(no subject)
Post-op day 23.
Last year, I came out of anesthesia in recovery, also known as the post-anesthesia care unit (PACU). I only remember about half my time there, but I was lucid and chatty when they finally took me to my room. This year was a different story.
Check-in was the same. I waited in the lobby with Seatmate and my awesome parents, who flew up the night before to worry in a nearby waiting room instead of their home in DC, until someone came to get me and the other patients. We all walked along after the escort like kids on a field trip. We were young (mid-teens) and old (I'm not going there) and all sorts of people. One tall, elegant woman carried a designer handbag. I wondered at her decision to bring it to the hospital.
Just about everything in pre-op was the same as last year, except that I'd done it all before. I got an IV. I got an epidural (similar to last year; again, don't be afraid of this, it's a scary idea but not a big deal). I signed a lot of papers.
People from my hip team came by with more papers. My surgeon had taken on a new fellow who everyone liked. She was an orthopedic surgeon who had been an attending for ten years and taken a break to learn about PAOs. She was also smart and funny and I liked her right away. She signed both of my hips (PAO on the left, screws out on the right) and off they went.
Seatmate took some photos, kissed me, and got hustled out of there. They said they put something in my IV to relax me, and they must have, because this is where my memory gets fuzzy. For some reason, I was doing my Generic Southern Accent as they wheeled me to the operating room. They asked about other accents and I tried my Generic British but it wasn't as good.
There were fewer people in the room this time. I scooted carefully over to the operating table. I felt good and safe. Let's do this.
My surgeon came close on my right side and asked if I was ready. I smiled and said, "Ready as I'll ever be." He held my right hand as the mask was placed over my face. The last memory I have is his gentle grip on my hand and the anesthesia yanking me down.
I woke. It was over. It was fine. I was queasy. I'm going to give you medication for that, hon.
I woke and ate some ice chips.
I woke and my parents were smiling at the foot of my bed. They had to catch a plane, and I was in PACU longer than expected because I kept sleeping, so they let my parents come in and see me. I think I told them I was fine. I felt fine, but I couldn't stay awake.
I woke and they said I was being transferred to a room. Oh good. The man steering the head of my gurney kindly warned of every bump even though I must have appeared to be unconscious.
I woke and I was in a room and everything was facing the opposite of last year's room, which was disorienting. The Sox were on the television and Seatmate was in a chair. You can sleep, he told me. Don't stay awake for me. I couldn't.
Sometime the next day, I started to pull out of my sleep. I don't know why things went so differently. Maybe I had more anesthesia this time. Maybe the fact that the surgery was shorter played a role somehow. I don't care beyond curiosity. The hospital took good care of me.
I ran out of energy writing this, saved it as private, and fell asleep. That's pretty much how this PAO has gone. Lots of sleep.
Last year, I came out of anesthesia in recovery, also known as the post-anesthesia care unit (PACU). I only remember about half my time there, but I was lucid and chatty when they finally took me to my room. This year was a different story.
Check-in was the same. I waited in the lobby with Seatmate and my awesome parents, who flew up the night before to worry in a nearby waiting room instead of their home in DC, until someone came to get me and the other patients. We all walked along after the escort like kids on a field trip. We were young (mid-teens) and old (I'm not going there) and all sorts of people. One tall, elegant woman carried a designer handbag. I wondered at her decision to bring it to the hospital.
Just about everything in pre-op was the same as last year, except that I'd done it all before. I got an IV. I got an epidural (similar to last year; again, don't be afraid of this, it's a scary idea but not a big deal). I signed a lot of papers.
People from my hip team came by with more papers. My surgeon had taken on a new fellow who everyone liked. She was an orthopedic surgeon who had been an attending for ten years and taken a break to learn about PAOs. She was also smart and funny and I liked her right away. She signed both of my hips (PAO on the left, screws out on the right) and off they went.
Seatmate took some photos, kissed me, and got hustled out of there. They said they put something in my IV to relax me, and they must have, because this is where my memory gets fuzzy. For some reason, I was doing my Generic Southern Accent as they wheeled me to the operating room. They asked about other accents and I tried my Generic British but it wasn't as good.
There were fewer people in the room this time. I scooted carefully over to the operating table. I felt good and safe. Let's do this.
My surgeon came close on my right side and asked if I was ready. I smiled and said, "Ready as I'll ever be." He held my right hand as the mask was placed over my face. The last memory I have is his gentle grip on my hand and the anesthesia yanking me down.
I woke. It was over. It was fine. I was queasy. I'm going to give you medication for that, hon.
I woke and ate some ice chips.
I woke and my parents were smiling at the foot of my bed. They had to catch a plane, and I was in PACU longer than expected because I kept sleeping, so they let my parents come in and see me. I think I told them I was fine. I felt fine, but I couldn't stay awake.
I woke and they said I was being transferred to a room. Oh good. The man steering the head of my gurney kindly warned of every bump even though I must have appeared to be unconscious.
I woke and I was in a room and everything was facing the opposite of last year's room, which was disorienting. The Sox were on the television and Seatmate was in a chair. You can sleep, he told me. Don't stay awake for me. I couldn't.
Sometime the next day, I started to pull out of my sleep. I don't know why things went so differently. Maybe I had more anesthesia this time. Maybe the fact that the surgery was shorter played a role somehow. I don't care beyond curiosity. The hospital took good care of me.
I ran out of energy writing this, saved it as private, and fell asleep. That's pretty much how this PAO has gone. Lots of sleep.