Well, my adventure to Target wasn't supposed to happen until tomorrow, but it happened tonight instead. The reasons aren't important, but I am sure a certain person and I are going to have words at some point.
So, off Jason and I went to Target. While walking around, I felt so invigorated. It felt like being let out of prison. Jason was very patient (well, like all men are patient -- "do you have to look at that? You don't need that, do you"), and we made our way around.
I found a lovely new pair of pajama pants, a little lounging outfit (which will come in handy next week *wink wink*) which are just a lovely pair of pants and a top in a cranberry color, and a black nightgown (sorry, not the sexy kind, just the comfy kind). I also bought some socks, since I am sock challenged (seriously, I wear the same damn socks all the time! It's time to a sock drawer purge like Stalin!*). OOH! and I found some pirate socks and another little thing I can't talk about here cause I know Munchkin reads my blog, and if I say what it is, she won't be surprised when I give her hers.
Then, it was off to toiletries. Stocked up on shampoo, conditioner, loofahs, allergy medications, prevacid, and a bunch of other stuff. We also picked up some groceries while we were there.
So, after making all our choices, we made our way to check-out, which is where it hit. As if on cue, the pain hit me like a 2x4. I think I literally staggered out of the store and to Jason's car. As I sat in the car, waiting for him to unload the cart, I thought I would pass out. That passed, and we headed for home. We decided to grab some McDonalds (which, believe me, I am regretting like nobody's business - I'm holding it down, but I think it's through sheer force of will).
Oh, and on other thing --- last night, I discovered Tabatha Coffey's book is finally on kindle!!! I am happier than I thought could be possible. Bought that thing, and will be curling up with it in just a few minutes, when I'm done this. When I saw this woman on Shear Genius, I just could not stand her. Now, I have great admiration for her, and what she's accomplished.
well, it's off to bed now - even hitting the caps key is getting to be too much. so long, farewell, auf wiedersen, good night
*can't go to bed without explaining this -- it's an expression that comes from the discussion form known as The Perfect World. If you haven't checked it out, you should. Many interesting folks there, and some goodhearted souls.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Scoldings
Well, it was bound to happen. After all, you can only get away with so much before the truth comes out and people begin scolding you.
Truth to tell -- I haven't been taking my meds correctly. I've been trying to wean off too soon. I'm no martyr, but I feel lost without a gauge to figure out where I am in the recover process. My doctor won't give me one, so I feel very adrift.
So, my FWB lectures me, my BFF lectures me... it was only a matter of time before the doctor began to scold and lecture me. They did it oh so nicely, though I could read between the lines that they think they're dealing with a crazy woman. Ok, that's a little strong. Frustrated, but not crazy.
So, it turns out that if I were taking the medicines correctly, I wouldn't be experiencing the chest spasms I've been having, and perhaps my left shoulder and neck wouldn't hurt so much. The chest spasms are not heart related, nor are they breathing related. I know this for sure. As a chronic asthmatic, you learn to tell the differences between breathing issues. As I said to the PA yesterday, and today, I am not experiencing any of the symptoms that would send me running to my pulmonologist for aid - steroids, etc....
No, these are different, although I'm hard pressed to explain exactly how.
Anyway, I had originally called the doctor to report the pain in my shoulder & neck, pain in the incision, and the spasms across my chest and shoulders. Oddly, the spasms across my shoulders are less painful than the ones across my chest. We talked about various things, and then..... I had to confess my reluctance to take my medication as directed. I'm no martyr. Let me repeat that - I'm not martyr. I just want to recover, and get my life back. Basically, what the PA said was, if you don't use the medications the way we told you, you are going to have a longer recovery. Most people at my stage of recovery are still using Valium 2-3 times per day. Um. I took 1 per day. If that.
Needless to say, I was read the riot act. I have never in my life been scolded so gently and kindly, but make no mistake - it was a scolding. And, fear not, I listened.
She decided the incision pain was from me following the direction of my physical therapist, who had suggested I began gently massaging/rubbing the scar to prevent granulation. This is not a bad thing to do, but given the amount of pain it's causing, I'm to stop for another week or so. We talked about how hard I'm massaging - I reassured her I was barely touching the scar. I find myself oddly squeamish about this whole thing. I don't want to look at it, or touch it, or anything. I make sure it's kept clean, and the people who have seen it claim it's beautiful, a work of art, that when it completely heals, you'll barely be able to see it. So, any massaging/rubbing I've done has been extremely tentative. But, yeah, I can stop that. You have no idea how relieved I am about that.
The PA yesterday told me to call back today to order more Norco (Vicodin) as it was after 4, and they don't do the refill after 4. So, I called back today, and ended up talking to the PA who actually sewed me up. I made sure to pass along all the compliments I've been receiving - after all, I didn't sew myself up! She did, and if I have a barely visible scar at the end of all this, it will be thanks to her and her skill.
Anyway, todays issue (aside from some more medication issues, for which I was again scolded) was my ability to swallow. I've been going along, assuming the problem I'm having swallowing is just part of the recovery from the surgery. After all, they move the esophagus and breathing tube (which I know has a name, and I can't remember just now) about 2 inches to the side to give them room to work on the spine. so, there's bound to be some issues as everything settles into place after the insult, and some swelling to go down.
