So It's Been a While....
Forgive me if I don't add links. In Tonganoxie, Kansas, dial-up is the only option, so it's pretty difficult requesting any more than the most basic computer procedures.
Blogging was restricted from my work computer system a few months back (while I was on my self-inflicted blogging hiatus), but since I'm home-bound on recovery from being spayed, it doesn't matter anyway.
Those notes aside, I said before I'd relay the gory details of my surgery. Considering the hysterectomy is the #1 surgical procedure done on women in the United States, it's nothing earth-shattering, but here are some highlights:
*I was given an epidural in addition to general anethstesia. Not only was the numbness in my legs disconcerting, but the fentanyl made me itch. Badly. When I finally had had enough, the epidural was removed and was to be replaced with a PCA pump (dilaudid). The medicine for the pump didn't come up from the pharmacy for more than 2 hours after the epidural had been removed, and since it was only one day post-surgery, I was not in a good condition to do without pain medicine for that period of time. What can I say? I may be a big wuss, but you try having your abdominal muscles cut open and your insides fished out.
*Flowers. Tons and tons of flowers. Flowers from my Hub, my friend Trish, my in-laws, my Dad, my Great-Grandma (via my Dad), my close friend Abbey from highschool, my Mom's good friends in Kentucky, my friends from my photography business, and from my sister (once I got home). They have been so wonderful--the smell of lilies and roses and the bright faces of sunflowers and daisies all around.
*Catheters suck. I don't think I need to expand on this one.
*Abdominal muscles cut open, lifted apart, and the body cavity inflated with gas underneath. Cut-cut, snip-snip, throw away the bad parts. It hurts. You're in some serious pain for a few days, and then the soreness won't go away. All of these things I understood, but was not really prepared for due to other distracting stressors. One HUGE surprise? The pain associated with peeing, as my bladder is repositioning itself. And, as I mentioned before, the excruciating pain (in my stomach and my lower bowel, not my asshole itself) that accompanies taking a shit. Not many people like to talk about poop, but I don't mind. We all do it. I just can't do it very well anymore. Can't push. Nothing wants to come completely out. It's a sadistic circle--you can't get it all out, so your destined to be back on the pot two hours later, and again two hours after that.
Okay, okay, I hear you groaning. The moral of this story? Be careful what you wish for. For years, I've been saying, "I don't want to have kids...I wish they'd just take all of my junk out so I don't have to explain myself anymore..." Honestly, I don't think I would have ever been able to get pregnant. And truly, I think I've always known that the hysterectomy was inevitable (and have thus been mentally talking myself into it). Let's just say things with my womanly organs have never been quite right. Over the past 5 years I'd grown tired of the poking, the biopsies, and the procedures. Sick of the cramps, the bleeding (or not bleeding), and the doctor's visits. All of that in mind though, I must admit that I never considered the fact that because my uterus had never been used, they'd have to go through my abdominal wall to get to it--it was too high to do the procedure vaginally, and the laparoscopic procedure was also out. So here I sit. Condemned to my house for 4-6 weeks. I was technically able to drive again this past Thursday, but I have no where to go (and no money to spend). Can you say Cabin Fever? Can you say, goddam Dora your poor husband? Thank the gods for the freakin satellite dish. And pardon my verbage. I'm a bit irritable.
Blogging was restricted from my work computer system a few months back (while I was on my self-inflicted blogging hiatus), but since I'm home-bound on recovery from being spayed, it doesn't matter anyway.
Those notes aside, I said before I'd relay the gory details of my surgery. Considering the hysterectomy is the #1 surgical procedure done on women in the United States, it's nothing earth-shattering, but here are some highlights:
*I was given an epidural in addition to general anethstesia. Not only was the numbness in my legs disconcerting, but the fentanyl made me itch. Badly. When I finally had had enough, the epidural was removed and was to be replaced with a PCA pump (dilaudid). The medicine for the pump didn't come up from the pharmacy for more than 2 hours after the epidural had been removed, and since it was only one day post-surgery, I was not in a good condition to do without pain medicine for that period of time. What can I say? I may be a big wuss, but you try having your abdominal muscles cut open and your insides fished out.
*Flowers. Tons and tons of flowers. Flowers from my Hub, my friend Trish, my in-laws, my Dad, my Great-Grandma (via my Dad), my close friend Abbey from highschool, my Mom's good friends in Kentucky, my friends from my photography business, and from my sister (once I got home). They have been so wonderful--the smell of lilies and roses and the bright faces of sunflowers and daisies all around.
*Catheters suck. I don't think I need to expand on this one.
*Abdominal muscles cut open, lifted apart, and the body cavity inflated with gas underneath. Cut-cut, snip-snip, throw away the bad parts. It hurts. You're in some serious pain for a few days, and then the soreness won't go away. All of these things I understood, but was not really prepared for due to other distracting stressors. One HUGE surprise? The pain associated with peeing, as my bladder is repositioning itself. And, as I mentioned before, the excruciating pain (in my stomach and my lower bowel, not my asshole itself) that accompanies taking a shit. Not many people like to talk about poop, but I don't mind. We all do it. I just can't do it very well anymore. Can't push. Nothing wants to come completely out. It's a sadistic circle--you can't get it all out, so your destined to be back on the pot two hours later, and again two hours after that.
Okay, okay, I hear you groaning. The moral of this story? Be careful what you wish for. For years, I've been saying, "I don't want to have kids...I wish they'd just take all of my junk out so I don't have to explain myself anymore..." Honestly, I don't think I would have ever been able to get pregnant. And truly, I think I've always known that the hysterectomy was inevitable (and have thus been mentally talking myself into it). Let's just say things with my womanly organs have never been quite right. Over the past 5 years I'd grown tired of the poking, the biopsies, and the procedures. Sick of the cramps, the bleeding (or not bleeding), and the doctor's visits. All of that in mind though, I must admit that I never considered the fact that because my uterus had never been used, they'd have to go through my abdominal wall to get to it--it was too high to do the procedure vaginally, and the laparoscopic procedure was also out. So here I sit. Condemned to my house for 4-6 weeks. I was technically able to drive again this past Thursday, but I have no where to go (and no money to spend). Can you say Cabin Fever? Can you say, goddam Dora your poor husband? Thank the gods for the freakin satellite dish. And pardon my verbage. I'm a bit irritable.
posted by Dora Maar at 8:47 AM
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