Clawing my way back...
...took a little longer than anticipated. First there was the mold in the bathroom - which meant I couldn't go home with open incisions. So the bathroom was ripped apart and redone. And that took a while. Then, when the bathroom was done, and my incisions were closed, and I'd even been able to go back to work part-time... my grandmother went on a cruise, so I needed to pet/house sit for a bit. And then... then I just didn't wanna get up early enough to pack all my crap and leave before having to get to work. ;P After a couple of days of that, I got my butt moving.
But! I'm home, and now, I'll be finishing redoing my room, and then I will set up my glorious new computer, and It Will Be Good. I will return to RP. I will dip my toes into WoW at long last. I will have all my minotaur stuff on display instead of in boxes.
So, as neferankh noted, the anesthesia and me didn't get along so well. But I should have expected that, because the anesthetist and me clashed from the get-go. I had told the nurse in the pre-meetings, told every single nurse from the moment of my arrival, and had told the doctor many times before, that I hate needles. Hate them. With a passion. I don't like pain. I'm a wuss. But needles, they really freak me out. (Yes, I work with them all day, but that's me sticking them into something -else-. I don't like it when they're turned around on me. I'm certain a dog somewhere is muttering "Serves y'right, sister" but again, DON'T CARE. Needles + me = AAAAAAAAAAAGH!) I had told anyone with a pair of ears that they were going to need to give me something to calm me down before putting in the IV. The nurses all assured me that I would get such. They called the anesthetist - but didn't get him, so left a message for him to call with drugs and dosage and such. Time marched on. I got into my gown and little blue bootie socks. Various things were given to me to sign and taken away. Questions were asked, bathrooms were visited. And finally, just before surgery time, the anesthetist arrives. He'd never called back - who knows if he'd even checked his messages. When he finished his brief talk, he got the stuff for the catheter. I immediately squawked. The nurses protested. He looked at the clock, brusquely said there was no time for them to wait, I'd just have to go without, because they needed to get me into surgery. Not a happy me. But I went without, and promptly freaked out while he poked me MULTIPLE times because he couldn't get it in. Finally it was done, and I was just starting to calm back down. Went into the surgery room and laid down... and found out he had to put in an arterial line because he was unable to get my blood pressure using a cuff. My arm was too thick. Promptly Re-Freaked Out, because again, KEPT STABBING ME. Finally, I think the surgeon saw my hands beginning to curl into fists that meant business instead of fear, because he stopped the guy and said they'd put it in when I was out, to which I heartily agreed. Then they gave me drugs, and I knew no more.
...until waking up in recovery, strapped down, and in agony. Recovery is an odd state. I could hear things, think things, and definitely feel things, but try as I might, I could not, absolutely could not, open my eyes at first. When I first became aware, I could hear myself groaning in pain, repeatedly. I moved my arms and felt restraints, then heard a nurse ask another what the straps were for, and heard them respond that "This patient has a history of waking up violent", to which I recall thinking "Whatthehell? I woke up irritable from getting my wisdom teeth out, but I didn't hit anyone. ...after being put under, anyhow."
Now, I went into surgery about 7-something in the morning. The actual operation progressed smoothly, and took an hour or so. I didn't get moved from Recovery until close to 7 that night. So, in between bouts of awareness and such, must have been a lot of drugged slumber, but to me, it all seemed connected. And it took forever. I heard one nurse comment that "She sounds like a dog", and, on listening to myself groaning, didn't know whether to be amused or offended because, well... I did. I didn't sound much different than a dog coming out of anesthesia. It's given me a new sympathy for them, believe you me. Give those puppies drugs! Because when I could speak, one of the first things I said was "This was a mistake." It's rather hard to describe the pain of abdominal surgery. You feel like curling into a ball, and yet, you don't want to move for anything, because that makes it hurt even more. And this was laparascopic! I'd hate to feel what it would be like if they'd had to open me up! Add to that, I kept throwing up, or trying to, which was an even bigger agony as my sliced and stitched stomach did its best to invert, nausea making what was already bad even worse. I kept asking for drugs, and the more awake I got, the more it hurt, until I could barely keep still it hurt so bad. But though I had nurses clustering around me and I was crying, they said they couldn't give me anything more. And I said I didn't care, they could overdose me as long as it quit hurting. And I mentally called them not-very-nice-things.
