don’t worry. not dead.

so ya, i had surgery. and holy freaking crap did it SUCK!

have you ever HAD surgery? (dental work doesn’t count. sorry). oh. what’s that? you haven’t? well, let me take you through why it sucks then:

i got to the hospital around 6 a.m. and went to registration with my mom, grandma, sister and best friend in tow. the lady with the paper work was all “are they ALL with you?” and i was all “yes. umm. i’ve never had surgery before.” and then she was all “please sign here, where it says that if we see your soul during the operation, we are in fact allowed to keep it in a jar and then sell it on ebay” and i was all “umm. ok” and then she was all “initial here, where it says if your limbs accidentally fall off, we don’t have to replace them.” and i was like “all righty.” and then she made me sign next to a line that says i would pay them 10 percent of my paycheck for the next 35 years in gratitude for their services.

after that, i took three left turns and one right turn and followed the “SURGERY THIS WAY ->” signs to another room. this was had couches, coloring books and tvs, there i left my family to the daytime TV gods and followed a women to the actual patient area. she weighed me while i was wearing my shoes, which kinda pissed me off, because everyone KNOWS shoes add like 9 pounds. and then she made me get naked and pee in a cup — you know, so they could be 180 percent SURE i wasn’t pregnant. When they came back to stick a needle in my hand for the IV, i figured, i wasn’t in fact “with child.”

oh. ya. that’s right. they stuck a freaking needle in my hand. that part sucked, and i have the golf-ball shaped bruise to prove it. then when the nurse walked away, i heard some other women get asked if she had ever had any problems with getting put to sleep, to which she said ‘yes, one time i woke up’ and my body promptly flew out of the bed, through two floors and hit the roof.

“wait. what?! she WOKE UP? that’s CRAP!? i’m leaving.” i tried to shout. but the nurse was like ‘no, no, she was under a different anesthesia than what we’re giving you. you will be fine.

then the really sucky stuff started. they started putting me to sleep and wheeled me back to the operating room. the anesthesiologist was like “here’s your medicine”  .5 seconds later i was asleep. about 5 seconds after that (ish) the actual surgery part was over.

and HOLY F*CK did I wake up in pain. i’m using the word F*CK there because it is the ONLY word in all of mankind that could describe what i felt when i woke up.

apparently the gas they used to raise my lungs while the plucked out my gall bladder was hitting my shoulder nerve. picture someone hitting your shoulder with a 50-pound bat over. and over. and over. got it? now picture someone doing that from the inside of your body, because that, my friends, is what it felt like.

on top of that my stomach had been stabbed. four times.

every time i took a breath it felt like i was lifting a house with santa on top. do you people know HOW MANY times a minute us humans need to breathe? no? well, i’ll tell you then. a MILLION* and every. single. one. of. them. sucked.

a LOT!

i also was wearing a full-blown oxygen mask, so i could barely tell the nurse that my life was ending due to extreme pain. see, i had been under the misinformed impression that at this point in my day i would still have some pretty amazing drugs in my system and pain would be the very least of my problems.

once i realize that was a load of crap, i started crying. then i stopped, because holy heck did crying hurt.

so instead i mumbled that i wanted my mom.

over. and over. and over. and over. and over.

until the nurse finally gave in. and took me to the regular recovery area and got my mom. who took my hand. things started to look up. but, then i tried to sit up. and i almost threw up.

the thing about surgery is that you don’t eat for like a week before hand, so throwing up extra sucks because your stomach is empty. also, the stab wounds from the surgeon don’t help the whole experience. i laid back down to avoid the oncoming vomit.

then like two hours later, i tried to get up again because PEOPLE, i had to PEE.

i should have asked for the bed pan.

instead, because im an idiot, i tried to walk to the bathroom. i got no further than the edge of my bed when i filled three, yes THREE, throw-up bins with vomit. oh. i’m sorry. does that gross you out? oh. because i don’t really give a crap. it grossed me out too AND it hurt like the end of the world.

i cried and threw up and got dizzy and was naked except for a super flimsy hospital gown and my hair looked like a blue-jay’s nest and i could not stop throwing up. and i finally told it like it was and mumbled:

“I’m. not. happy. right. now”

nobody seemed to be able to do anything to help though. eventually, my body took pity on me and let me go to the bathroom.

but that kinda sucked too. you have to kinda bend down to sit on a toilet, and my multiple stab wounds (or incisions, whatever) made sitting down the second-to-last thing i wanted to, right after, throw up again. i tried to “bend at the knee. BEND AT THE KNEE.” like the nurse told me, but that didn’t help much. i eventually maneuvered my way onto the seat and went number one.

after i got escorted back to my bed, the nurse was all “YAY, you went to the bathroom. NOW all you have to do is drink something and you can go home.”

um. lady. i don’t know if you noticed, i but i just threw up for like 10 minutes. there is not way in heck im drinking anything again. ever.

i was originally set to leave the hospital around 11 or 11:30 a.m. however, because my body hates me, i instead decided to stay until about 4:30 p.m. it took two different nausea medications to get me stable enough to go home. on the ride in my best friend’s car, i realized that woodstock does indeed have about 6 potholes per square inch, while the car i was in hit every single one of them, my stomach got more and more p*ssed at me.

when i finally made it in the door, i had no idea i wouldn’t leave the house again for almost a week. my stupid self actually still thought i’d be back at work in four days.

alas, today, Wednesday was my first venture back to the outside world. about 25 vicodin pills later, im still not all the way better yet. and i only made it a half day at the office before i started crying from the pain of sitting up and had to go and do the rest of my work from home. but i have hope. there is a light at the end of this mess, because today. people. today. for the first time in a long time. i was able to wear a bra. ok. ok. not a REAL bra. just a sports bra. but i like where that trend is headed.

* note: the million breaths per second thing is not based on any real facts. crystal made that up.

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Comments (4)

  1. Beth

    Take your time getting better, even if it does drive you stir crazy.

    Reply
  2. Sandy

    Just an aside note: Your great-grandpa Marcks would have been 101 on January 14. Just some trivia to take your mind off of the pain.

    Reply
  3. Badgergirl

    Recovery does suck. But take your time. Someday it won’t be quite so bad.

    And the recovery room? Apparently I cried out that I wanted my mommy. And I was 27. And even though the docs don’t usually allow people back there, they brought her in. I don’t remember any of this though. Seriously.

    Take care of yourself!

    Reply
  4. SCVegan

    Awww… Sorry to hear about that, hope you are all better now.

    Reply

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