Well, I’m now just over a week post-op and it has been the most annoying, frustrating and wincingly painful week.
The first day after surgery, I got up at 6am. I immediately had a flashback to being four years old. At four years old, I had an umbilical hernia operation and really struggled to stand upright again. One of the sites that was used for this surgery was the pre-existing scar from that umbilical hernia surgery. So when I gingerly started to stand up out of bed that first morning, I was immediately transported back to Victoria Ward at Bedford South Wing Hospital and nurses trying to get me to stand up straight. I wasn’t expecting that at all. It freaked me out a bit and then I just had to laugh about it (painfully) as I very carefully made my way down the stairs to put the kettle on.
That first day was spent texting a lot with Mum to let her know that I was okay, replying to text messages from chums that had come in the night before and filling them in on what had happened the day before. I was still under the influence of the general anaesthetic so really didn’t feel like eating anything but knew I had to eat a little something. The level of pain meds that had been given to me upon discharge meant that they have to be taken with or after food. I had absolutely no idea how much of an issue that was going to be this week. I started off with some watermelon, mango and a yoghurt to take the tablets. I have a history of really struggling to swallow tablets and have developed a real yoghurt habit since I’ve been on the Venlafaxine let me tell you!
There didn’t seem to be any impact on my stomach from my light breakfast so, for lunch, I went one step further. Well, half a step. I made a sandwich for lunch but with sandwich thins and not normal sliced bread, so it was a very small sandwich so I could take the next round of painkillers. I felt totally full for the rest of the day so I didn’t want to eat anything so I missed the next round of painkillers. This has turned out to be the theme for my recovery so far.
The hospital phoned in the afternoon to see how I was feeling and to confirm what the next stages would be in terms of contact with them post-op. They also made the fatal mistake of making me laugh because that hurts like hell when I laugh and when I cough, which I was doing a lot of as a result of having the tubes down my throat. The nurse who called me asked if I lived with anybody, to which I obviously replied no. The reason she asked was that as so much air was pumped into my stomach to make room to fish my gallbladder out, there would subsequently be quite a lot of farting this week!!! Apparently, some of the female patients can be a little “precious” shall we say about passing that amount of wind post-op. However, I gleefully told her that my cat has no shame about farting right in my face so it would be nice to get some revenge for a few days!
I managed another yoghurt later in the evening to get another round of painkillers down me and the rest of my “normal” meds and I called it quits at that point in terms of trying to take more meds. I called Mum to let her know that I was actually okay and we had a laugh about my flashbacks to being four years old and I dragged my sore tummy and sorry butt back to bed to try to get some sleep.
At this point, I must say how fabulous my cat has been post-op. Don’t get me wrong, she hasn’t made me a coffee, prepared an evening meal or offered to do the washing and ironing for me. But, it has been said that animals know when their humans are suffering and I think she has known. The first night home from the op and for the most part of the week, instead of jumping on my stomach for cuddles and fusses, she has stopped at the top of my legs (so I can still reach to fuss her of course) and at bed time or whenever I have gone back to bed for a nap, she has followed me and has been sleeping by my feet instead of on me.
Jill came round the next day to see how I was doing and to distract me from internet shopping which very nearly got way out of hand. The day before surgery, I had stacked up the chair next to me in the living room with books, DVDs, my laptop, tapestry kits – all things that could and should keep me occupied during recovery. All things that I needed to distract me from slipping in terms of my mental health and to stop me from internet shopping, which is a go-to activity when my mental health is suffering. I have barely touched any of them during my recovery so far. I also had my Sky Planner stacked up with various guilty pleasure TV shows and had stopped myself from watching the new season of Lucifer on Netflix so that I could watch it whilst recovering. To the day of publishing this post, I haven’t watched one episode of Lucifer yet!
Up to the point that Jill came to visit, I had managed to restrict my shopping to just one book. As we all know, I’m a huge cricket fan and David “Bumble” Lloyd had been on TV in the morning advertising his new book. Well, having Amazon Prime meant that was bought straight away and delivered the same day. My theory was, I now had a new book as an added distraction.
That distraction lasted about 7 pages. By the third day, my mental health took a massive dip. I had a shower, washed my hair and changed the dressings on the four wound sites. It wasn’t pretty but I did it. I also felt incredibly sick all day and really didn’t want to eat anything so there were absolutely no meds taken at all that day, including my “normal” meds. I really was feeling truly miserable.