But finally, I was moved to a room, where I had a button I could push to help control pain. After you pushed it, it wouldn't dispense again for ten minutes, but I kept pressing the bastard because I didn't want to miss that ten minute mark. My family came in to see me, and it was good to see them. My mom and grandmother, father, and Troy and Jocelyn. Troy I used to work with at the animal shelter when I lived in San Jose, and we've just become family over time, and Jocelyn is his wife. They drove all the way just to be there while I was under the knife, and came back the next day when I was feeling a little better. They even brought me their old PS2 and some games, for while I was convalescing at my grandmother's house. Gave it to me. So for the first time, I actually have a gaming system. It's been fun, and I haven't even played more than 2 games yet. *chuckles* Though true gamers probably would snort at my selections. Rachet and Clank, and the latest Spyro game. Troy gave me a host of other games that I haven't even tried yet. My brother came the following day to see me, and my stepfather, Brad. I still had trouble with nausea, but it was less than previously. My brother had evidently had a run-in with my anesthetist, who asked him how I was doing while he was on the way in to see me. He didn't know who the guy was, or, he said, he'd have chewed him out. The family recognised him from my brother's description.
They wanted me to get up and walk around, and I knew they would. It's a requirement. Getting up took the most effort and caused the most pain - once I was standing, it wasn't nearly so bad. My mother and grandmother walked with me, and they were astonished - and so were the nurses at their station, with how fast I was walking and how far I went, toting my IV line stand along beside me. Me? I was on the hunt for the anesthesiologist. I wanted to find that sucker. I never did, on any of the walks I took thereafter. I was still fairly drugged, so I don't recall what I was thinking, only that I wanted to find him. Yay drugs. XD
I was discharged in the evening, and between the drugs and time, don't remember very much of it, which is probably a good thing, as what I do recall wasn't very comfortable. I was tucked into bed at my grandmother's, and for a while, needed regular doses of anti-nausea and pain meds. Hiccups and cramps made things interesting, and I lived on jello, as it was the only thing that went down easily. We even ground up my pills and mixed them into little 'jello shots' using the little measuring cups that come with most liquid cold medicines. I am completely ruined for needles now, though. I had to get injections of heparin, to prevent blood clots, sub-cutaneously, three times a day, for three weeks. My mother had to do it. My mother's the only one who could have done it, because I trust her. And she did faily well too, until the second the last one, where she succeeded in doing all the wrong things and freaked me out. That shot didn't get done until later, when I'd calmed down. However, I no longer have the stage where I'm scared and trying to not look and avoid it, I go right to aggressive. The next doctor who does not listen to me, I swear to God, I'm going to deck.
Things got better though, and I began to be able to move around, and then the pain got more tolerable, and I began walking up and down the street after a couple weeks. At first, it wore me out. I would come back and fall asleep again right away. So it went, every day getting a little better. I graduated to eating Cream of Wheat - which is still a staple of my diet. The first time I could eat something solid was an egg, scrambled. I was so happy, I ate it too fast, and it all bottled up in my chest and made me miserable for about a half hour. You know that feeling when you swallow something a little prematurely, and it feels stuck in your throat? Worse than that. Lesson learned. So I eat very slowly, chew everything well. This sometimes means my food gets a little cold, but microwaves are good. I had my first experience with what they call Dumping Syndrome a week ago. Dumping is when a meal with too much fat or sugar is eaten, and that gets shuttled along too quickly into the small intestine, causing cramps, nausea, vomiting, and other nasty side effects. I had been cautious for the most part, but I did buy some plain chicken (no sauce!) and some barbecue pork from a place in the mall, thinking that since I had been having such good luck with chicken that maybe a little pork would also go down. I'm thinking the pork, which had no sauce, but was glazed on the outside, had a lot of sugar in the glaze, because the chicken I had went down fine, but after I'd eaten maybe three pieces of the pork, I started feeling ill, cramping. The nausea and vomiting followed. Again, lesson learned, and I've been very careful since to avoid repeating that. However, I'm now eating very small portions of chicken, mashed potatoes, mashed squash, some bland crackers, string cheese, even some fish. Yesterday, some lobster and three bites of steak. I couldn't finish the lobster tail, but hey! Leftovers for today! And I'm strictly sticking to what my paperwork says I can have, and avoiding the things it says I can't, like bread and pasta. Which is a bit of a bummer, since I love both of those, but I like not feeling ill more.
