Catch-up

Y'all can stop holding your collective breath, holding candlelight vigils, and whatnot. I made it through the surgery just fine. I was just neglectful of posting the success on the blog. That is totally my bad.

The surgery itself was uneventful with the small exception of it taking a bit longer than expected as the herniation was bigger than what my surgeon expected. I spent 2.5 hours in the OR and 2.5 hours in PACU. They gave me dose after dose of meds and my pain was still awful. I've learned to accept that I'll never be pain free so on a scale of 1-10, a good old fashioned 5 is quite manageable. I asked to be put on the floor of my original admission, but was denied the request and got put on the surgical unit. There the nurses were habitually late with pain meds requested 30-45 minutes ago. The aides never identified who they were and their, "Can I help you," had the tone of an impatient teenager. My 2 days there felt like an eternity.

During my 2 day stay there were eventful things happening outside of my realm. For one, Mom somehow got lost on the Mass Pike. I find this extremely interesting because the hospital isn't even near an on-ramp. She called lost and was giving me unfamiliar street names asking how to get home. Because I was in the hospital my signal was weak and my GPS never did find the network. I was quite the site standing by the window (for a better signal) tethered to the IV pole, cursing my phone and becoming anxious about my Mom, and an open gown in the back, when my nurse came in. I gave up and hobbled back to bed. She finally found a fire station and went in to ask the nice men how to get home. She made it and then poured herself a large pineapple and vodka, easy on the juice. Its kind of like how chips are just a mere vehicle for salsa to land in my mouth. You go for the good stuff. Hell, I could have used a cocktail at that point too.

Another choice event was my home health nurse calling the physicians assistant and telling him what the orders should be for my pain. Good times there. Upon discharge, I was handed two scripts for pain meds along with a laundry list of things I cannot do for 2 months. 2 months. I have to say it again because it blows my mind: 2 months. No lifting anything over 4 pounds, no twisting, no torquing, no bending forward (they even drew me a diagram with stick figures showing what this looks like...because apparently I am daft), no driving, no household chores, no cooking, no laundry, no baths, no walking Edgar (as he pulls). etc.

Mom and I ventured to the pharmacy only to be told that they couldn't fill the oxycontin right now. They had to wait 24 hours. Are you freakin kidding me?!? My anger wasn't directed at the pharmacists, but at that stupid nurse who discharged me and my doc who wrote the script in the first place. I called the nurse and played lawyer. It didn't get me far but I felt better pointing out that she knew of a hospital policy of faxing the script a day in advance of the discharge, but didn't follow it. Humph. So there. Thank God for my bossy home health nurse. I called her as a desperate crying patient looking for help. She somehow talked another pharmacy into filling the script regardless of the guidelines. God bless the Lucy's in this Charlie Brown world.

The days blur together. Things I think happened actually never took place. And things that were real get mistaken for dreams. Mom was awesome making meals, doing laundry, making homemade candy (as is the tradition of the Temple legacy at Christmas), walking Edgar, and the best part is she washed the floors. This seriously was one of my top wishes on my Christmas list and it came true!!! However all good things come to an end like the last piece of sweet almond roca or the last drizzle of (also sweet) boxed wine and Mom went off to the airport. I think she was happy to return back home. "Are you sure you don't want to reschedule now and go tomorrow when the conditions are better?" We'd ask looking at the weather reports of heavy snow. "Oh, no. I'm certain its fine," she said carrying a bag bigger than she was out the door. Sure enough her flight was canceled, but she got re-booked on another one 2 or so hours later, waited on standby in Minneapolis, and took a taxi home at midnight from Salt Lake International.

Mom and J even got Christmas up while she was in town. It took 4 nights but who's counting, right? I am just so grateful that on the one Christmas without family we had a tree with lights all a glow and sparkling lights. They tried the first night, but I looked up the store hours only to find that it closed an hour before so they made the best of it and went to Costco. The second night it was race against the clock to get the tree, wreath, eggnog, and some cranberries to boot. J decided to saw the tree for better water uptake and began to drill the hole into the bottom when the electric drill lost power and he almost melted into a puddle of frustrated tears. The third night everyone was too tired so the tree just looked awfully pretty leaning up against the outside of our house. The fourth night we spiked the eggnog and the tasks were completed! The tree was a leaning spectacle of glory and J was ambitious enough to begin stringing the garlands (not my idea) when by garland #2, his frustration levels were maxed and now we (still) have a hanging garland draped from the ceiling over the TV, down by the candles, and onto the floor. That was over a week ago.

There was some miscommunication about the stockings. Ginny made my stocking for my first Christmas. It has a narrow patchwork front with my name and year of birth on the front and a red velvet backing. Its hung on the mantle every year and J got his own, also with his name embroidered, the first year of our marriage. I thought Mom was going to bring them, she decided to leave them home. I wondered if it was because my Dad was afraid he'd never get them back. Both he and Mom got theirs from Ginny after they married. In the dilemma of the missing stockings, Mom suggested we hang festive pillowcases. Pillowcases. I decided to embroider them. Its no pottery barn, but that class Mom made me go to after school when I was 6 paid off. J's looked like a lot of love went into it, something perhaps a 10 year old would do. They hung next to the fallen garland.

On Christmas Eve, we were invited up to our landlord's house (upstairs) for dinner with her family. I was excited, RSVP'd, and asked what we could bring. The dream was fun while it lasted until Jon reminded me that I'm not able to do stairs yet and my physical therapist agreed. The fear of me falling and wrecking my back caused me to cancel. She vowed to bring food down and said she felt so bad for me, but she understood. J came home that night in a puddle of goo. Some sort of virus was making merry in his sinuses and we settled on soup and bread for dinner. It wasn't the festive madness that Christmas Eve typically is for us. Usually we try to hit 2 to 3 family houses on Christmas Eve night. The best one we always look forward to is my dad's side of the family. Its low key, but high fun. Everyone still exchanges small gifts and its usually the dogs who make out like bandits. Treats, toys, etc. By report of my mom, this year was no exception and it was a blast.

I set my alarm for early Christmas morning. Even though I'm not supposed to cook (lifting and torquing issues), I had prepared a brunch casserole and wanted to give J a festive breakfast before he went off to see patients. Problem is, I slept through my alarms...3 of them apparently. J didn't. He got up and wasn't quiet about things (I heard the oven door slam in one of my dreams), but he got it in the oven. I woke from my slumber about an hour later. I could smell the eggs. A 30 minute casserole had been cooking for double the time. However, it was still edible. We both hoped for an early day which probably jinxed it. Poor J didn't come home until about 9:00. We opened presents and had a glass of wine. We talked to our parents and finally decided to do something for dinner. Hours before, I had made a Merlot reduction sauce (again, not supposed to cook and have a 2 -4 pound weight limit for lifting), and attempted salad dressing (harder than it looks with the shaking/whisking), and literally tossed potatoes into the oven for baking (can't bend forward). All of these were terrible ideas brought on by my compulsive need to make things special for Christmas. By 10:30, the steaks were mediocre (mine was awful), the potatoes were hard, and we decided a complicated salad would be too difficult but a handful of spinach would do just fine.

Usually I get the let-down feeling after Christmas just because of all of the activity is over. This year I just feel relief.