I am of needles, the IV is the ticket to peace. If I can get that, everything else comes through there. No more needle sticks. And who cares about them slicing flesh open? I won't be awake for that.

I always question the nurse with the needles. ALWAYS. Of course, I expect lies at this point. I don't believe that any nurse who needs to get a needle into someone who is afraid of them, will say that she is bad at it. I'm not stupid enough to think that I'll get the truth but the reassurance of being very good at it helps.

I get the IV in, JB comes back. Then he's asked to leave again so they can administer the "Milk of Amnesia" drug so that they can deaden the nerve in my leg. This is interesting. For many reasons. Here are a few:
1. Deadening the nerve in the leg allows for less trauma to the body during surgery. Therefore, less pain and faster recovery.
2. It is quite entertaining to experience the "dead" feeling in one's leg and "fight" the drug as it takes effect. (I have always lost this battle)
3. The drug, Verced, aka Milk of Amnesia, twilight drug) is absolutely interesting because it allows you to stay awake but not remember what happens. They have to be able to speak to me while placing the needle in the correct spot but need for me to not remember the feeling of pain or whatever.

I was looking forward to this one. I had it for the first surgery and still replay it because I just have not figured out how it works. They tell you they will inject it into the IV, in a moment the drug takes effect, they do the procedure and then it wears off. Okay. They told JB that when they do the procedure he will have to leave. He agrees but still sits there. I watch them put it in the IV (it's white like milk, hence the name milk of amnesia). JB is sitting there while the drug takes effect. Seemingly in what seems to be an instant for me, I "come to" and realize JB is still sitting in the chair. I said, "Are we going to do this or not?"
He tells me they did do it.
I said, "No they didn't. You are still here."
He tells me he had left and came back.
All-right then, I'll just see if they did it. I touch my leg and it is on the way to being "dead". They DID do it!

Okay, so this time around I'm going to pay more attention to things. Anesthesiologist comes in, talks to me about the surgery and prepares me for the Verced. He gives it to me and he goes about his business but I'm still aware! Just as I said, "Uh, doc, I'm still here." My memory waved bye and left.
Sure enough, when I "come to" my leg is on its way to dying.
Doc comes back to check on it and we converse about keeping me alive during surgery. He finds my sense of humor either funny or insulting. I hope it is not the latter as he is the one person you don't want to tick off prior to surgery.

Surgery will be delayed...Dr. Pascale comes around, wearing hip waders (which makes me question SEVERAL things about the surgical world), says hello to JB, talks to me and tells me he's running late. I give JB permission to go eat as I'm tired of hearing him mention food. And he needs to take care of my crutch situation. I'll be drugged enough as it is, I don't need to be lopsided.

So I lay there, play with my now "dead" leg by attempting to move it up and down on the bed. I send text messages to my brother who is having fun going through the procedures and prepping with me. He's sick just like his little sister! And what better way to do it? He has no reason to have surgery himself so he can live vicariously through me!

Finally, and I do mean FINALLY, they come get me. They wheel me down the hall (we are at a Surgery Center, not hospital by the way--totally outpatient procedure) and into the surgical "suite". (seems to me that suite implies something cozy and nicely decorated which, this room is NOT cozy and I debate the definition of "nicely" when it comes to the decorations adorning this room. It is cold....I am given several warm blankets (which I'm sure they remove as soon as I'm "out") and they start preparing me for surgery. They attach the electrodes (which are also cold) to my chest and lay me out as if I'm being crucified (which always ups the fear and anxiety a bit). The anesthesiologist asks me a couple questions, and I remind him that waking me up is his number one goal. They joke with me about which leg it is (I like to pop quiz the surgical staff to be sure that everyone has reported to the correct room and have the correct patient and procedure). This time (every surgery they have marked my leg differently) they have marked NO on my left leg. Now, one has to assume that that means that the doctor will know that the remaining leg is the YES leg.

The anesthesiologist is really getting into the humor thing and making comments that I'm not expecting...and his demeanor and words kind of make me wonder what I might have said when I was under the Milk of Amnesia drug...too late to worry about that now. He's just told me (obviously thinks this as well) that I talk too much. Before I can reply, things blur, I get warm, and I can feel myself slipping away and I'm gone.

I come to slowly...I hear the nurse call my name. She's very far away...and she's nice, but commanding. She feeds me an ice chip and I can hear her voice become louder. And then I feel the pain. The closer her voice comes to me, the worse the pain gets. I try to ignore her, wanting only to go back to sleep. There isn't any pain there.

I must have moaned or made a noise as she starts talking to me. Encouraging me to respond to her. She keeps calling my name. I silently wish I had changed my name. The pain becomes more intense. She asks if I want some pain medication, I nod yes. She goes away and I try to slip back to sleep, endure the pain until she comes back.