I'm working part time, just half days, but March 6th will see me going back to full days. Working still wipes me out, but not nearly as bad as it did when I first started, so I'm hoping by then I'll be able to handle it. I've been starting to bend and lift a lot more than I could have at first, and am using my little hand weights, walking when I don't have to work.
So, while I lost 25 pounds before the surgery, I tend to just add up the total when I weigh myself, which as of this week, is a whopping 73 pounds. My clothes are hanging on me, even with a belt my pants keep trying to fall down, and I look like a wannabe gangster in my baggy jeans. Even my torc is hanging looser, because my neck isn't as thick. My ankle is doing better - it doesn't start hurting near as quickly or as much as it did before when I work, and I've had to use a lot less pain control for it. I still haven't really felt hungry, and while I might see someone eating something and think "Man, it'd be nice to have that," I can go on with what I'm doing and not think about it again.
Fortunately, in addition to the letters from folks - and the ton of rambles from one troll in particular, thanks Leif *grins* - some commissions I'd had already paid off got finished, and have also served to cheer me up when I needed it.
Sketch commissions by Sickleye of Johari, my anthro kudu, and of course, Kaz.
These awesome renditions of my grumpy draekard, Pariah, by the ever-amazing Psycrowe, one of which was a surprise gift. Thanks Psy! Pariah's color scheme still rocks, and I'm grateful to Psy for helping design it. And yay! Now I have a picture that shows off her odd eyes! Those fangs are something else, too. *beams*
From Kesame, one of a young Tahmores and one of Kaz. I love the way this artist does fur, and while her specialty tends to be long and lean, she tried her best to bulk up her renditions of my characters. I'm just loving the legs and fur on Kaz. So damned lovely. And Tahmores' face is simply fantastic, snarly-gnarly with those oilslick eyes.
It's good to be back. *contented sigh*
But! I'm home, and now, I'll be finishing redoing my room, and then I will set up my glorious new computer, and It Will Be Good. I will return to RP. I will dip my toes into WoW at long last. I will have all my minotaur stuff on display instead of in boxes.
So, as neferankh noted, the anesthesia and me didn't get along so well. But I should have expected that, because the anesthetist and me clashed from the get-go. I had told the nurse in the pre-meetings, told every single nurse from the moment of my arrival, and had told the doctor many times before, that I hate needles. Hate them. With a passion. I don't like pain. I'm a wuss. But needles, they really freak me out. (Yes, I work with them all day, but that's me sticking them into something -else-. I don't like it when they're turned around on me. I'm certain a dog somewhere is muttering "Serves y'right, sister" but again, DON'T CARE. Needles + me = AAAAAAAAAAAGH!) I had told anyone with a pair of ears that they were going to need to give me something to calm me down before putting in the IV. The nurses all assured me that I would get such. They called the anesthetist - but didn't get him, so left a message for him to call with drugs and dosage and such. Time marched on. I got into my gown and little blue bootie socks. Various things were given to me to sign and taken away. Questions were asked, bathrooms were visited. And finally, just before surgery time, the anesthetist arrives. He'd never called back - who knows if he'd even checked his messages. When he finished his brief talk, he got the stuff for the catheter. I immediately squawked. The nurses protested. He looked at the clock, brusquely said there was no time for them to wait, I'd just have to go without, because they needed to get me into surgery. Not a happy me. But I went without, and promptly freaked out while he poked me MULTIPLE times because he couldn't get it in. Finally it was done, and I was just starting to calm back down. Went into the surgery room and laid down... and found out he had to put in an arterial line because he was unable to get my blood pressure using a cuff. My arm was too thick. Promptly Re-Freaked Out, because again, KEPT STABBING ME. Finally, I think the surgeon saw my hands beginning to curl into fists that meant business instead of fear, because he stopped the guy and said they'd put it in when I was out, to which I heartily agreed. Then they gave me drugs, and I knew no more.