By the end of that day, I’d nearly sold my car, nearly bought a new car and there were so many things in various “baskets” on soooo many different websites. I had nearly bought a yellow Mini Clubman – a 66 plate that was coming in at £12,000. The reason I’d looked at it is I’d been thinking about a new car for a while, even though I can’t really afford one, and I’d started looking at the new shape Mini after having a classic Mini as my first car. Also, Mum had this really cool Mini Clubman Estate when I was little and it was the first of the family’s cars that I really remember. I even remember the number plate – WNK 21S. Now, that is showing my age with the set up of that number plate.
However, by the end of the week, I managed to stop myself from buying the new car and had managed to restrict my shopping to the cricket book, a new iPod, 2 cardigans, a new pair of Timberland boots and a new pair of pyjamas. In fairness, my iPod had been dying for a while and I’d been toying with that one for a bit and I do not own a nice cardigan. I have fleeces coming out of my ears but a nice cardigan to take out with me (when I start forcing myself to go out into the world again) is something I don’t actually own. The Timberland boots were on sale and they last years so they’re really more of an investment! I love their boots and they fit my feet really well as I have size 8 super wide feet and the boots are great with jeans. You can always never go wrong with a new pair of pyjamas. So, in my defence and my ability to justify any internet shopping, the cricket book was the only thing that was technically an extravagance. That’s my defence and I’m sticking to it!
Then, excitement hit my life. I was getting a supermarket delivery which had cheese in it! Yay! Cheese. For the first time in months. What was I going to do with this little piece of heaven? Sandwich? Jacket potato? Salad? Or just slice it up and eat it as is? I went for a toasted cheese sandwich with Red Leicester and Cheddar. It was, quite frankly, the most delicious meal I had eaten in years. After I had finished this plate of deliciousness, my heart was telling me to make another one but my head and my stomach were telling me not to push it and one was more than enough to re-introduce me to the delights of cheese. I basked in the sheer joy-joy feelings that one little toastie had given me in terms of taste, normality and a sense of my life finally changing for the better.
Now that might seem quite a lot of pressure on one simple toastie but trust me when I tell you that I genuinely don’t think I have the words to express how excited about the future that one simple toastie made me feel.
I may have gotten a little carried away, riding the wave of the tremendous toastie. I went for a walk around the block only 5 days post-op and that may have been a little too much, too soon. It was super painful so I won’t be doing that again for a few days. I also went one step further and got in the car. I only drove literally 1.5 miles in total and as much as it wasn’t particularly painful, it scared the shit out of me. Before I set off, I did check that I could slam my foot on the break and clutch in case I had to make an emergency stop and I did check that I could turn my body left and right before I even started the engine. However, I probably should have re-read the discharge notes where it stated that I shouldn’t drive for 7 to 10 days after the op (oops). I’ll stick to online grocery deliveries for the time being and I’ll get a cab if I want to get out and pop around to Jill’s for a coffee.
I did have this image in my head that this weekend, I would pop up to see the folks as it’s my Dad’s birthday. Nope, that is not happening. Mum was utterly furious with me that I’d tried the car and it did make me realise that I am so not ready. That hit my mental health and I felt incredibly deflated (even though my stomach still isn’t). However, this time, rather than more internet shopping, I did get through 10 levels of Candy Crush. Still no episodes of Lucifer though!
I have got to slow down. My body will take whatever time it needs to recover. But, I’ve never been in this situation before. Every procedure I’ve had before, I’ve known what to expect. I’ve always known that when I’ve had a procedure on my back, I need to get moving as soon as possible afterwards to aid recovery. I’ve always had a set schedule for recovery on whatever I’ve had done to me. This is a whole new experience; I’ve never had an organ removed before and just didn’t really appreciate what I was going to be up against, especially as they had to do some extra rooting around because of the inflammation.
So, here I am today, just over a week post-op and I’m not doing bad but I’ve still got a way to go. Now that I have accepted this, I now need to manage my mental health over the next few weeks as I continue to make slow and steady progress. I have my distractions at the ready. I have to sit with the emotions of frustration and anger at not being able to do things at the pace I want. I have to accept the lack of control. It’s going to be hard work.
I’ll still be keeping my eye on that Mini Clubman though.
Living The BPD Life 