Hospital Recovery, Part 1: nuts and bolts

View from Mercy Hospital 2nd floor

Hello from the other side of surgery. All went well. The surgeon described it as the “best case scenario,” both when she opened me up and went exploring for cancer and also in terms of the surgery itself. I came out of the anesthesia just fine and they wheeled me into a very small room on the second floor with a pretty stereotypical hospital view: the roof of the building outfitted with a fancy vent and some mysterious construction scaffolding. I’m not complaining at all. It was so good to know if it was raining or not, night or day. A window of any kind is light.

I know why people don’t have anything to say about surgery. You just have it and then you get out of the hospital as soon as you can. But because I really wanted people to tell me what I should take and what it would be like, here is an account of my experience for the interwebs. Keep in mind this was “best case scenario” for abdominal surgery. I hope it helps someone down the line feel more confident (and not pack too much).

I overpacked, using those lists, especially clothing. All I needed was the clothes I wore in, a loose sundress to wear out, a sweater/wrap, underwear, and a robe. I didn’t need any of my meds– they had what I needed and preferred to give meds to me from their pharmacy. Devices were good, but really I only used my iPhone until the last morning, when I felt up to typing on a laptop. Books were completely unnecessary. A load of podcasts, also unnecessary. Fuzzy blanket from home, good. I didn’t use face soap, just warm water, but I was glad to have my toothbrush and toothpaste, even when I just used an extra water cup to manage that hygienic task.

Wednesday

That’s the day I had surgery. Don’t bring anything inside until you get to your room. Don’t wear jewelry. They’ll have you bag your clothes as soon as you enter the process and send them back with your companion or put them in a locker for you.

Pre-op, reading all the warnings!

Thursday

I had an epidural delivering pain meds to make the experience more consistent than pushing a button whenever you wanted more. I recommend this method of pain relief, except I got pretty over-medicated and sedated that first day. The anesthesiologist came by the first morning early, and I said (honestly) that the meds seemed to only reach a certain part of the incision and the top part was not getting pain relief. He turned up the level from 10 to 12 (right past 11!) and that day I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t visit or listen to a podcast or keep my eyelids open. My husband said I looked like Garfield. Perhaps 11 would have been high enough. Or 10. I didn’t go on walks that day or actually get out of bed at all. I did breathe into the breathalyzer that is a fun plastic toy that helps keep fluid out of your lungs and keeps you from getting pneumonia. Pneumonia was a big threat, though really coughing (from being intubated) was, I think, the real problem. Boy that hurts.

post-op– no changes except the gown? (as if)

Friday

People were really mad at me for not walking! Sheesh! We took the pain meds back to 10 (my idea) and I faced my fear and got up. The pain was actually sitting up. Get nurse instruction and help for that. Once you swing your legs over and stand, you’re fine! I love walking, just not getting out of the hospital bed. Friday I was toting the walker, IV pole, catheter bag, etc. But Friday afternoon they removed the catheter. I knew this would be bad for me. The IV pumps liquid into your veins (I weighed 15 lbs more Friday afternoon than when I arrived Wednesday morning!)

This, my friends, is how they get rid of you! I was somewhat “independent” after my four walks, but still calling when I needed to get up to go to the bathroom. After an — ahem — long wait that thankfully did not end in disaster, I knew that night I’d be on my own. Luckily, chemo gives you good practice maneuvering with a pole and plugging in/unplugging the IV. The space between bed and wall was very narrow, but I could just swing it if I pushed aside the bedside table. That night I was up every 40 minutes or so to go to the bathroom. By morning, I was fully ambulatory and independent.

Saturday

This oak tree photo struck me differently after the surgery.

I was ready to be discharged. Mostly I wanted that IV out of me (not to mention my hand had swollen up) and to skip the vitals, the Heparin shots (against blood clots), and get something more than broth, jello, and oatmeal in my system (don’t pack  snacks either). The Physician’s Assistant came on her rounds and I had already been up and about, was ready for my shower, and basically packed. We got rid of the IV, got a cold pack for that arm, and then I didn’t need to cover a single needle or device for my shower. I felt nearly free. Showered, packed, and had a lovely scrambled egg and baked potato.

That’s how my parents found me at 12:30. Restless waiting for them, I had gone for another walk around the hallway and further organized the room. I had just sat down to enjoy a cooking show (the Michigan football game was a rout) when they arrived. My only thought was: “Why did I bring so much stuff!” My dad hauled it down to their car, which was already stuffed with their stuff and provisions. Somehow it all fit.

And that is how I came to be sitting at the dining room table with my parents and husband before a lovely plate of rice with carrots and peas and some applesauce for dinner on the third night after surgery. We all looked at each other like we couldn’t quite believe it. Steve had planned on visiting, after the total sedation day of Thursday, but we told him to sit tight ’cause we’d be home by 3! The body and its ability to heal is incredible.

However, I’m not quite the rock this Yoga Joe in the middle is.  I found him holding his tree pose even though an actual tree (Devil’s Backbone) was growing right across his face!

Namaste, everyone. Namaste.

Peace. Peace. Peace.