...until waking up in recovery, strapped down, and in agony. Recovery is an odd state. I could hear things, think things, and definitely feel things, but try as I might, I could not, absolutely could not, open my eyes at first. When I first became aware, I could hear myself groaning in pain, repeatedly. I moved my arms and felt restraints, then heard a nurse ask another what the straps were for, and heard them respond that "This patient has a history of waking up violent", to which I recall thinking "Whatthehell? I woke up irritable from getting my wisdom teeth out, but I didn't hit anyone. ...after being put under, anyhow."
Now, I went into surgery about 7-something in the morning. The actual operation progressed smoothly, and took an hour or so. I didn't get moved from Recovery until close to 7 that night. So, in between bouts of awareness and such, must have been a lot of drugged slumber, but to me, it all seemed connected. And it took forever. I heard one nurse comment that "She sounds like a dog", and, on listening to myself groaning, didn't know whether to be amused or offended because, well... I did. I didn't sound much different than a dog coming out of anesthesia. It's given me a new sympathy for them, believe you me. Give those puppies drugs! Because when I could speak, one of the first things I said was "This was a mistake." It's rather hard to describe the pain of abdominal surgery. You feel like curling into a ball, and yet, you don't want to move for anything, because that makes it hurt even more. And this was laparascopic! I'd hate to feel what it would be like if they'd had to open me up! Add to that, I kept throwing up, or trying to, which was an even bigger agony as my sliced and stitched stomach did its best to invert, nausea making what was already bad even worse. I kept asking for drugs, and the more awake I got, the more it hurt, until I could barely keep still it hurt so bad. But though I had nurses clustering around me and I was crying, they said they couldn't give me anything more. And I said I didn't care, they could overdose me as long as it quit hurting. And I mentally called them not-very-nice-things.
But finally, I was moved to a room, where I had a button I could push to help control pain. After you pushed it, it wouldn't dispense again for ten minutes, but I kept pressing the bastard because I didn't want to miss that ten minute mark. My family came in to see me, and it was good to see them. My mom and grandmother, father, and Troy and Jocelyn. Troy I used to work with at the animal shelter when I lived in San Jose, and we've just become family over time, and Jocelyn is his wife. They drove all the way just to be there while I was under the knife, and came back the next day when I was feeling a little better. They even brought me their old PS2 and some games, for while I was convalescing at my grandmother's house. Gave it to me. So for the first time, I actually have a gaming system. It's been fun, and I haven't even played more than 2 games yet. *chuckles* Though true gamers probably would snort at my selections. Rachet and Clank, and the latest Spyro game. Troy gave me a host of other games that I haven't even tried yet. My brother came the following day to see me, and my stepfather, Brad. I still had trouble with nausea, but it was less than previously. My brother had evidently had a run-in with my anesthetist, who asked him how I was doing while he was on the way in to see me. He didn't know who the guy was, or, he said, he'd have chewed him out. The family recognised him from my brother's description.
They wanted me to get up and walk around, and I knew they would. It's a requirement. Getting up took the most effort and caused the most pain - once I was standing, it wasn't nearly so bad. My mother and grandmother walked with me, and they were astonished - and so were the nurses at their station, with how fast I was walking and how far I went, toting my IV line stand along beside me. Me? I was on the hunt for the anesthesiologist. I wanted to find that sucker. I never did, on any of the walks I took thereafter. I was still fairly drugged, so I don't recall what I was thinking, only that I wanted to find him. Yay drugs. XD
I was discharged in the evening, and between the drugs and time, don't remember very much of it, which is probably a good thing, as what I do recall wasn't very comfortable. I was tucked into bed at my grandmother's, and for a while, needed regular doses of anti-nausea and pain meds. Hiccups and cramps made things interesting, and I lived on jello, as it was the only thing that went down easily. We even ground up my pills and mixed them into little 'jello shots' using the little measuring cups that come with most liquid cold medicines. I am completely ruined for needles now, though. I had to get injections of heparin, to prevent blood clots, sub-cutaneously, three times a day, for three weeks. My mother had to do it. My mother's the only one who could have done it, because I trust her. And she did faily well too, until the second the last one, where she succeeded in doing all the wrong things and freaked me out. That shot didn't get done until later, when I'd calmed down. However, I no longer have the stage where I'm scared and trying to not look and avoid it, I go right to aggressive. The next doctor who does not listen to me, I swear to God, I'm going to deck.
