Saturday, May 25
This may have just been the worst night of my life. I can’t get comfortable, and the pain grows worse and worse. After the puking incident yesterday, we backed off the pain meds to simply Tylenol. WTF. Tylenol barely handles my frequent headaches. In the middle of the night, while rearranging the pillow that they''ve put between my knees, I knock over a glass of juice on the bedside tray, and the sticky stuff is all over the tray, the bed, the pillow, the floor. And I just don't much care. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am fastidious, but I am just too worn out from the pain to care. I am growing more and more discouraged, and thinking that having this surgery may have been the worst decision of my life.
But everyone else seems to think I’m doing well: my blood pressure seems to have stabilized, my oxygen levels are good, I’m alert and sitting up. OT comes in again and has me demonstrate that I can brush my teeth. Hallelujah! Damn, that felt good. But then the cadre of nurses and therapists decides that all that is necessary for me to get discharged is to do another, longer walk.
This time we walk down the same hall - but with my walker instead of yesterday’s crutches. Just to be safe, they take my BP while I’m sitting, and then again standing up. It’s not great, but good enough to go for a walk. I get to practice going up and down a curb, and then it’s over to practice on a set of stairs. I pass these tests nicely, but then the world starts imploding on me again. Everyone quickly recognizes that I’ve gone pale again and my eyes are starting to roll back in my head. So it’s the same routine: dump me in a wheel chair and get me back to my bed. Today’s blood pressure is an all-time low of 71/48. Really, are people still alive with those low numbers?
There are more conferences with docs and therapists and nurses, with talks of keeping me yet another night. But really, I’m too exhausted to even pay attention. I fall flat on my back in bed and sleep solidly for the next hour. It’s the best sleep I’ve had in days, and when I finally wake up, I’m starting to feel slightly human again.
Dr. Hallmark comes in to explain that the swelling in my leg is going to continue to get worse for at least the first seven days post-surgery. WTH? Why didn’t any one else mention this? Crud. Then in days 7-14, things may stabilize. But for me to make progress, I really need to continue the PT, and I need to be able to sleep, so I agree to try the serious pain meds again, making sure to do so only on a full stomach.
My new PT, Mo, comes in sometime early afternoon and takes me for another, longer walk around the hall. She’s great, and encourages me to walk faster than my slow shuffle, and amazingly, that feels better. I survive without my BP bottoming out. Woohoo! My nurse of the day, Meghan, comes into my room and asks how I’m doing. When I say, “I’m ready to blow this pop stand”, she gets a huge grin on her face and hurries off to process my discharge papers.
Ed brings the car around, a CNA wheels me to the front of the hospital, and within minutes I’m home on my couch, with my knee raised above my heart, and the ice machine hooked up. It’s the best I’ve felt in the last couple of days, and I’ll take whatever small victories I can get.
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