It has been exactly one week since my very first surgery.
On one hand:
cold, sterile, metallic worries.
Plastic. Tubes. Long IVs.
NPO hunger & thirst.
Drips of saline and morphine.
And on the other:
warm, comfortable, soothing smiles.
Fabric. Soundscapes. Hugs.
Drips of laughter and love.
Hand holding, kisses, and Reiki.
Those of you who know me, know that I have basically LIVED at the hospital. My position in times past has been about taking care for the people we supervise, even in a hospital setting. It’s pretty much 24/7. I have showered, slept, and breathed “hospital” for many straight hours, the longest ever being 34 straight, and 72 with “breaks” in between.
Is this against labour laws? Hells yeah! But did it stop my previous administration? Not so much. (That’s why they all got sacked, amongst other things…)
So, I’m used to being on the OPPOSITE SIDE of the ghastly uncomfortable hospital bed, no matter how cool those buttons are. There can only be so many times you can harass a nurse to change the temperature of the room or find which channel Maury is on.
Furthermore, I’m a caregiver, I do not do so well with people taking care of me. Having said all of that, and that I have never broken a bone in my body, nor ever been hospitalized before in my Life…I was not too thrilled about the post-op regimen.
I’m used to hiking, spelunking deep into caves, and cliff diving on a sheer whim. How was I going to manage being “a gimp” for however how long this whole healing process was going to take? And plus, people were telling me that it was going to feel like I was hit by a bus…(Thanks guys. Lol.)
Well…they LIED. Haha, it was more like being punched repeatedly, over and over again, in the abdomen. Okay, like someone kicked me in the balls. (Just a few times). Needless to say, yes it did hurt, but evidently I’m in good shape. And I am recovering very well.
The whole process wasn’t as bad as I thought. My surgeon, 5′ 5″, late 30’s something, HILARIOUS, Italian walked into my room with her crazy Hello Kitty surgeon cap, and said, “Alright, let’s party!” She warned me that “the Johnnies will be a little tender, okay, and black& blue for a while, so the sexy-times…will have to wait for now.” And with a wink and giggle, she was like, “Okay, let’s do this, We gotta big party waiting for you and we can’t lay HERE all day.”
She is utterly fabulous, and I am so glad I chose her out of all the others in the Capital Region.
And, of course, it being me, I WOULD have the funniest and most kick-ass of surgeons anyway…
And, of course, it being me, I WOULD have the funniest and most kick-ass of friends anyone could be lucky enough to have.
To all of MY caregivers & healers: Thank-you for getting me prescriptions, and ginger ale, and soup, and milk, and water, and tea, and Graham crackers, and hot dogs, and chicken, and waffles, and pancakes, and toilet paper, and napkins, and corn meal, and a food processor, and books, and movies, and CDs, and art supplies, and games, and energy work, and massage, and dancing for me on occasion too. For being my chauffeurs, my pillow fluffers, for reading to me, and picking out my date clothes, and for putting up with everything else I failed to mention. *Note: Not everyone is pictured in this article, but you do not go under appreciated. I have received so many emails and messages and hugs from all sorts of people. You are ALL Beautiful Beings…*
For reminding ME that I am not like anyone else. That I shine my beautiful self in and out. That I am an amazing free spirit, a writer and poet. Reminding me what it is that I fight for every day, and who. For being my family and my Shirley, you know who you are. For chasing rainbows with me, and frolicking in the woods (even when it is slow and with a limp.)
That everyone hurts sometimes, and that we all heal in our own times and in our own ways.