So once again, we’re back at the hospital at the butt crack of dawn (Dec 20th). You all already know how I feel about that. The hospital staff gathers up all the lucky surgery candidates and sends us through the maze of halls to the surgery lobby. I started Baaaa-ing like a sheep at The Best Husband as we walked. All we were missing was a cowboy on a cutting horse and a sheep dog.
This go round, I was not pre-registered with the surgery nurse. So I was one of the last one’s called. All the private rooms must have been full because this time I had a bed and a curtain. I wouldn’t even classify it as semi-private. It was more like a non-private cubicle. I did have that great thick paper gown with all the air hookups and of course the awesome purple socks. The non-private cubicle was okay, though. The head nurse was a hoot and kept me entertained. Dr. C. finally showed up. Then the anasteshiologist. You know, the guy that puts you to sleep. I asked that they not give me Morphine. The surgical nurse asked why? I said because it makes me feel horrible. I don’t like it. She got a really weird look on her face. I don’t care what you think, lady. Don’t give me Morphine. Again, how do people get addicted to pain killers? I have yet to try one that I like. Dr. C. told The Best Husband that he would not be able to speak to him after the surgery because he had to get back over to the office. The nurse would be giving us our discharge instructions.
Speaking of the nurse, she came over right before I was wheeled away and put those massage things on my legs. I’ve never used those before. When they hooked ‘em up in the operating room and turned ‘em on…that was a weird feeling for sure. Shortly after that, it was lights out. I woke up in a much better state than the first surgery. I could breathe, but I was in terrible pain. I remember moaning, loudly. A male whisper in my ear, “I’ll get you something for the pain.” “Thank you,” I whispered back. I don’t know what he gave me, but it was some good sh*t. I should try to find out what it was.
After a short stay in the recovery room, I was wheeled back to my non-private cubicle. The nurse retrieved The Best Husband from the waiting room. I had this huge plastic bandage over the surgery site. It kinda reminded me of the plastic-wrapped paper you find under a piece of meat in the grocery store package. Yes, my mind works in mysterious ways. The nurse told me I was not to remove the bandage. So I could not shower. Again. Geez. This is getting old. She also unraveled this long plastic tube sticking out of a new hole in my boob and attached was a plastic bulb. A drain. Something I thought I would have had after the first surgery. She shows The Best Husband how it works, tells us to empty the bulb every 12 hours or so, and record the amount of serum that has collected in the bulb. Oh, goodie. The Best Husband immediately dubbed it the Christmas Boob Ornament. Of course he talked about keeping it as a souvenir. I told him I already had enough souvenirs from this experience.
Oh, did I tell you that The Best Daughter was scheduled to get her tonsils out over Christmas break? Just another thing that The Best Husband had to deal with. I think he spent more time in doctor’s offices, hospitals and surgery centers in 2011 than the entire 27 years of our marriage. You know how the marriage vows say “for better or worse, in sickness and in health?” We had never witnessed so much “worse” or “sickness” before. But he handled it like a trooper. He took The Best Daughter for her tonsillectomy on Dec 22nd while I sat home on the couch. Then he cared for the both of us over the Christmas break. I was home from work the entire time. Boring.
I was getting worried because I still had Christmas shopping to do. Finally, Christmas Eve I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. Right, silly. It’s Christmas Eve! I stuffed the girls and the Christmas Boob Ornament into one of the sports bras and drove to Wal-Mart. Probably not the best decision on Christmas Eve, but I was desperate. I did manage to order a present for The Best Husband over the internet, and luckily I was able to pick it up on Christmas Eve. Things were coming together. Thank goodness.
Christmas morning. Drain the Christmas Boob Ornament. Get some coffee. Settle in on the couch. Let the paper ripping begin! Oh, look, footy pajamas. Not just any footy pajamas. Pink camouflage. And comfy, warm slippers. We unwrapped for at least two hours. Even the dogs got in on the act. This was the first year that my sister hadn’t come to spend the night on Christmas Eve. Felt really odd. But this had been an odd end to 2011, so it seemed to fit right in. Sister and her boyfriend were expected over mid-morning for more present opening and dinner. I don’t even recall what we had for dinner on Christmas. That’s pathetic.
Two days after Christmas, it’s back to the boob doctor. I expected him to look at the sheet where we had been diligently recording the boob drainage and promptly tell me that the Christmas Boob Ornament had to stay in for a little longer. Nope. He barely even glanced at it. We had drained over 1000 cc of serum in one week. Didn't seem to care. Said the drain had to come out sometime, and that sometime was now. First, though, the removal of the bandage that was starting to itch like crazy and the stitches. Ouch. I asked if he was going to give a little numbing medicine before he removed the Christmas Boob Ornament. Every time I go to the boob doctor, they hurt me. I never know what level of pain I will have to endure during my visits. It’s getting old. No wonder my blood pressure is always out of control. Anyway, Dr. C. says no, it will only sting a little bit. Like he knows? When was the last time someone pulled a drain tube out of him? Probably never. So, yeah, it stung. More than a little bit. I was happy to get rid of the Christmas Boob Ornament, though, so I only whimpered a little bit. No tears. If there were tears, they were happy tears because now I could go home and take a shower! First though, I stopped in at my office to see how things were going and check my email. Only took me 2 hours to clean out my inbox. What a pain.
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