The day of surgery arrived. December 9, 2008. Scott wheeled me down to the surgery waiting room and we signed in. It seemed like an eternity before we were called back to be prepped for surgery. We went back to our little room. Got an IV started. Marked which leg needed to be worked on…and waited. More waiting. And waiting. Scott’s mom brought him food. Waiting. Visit from our sweet friend, Jim. Again, more waiting. The anesthesiologist came in. More waiting.
Finally! I got the I-don’t-care-medicine shot. I was wheeled back to surgery on a gurney and transferred to the surgical table. Then fade to black.
When I woke up...more pain. I was supposed to wake up, get pain meds and go home with a prescription of more pain meds. I’d like to say that’s what happened. Unfortunately, the nurses on duty that night must have had an off night. To finish waking up, they took me to a semi-private room because the recovery area was full. Fine. But here is what happened while I was there:
1.) At no point was my pain managed, even though my doctor had left orders for care. They said he had not left orders. THEN CALL HIM FOR PETE’S SAKE! THE MORPHINE IS NOT TOUCHING THE PAIN! NOT EVEN A LITTLE!
2.) The surgery was supposed to be outpatient. However, I was there until 9 am the next morning. They wouldn’t let me leave without my pain under control. When my doctor found out I was still there during his rounds the morning after my surgery, he was furious with the nurses for not letting me go home and for not getting my pain managed. He gave me the first dose of my new found best friend, Lortab. As soon as it kicked in, Aaaaah! Relief. The pain was gone, and I got to go home.
3.) I shared a semi-private room with an elderly lady who had a LOT of issues going on. As a result of her many issues, she was hooked up to several machines for the nurses to monitor her. She was miserable, in pain, and moaning all night long. Not to mention her machines were constantly setting off alarms. I truly felt sorry for her, too.
4.) My monthly “friend” started the visit while I was writhing in pain in the hospital, adding insult to injury. Literally. And a week early. Too much information for you, I’m sure. Just telling it like it was. Keeping it real.
The week after surgery was pretty uncomfortable. It consisted mainly of eating and drinking enough to keep the Lortab from upsetting my stomach. I took the Lortab as often as I could because I had discovered, during my brief stay in the hospital, that getting behind on the pain was to be avoided at all cost. I stayed pretty much by myself in the bed. I was doped up a good bit of the time and whoever else was there was preoccupied with caring for our children once Scott returned to work.
One week post-surgery and I had to go back to the orthopedic doctor for a check-up on the incision sites. His nurse cut all the bandages and removed them. I saw the look of concern come across her face. “Hmm. There’s a blister,” she said. In my drug-hazy mind, I was wondering why that was such a big deal. Scott came over to see what she was talking about. He, too, had the same look of concern come across his face. He told me that I shouldn’t look at my leg. I told him I thought he was probably right. (It would be a few months before I would see the outside of my left leg.)
When my doctor came in, the nurse showed him what she had seen. I think he was a little disappointed, but not exactly shocked. He explained that sometimes after a trauma like this, followed by surgery, a blister can develop. We had to wait for it to do its thing and open on its own before we could treat it. He would let us know what to do next at the following visit.
Again, I am thankful at this point for God’s merciful gift of ignorance. I had no thoughts or emotions at this discovery of a blister. I think part of that was because I hadn’t seen what the blister looked like and how large it was. The other part of my ignorance was from the blissful haze Lortab had caused. Whatever the case, ignorance was a good thing at this point. The education and keen awareness of the blister, later known as the wound, would come in due time.
The next several days were again a blur. Sleeping off and on. Playing my Nintendo DS. Looking at magazines. Watching movies. I tried reading, but I couldn’t focus on the words because of the Lortab. I desperately wanted to read my Bible to seek its comfort. I was alone in the bed. A lot. In a way, it was kind of nice. At least I didn’t have to feel like I had to entertain anyone. I didn’t have to worry about putting on a fake happy face for anyone. But it was hard missing out on all the Christmas activities. It stunk that I was missing out on breastfeeding our son. I missed that bond with him. I was sad to miss out on what our daughter was doing. I felt disconnected and lonely. I really worried about Scott’s stress levels. I had never seen him more stressed. I was concerned about his health. As a result, I was trying my best to help out in the only way I could imagine: by being the best, easiest patient possible. I tried not to ask for much. I didn’t want to cause more stress for everyone than I already had. I stayed in our bed most of the time, trying to maintain a low profile so no one would worry about me. It was also the place where I felt most physically comfortable. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the loneliest I’ve ever felt. It was a dark time. I felt like I was drowning in that loneliness. I just forced myself to keep going, and pleaded with God to help me cling to the hope that one day, this would all be a distant memory.
On top of the feelings of disconnection and loneliness, at our next doctor’s visit came the news that we would now have to be caring for an open wound. I don’t know if you have ever had an open wound before. I don’t mean a scrape, scratch, poke, or any other minor irritation. I don’t think you can appreciate what all this entails until you have experienced the 3D version of a wound. Mine was fairly small compared to the wounds that can happen.
When we started caring for the wound, it was about 2.5-3 inches long, about an inch wide, and about half an inch deep. Our insurance had a large deductible to meet in order for home health care to come change bandages and clean it. We couldn’t afford to pay the deductible. Plus, the first part of the stages of caring for the wound sounded very painful. Scott felt that he would be more gentle dealing with the care of the wound than anyone else would. So my brave hero of a husband said he’d give it a go to do what had to be done. The nurse showed Scott how to care for the wound. For the first stage of this wound care stuff Scott had to “strip” the wound 3 times a day. To strip the wound meant that Scott would slightly dampen a length of what is called “packing strip” (which is basically a 1/4 inch ribbon of gauze) with sterile saline. He would pack the dampened packing strip into the wound cavity. Then cover the wound with a gauze pad and tape it to my leg. Four or five hours later, when it was time to change the bandages, Scott removed the outer gauze pad. Then he pulled all of the packed in packing strip out of the wound cavity. The process rips all of the sickly, damaged, infected tissue out of the wound to allow new, healthy, flourishing tissue to grow back. But the process causes intense pain. Let me put it this way: considering I have a fairly high pain tolerance, and I took a Lortab about an hour before each procedure, I still was screaming into a pillow from the pain. Our kids were always home during these procedures and I didn’t want our children, our four-year-old daughter especially, to hear my screams. It still brings tears to my eyes when I think about this stage of things. And we were doing this three times a day! Let me reiterate...this was three times a day for two weeks. We’d have to do this before Scott went to work each morning. Then he came home at lunch to strip the wound. We would do the final stripping of the wound each day after dinner. Scott told me a few years after all this that he would go in the closet and cry over the pain he was inflicting on me. The wound stripping was a necessary evil. Three times a day for two weeks...causing very intense pain in order to bring about healing.
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