Boy howdy, am I glad the surgeries are over.
A pox on snowmobiles.
But the surgery went well and easily. I wasn't so nervous this time. Heck, I'm beginning to feel old hat at this stuff. Unlike in June, when I went in to have the long screw taken out, I didn't get all antsy this time when the folks acted like they'd never seen me before, had to ask why I was even there, and queried if I'd ever had surgery in the past. ("No, nurse, the hardware you're about to take out just grew there.")
Nope, none of that this time. Consider me a veteran. I answered their questions without making one wisecrack, pointed to my LEFT ankle oh, about a dozen times for a half-dozen different people before they were sure they got it right. Even after one nurse double-booted my right foot as a barrier and wrote "YES" in big green letters on my left ankle, they STILL asked me what side they were supposed to do. But I took it all in stride. Metaphorically speaking.
Okay, well, I had one slip-up. In my defense I was totaly drugged, do not remember a word of the event, and am beginning to think it's all a lying conspiracy. After I woke up in recovery, the nice nurse laughingly told me I called the anesthesiologist a "monster." Immediately followed by my giving him a very kind "thank you and good job."
Now really, can you see me acting in such a schizophrenic manner?
I'm not even sure when this supposed affront took place--while I was going under or as I started to come out. Last thing I remember is the needle going into my arm, and that feeling. That ucky "whoa, am I feeling those drugs race through me" sensation. I asked the anesthesiologist, "You got stuff goin' in me already?"
"Yes, I do."
"Yo, baby. No kiddin'."
Perhaps it was immediately following that when I turned on the guy. I'll never know. Next thing I knew I was waking up.
Here's what they took out of me. The plate's three inches long. Six screws of various lengths. The longest one was put in at that odd angle in order to bring the two parts of my separated bone together.
Of course the doc sent me home with pain meds, even though I told him I can't take them. It makes him feel better knowing I have them, he said. In case the pain just gets too bad. Thanks, Doc. But I remain macho as ever, and the bottle still sits in the nice little green paper tote bag the nurse gave me.
Take a look at my yellow leg. It's the soap they use. I think it sets off the red flowered toe nails quite nicely, don't you? The bandage will stay on until the stitches come out in 10-14 days. Actually I can reduce the bandaging to big bandaids in a week if I want. The area can't get wet. I'm back to covering the leg and sitting on the plastic bath chair to take showers.
Well, hey. If the south can rise again, so I can I. Just give me a few weeks.
So today I got pages to write. Tomorrow too, in order to make up for surgery day. On account of the fact that I came home yesterday and slept/watched TV all day on the couch in a doped-up haze. I also have to tape interview questions about Crimson Eve by phone this afternoon--to be used on various radio shows. I'll try not to call the radio guy names.
As for the getting around the house part, I'm a veteran at that too. Had everything perfectly positioned for myself when Mark brought me back home. Crutches in the garage. Then up the stairs using my left knee. Handy-dandy rolling physician's chair parked right at the propped-open kitchen door. Yup, this babe's got wheels.
In closing--Just in case the nurse's very unbelievable story about my "monster" comment is true, I do hereby graciously apologize to all anesthesiologists everywhere. It's the drugs, docs. It's the drugs.
Read Part 15