Things got better though, and I began to be able to move around, and then the pain got more tolerable, and I began walking up and down the street after a couple weeks. At first, it wore me out. I would come back and fall asleep again right away. So it went, every day getting a little better. I graduated to eating Cream of Wheat - which is still a staple of my diet. The first time I could eat something solid was an egg, scrambled. I was so happy, I ate it too fast, and it all bottled up in my chest and made me miserable for about a half hour. You know that feeling when you swallow something a little prematurely, and it feels stuck in your throat? Worse than that. Lesson learned. So I eat very slowly, chew everything well. This sometimes means my food gets a little cold, but microwaves are good. I had my first experience with what they call Dumping Syndrome a week ago. Dumping is when a meal with too much fat or sugar is eaten, and that gets shuttled along too quickly into the small intestine, causing cramps, nausea, vomiting, and other nasty side effects. I had been cautious for the most part, but I did buy some plain chicken (no sauce!) and some barbecue pork from a place in the mall, thinking that since I had been having such good luck with chicken that maybe a little pork would also go down. I'm thinking the pork, which had no sauce, but was glazed on the outside, had a lot of sugar in the glaze, because the chicken I had went down fine, but after I'd eaten maybe three pieces of the pork, I started feeling ill, cramping. The nausea and vomiting followed. Again, lesson learned, and I've been very careful since to avoid repeating that. However, I'm now eating very small portions of chicken, mashed potatoes, mashed squash, some bland crackers, string cheese, even some fish. Yesterday, some lobster and three bites of steak. I couldn't finish the lobster tail, but hey! Leftovers for today! And I'm strictly sticking to what my paperwork says I can have, and avoiding the things it says I can't, like bread and pasta. Which is a bit of a bummer, since I love both of those, but I like not feeling ill more.
I'm working part time, just half days, but March 6th will see me going back to full days. Working still wipes me out, but not nearly as bad as it did when I first started, so I'm hoping by then I'll be able to handle it. I've been starting to bend and lift a lot more than I could have at first, and am using my little hand weights, walking when I don't have to work.
So, while I lost 25 pounds before the surgery, I tend to just add up the total when I weigh myself, which as of this week, is a whopping 73 pounds. My clothes are hanging on me, even with a belt my pants keep trying to fall down, and I look like a wannabe gangster in my baggy jeans. Even my torc is hanging looser, because my neck isn't as thick. My ankle is doing better - it doesn't start hurting near as quickly or as much as it did before when I work, and I've had to use a lot less pain control for it. I still haven't really felt hungry, and while I might see someone eating something and think "Man, it'd be nice to have that," I can go on with what I'm doing and not think about it again.
Fortunately, in addition to the letters from folks - and the ton of rambles from one troll in particular, thanks Leif *grins* - some commissions I'd had already paid off got finished, and have also served to cheer me up when I needed it.
Sketch commissions by Sickleye of Johari, my anthro kudu, and of course, Kaz.
These awesome renditions of my grumpy draekard, Pariah, by the ever-amazing Psycrowe, one of which was a surprise gift. Thanks Psy! Pariah's color scheme still rocks, and I'm grateful to Psy for helping design it. And yay! Now I have a picture that shows off her odd eyes! Those fangs are something else, too. *beams*
From Kesame, one of a young Tahmores and one of Kaz. I love the way this artist does fur, and while her specialty tends to be long and lean, she tried her best to bulk up her renditions of my characters. I'm just loving the legs and fur on Kaz. So damned lovely. And Tahmores' face is simply fantastic, snarly-gnarly with those oilslick eyes.
It's good to be back. *contented sigh*