I don't know what she gave me but it didn't even begin to touch the pain. I was given morphine, more of whatever she gave me the first time and finally, the doctor gave permission for another nerve block. Here we go with the Milk of Amnesia again. Finally, after about 20 minutes, I was able to tolerate the pain and somehow, with the help of a nurse, and JB, managed to get clothes on. JB was getting increasingly frustrated.

It was Texas Hold 'Em night and it looked like he was going to be late. Oh yes, he intended on dumping me at the house with the children in charge and heading off to play poker. Not that I would care. One, I'm not going anywhere anyway, and I'm so drugged, I could not care less if he said he was headed to Alaska. Give me my pain medication and Have a good time!

My husband, as frustrated as he was, couldn't understand just how many drugs I had and why it was important to wait and see if I reacted. Finally we got the okay and he headed to get the truck. He had bought me brand new crutches and had them adjusted for me. It was a beautiful thing. He dutifully listened to instructions and loaded me up in the truck where I sat, almost drugged to the point of drooling. I was hungry...and I needed prescriptions filled. You would think that as drugged as I was he wouldn't want me traipsing around the Wal-mart, much less even entertain the thought that I might not be ABLE to do that. You'd think I would have more sense, but hey, I was medicated!

I remember apologizing many times about taking so long and for hurting so bad and further delaying his game. I recall him saying it wasn't my fault...

We get to the Walmart and I must have looked pretty ragged but in I went. Medicated and all. We filled prescriptions, I grabbed magazines, and some things to drink and he grabbed ice. Then we headed home. He gets me in the door, onto the couch (I was NOT ready for bed) and off he goes to play. I'm not allowed to be up on my leg since it is "dead" and I'm forbidden to even touch my right foot to the floor for two weeks. Well, THAT certainly wouldn't be a problem. He places my CPM in the bed where I will eat and sleep and watch television in it for the next three weeks. And it is also the best way to keep my leg elevated and it hurts much less. I live in the CPM. I love it.

My husband will not sleep in the same bed after a knee surgery...(he likes to migrate) he's afraid of hurting me. And I will keep him awake if I'm in pain. So he sends our teenage daughter to sleep with me. (remember, I'm not allowed up by myself) Well, after assuring me that she would be sure to get up with me throughout the night she falls asleep. Well, I had been given plenty of fluids through that IV. So much that it wasn't long before I had to make my first call for help. Well, drugged as I am the effort on my part was not too great and I'm more of a "I can do it myself" kind of gal.

There are reasons for the orders that doctors give you. I'm just fortunate enough to have been given mercy and grace and protection from the Lord. I'm sure it wasn't a pretty sight, but I did get up and go to the bathroom by myself. Not the smartest thing I've ever done. And it certainly wasn't the easiest from what I can recall. Getting out of bed was an ordeal in itself. It entailed stopping the CPM machine, undoing the velcro straps on the leg, lifting my leg (with my good foot) cause I have NO MUSCLE TONE, grabbing crutches and making my way around the furniture to the bathroom. Getting there took a while and figuring out how to seat myself took some doing but what I didn't take into account was my ability to get back up from the seated position.

Now, this is the picture. My leg has a ton of bandages, a restrictive brace that does not allow any bending whatsoever, not weight is to be put on the leg, crutches are my only support (other than the wall and toilet) and I'm freshly medicated. Now, imagine that seated on the toilet. Mind you, the brace, comes to about mid-thigh so when you sit, the leg is forced straight out. Now I could fix that but then I wouldn't be seated properly and it would cause, well, the process would not be able to proceed without a mess.

So I finish my business thinking I have done pretty darned well for myself. I haven't fallen, I've had my "moment" and I'm pretty confident that I will be able to return to bed.

At this point, I realize that it has been awhile since I was on crutches and I'm not quite so good with my balance yet. I am too medicated to get up. OH MY GOSH. What now? I can't be stuck on the toilet! It's too uncomfortable. I want my bed!

I'm not only a I can do it type of gal, but I am also a stubborn one. I finally get up, coming close to falling but catching myself. I hobble back to the bed, and I manage to just get to the point where I will use my good foot to lift up the right leg when Rikki stirs and says, "Mama what are you doing?" Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

OH MY GOSH. I wanted to say, "No baby, I'm good. Mama's just running a couple laps."
But what I said was closer to "I just went."
And this is what I hear, "Why didn't you wake me up?" Is she serious? I've learned real quick no one takes a medicated person serious. For some reason, people believe that when you are medicated, you just don't know what you are doing at all.

I finally get back in bed, have Rikki switch ice packs and just as I get settled, yup, you guessed it. I have to go....again. So I let her know. And do you know she has the nerve to say, "You just went, you have to go again?"