My problem is that when I go to swallow, it's almost like my esophagus won't accept the food. I don't choke, or cough, I just have to swallow hard a couple of times, almost like to kick start it. Then, when I do eat, it's so much trouble, I just don't eat much. It doesn't hurt to eat, but I do take in a lot of air, which very naturally results in burping.
I eat a lot of Tums, trying to neutralize the air stuck in the lower part of the tract. It does help, and it does help the "stuck" air to come back out. It's just generally annoying. I've had more juice since 1/6, then I can remember drinking in my life! All this burping, and no soda to cause it. I am sad. hee hee
Anyway, for the next week, I'm to keep an eye on it, and if it continues, we'll need to do that barium test where you swallow barium, and they watch it go down, trying to find exactly where the problem is. Not something to look forward to, but if it resolves the issue, fine with me.
So, the rules are as follows: Valium - 1 every 6 hours (and yes this means even longer before I get to drive again). Nordo - 1-2 every 4-6 hours = it has already been proven that this will remain at 2 every 4 hours, as weaning down to 1 every 4 hours simply did not work.
I have to admit. I followed the rules today, and felt so much better. Well, until tonight. But that's another post.
Truth to tell -- I haven't been taking my meds correctly. I've been trying to wean off too soon. I'm no martyr, but I feel lost without a gauge to figure out where I am in the recover process. My doctor won't give me one, so I feel very adrift.
So, my FWB lectures me, my BFF lectures me... it was only a matter of time before the doctor began to scold and lecture me. They did it oh so nicely, though I could read between the lines that they think they're dealing with a crazy woman. Ok, that's a little strong. Frustrated, but not crazy.
So, it turns out that if I were taking the medicines correctly, I wouldn't be experiencing the chest spasms I've been having, and perhaps my left shoulder and neck wouldn't hurt so much. The chest spasms are not heart related, nor are they breathing related. I know this for sure. As a chronic asthmatic, you learn to tell the differences between breathing issues. As I said to the PA yesterday, and today, I am not experiencing any of the symptoms that would send me running to my pulmonologist for aid - steroids, etc....
No, these are different, although I'm hard pressed to explain exactly how.
Anyway, I had originally called the doctor to report the pain in my shoulder & neck, pain in the incision, and the spasms across my chest and shoulders. Oddly, the spasms across my shoulders are less painful than the ones across my chest. We talked about various things, and then..... I had to confess my reluctance to take my medication as directed. I'm no martyr. Let me repeat that - I'm not martyr. I just want to recover, and get my life back. Basically, what the PA said was, if you don't use the medications the way we told you, you are going to have a longer recovery. Most people at my stage of recovery are still using Valium 2-3 times per day. Um. I took 1 per day. If that.
Needless to say, I was read the riot act. I have never in my life been scolded so gently and kindly, but make no mistake - it was a scolding. And, fear not, I listened.
She decided the incision pain was from me following the direction of my physical therapist, who had suggested I began gently massaging/rubbing the scar to prevent granulation. This is not a bad thing to do, but given the amount of pain it's causing, I'm to stop for another week or so. We talked about how hard I'm massaging - I reassured her I was barely touching the scar. I find myself oddly squeamish about this whole thing. I don't want to look at it, or touch it, or anything. I make sure it's kept clean, and the people who have seen it claim it's beautiful, a work of art, that when it completely heals, you'll barely be able to see it. So, any massaging/rubbing I've done has been extremely tentative. But, yeah, I can stop that. You have no idea how relieved I am about that.
The PA yesterday told me to call back today to order more Norco (Vicodin) as it was after 4, and they don't do the refill after 4. So, I called back today, and ended up talking to the PA who actually sewed me up. I made sure to pass along all the compliments I've been receiving - after all, I didn't sew myself up! She did, and if I have a barely visible scar at the end of all this, it will be thanks to her and her skill.
Anyway, todays issue (aside from some more medication issues, for which I was again scolded) was my ability to swallow. I've been going along, assuming the problem I'm having swallowing is just part of the recovery from the surgery. After all, they move the esophagus and breathing tube (which I know has a name, and I can't remember just now) about 2 inches to the side to give them room to work on the spine. so, there's bound to be some issues as everything settles into place after the insult, and some swelling to go down.
My problem is that when I go to swallow, it's almost like my esophagus won't accept the food. I don't choke, or cough, I just have to swallow hard a couple of times, almost like to kick start it. Then, when I do eat, it's so much trouble, I just don't eat much. It doesn't hurt to eat, but I do take in a lot of air, which very naturally results in burping.
I eat a lot of Tums, trying to neutralize the air stuck in the lower part of the tract. It does help, and it does help the "stuck" air to come back out. It's just generally annoying. I've had more juice since 1/6, then I can remember drinking in my life! All this burping, and no soda to cause it. I am sad. hee hee
Anyway, for the next week, I'm to keep an eye on it, and if it continues, we'll need to do that barium test where you swallow barium, and they watch it go down, trying to find exactly where the problem is. Not something to look forward to, but if it resolves the issue, fine with me.
So, the rules are as follows: Valium - 1 every 6 hours (and yes this means even longer before I get to drive again). Nordo - 1-2 every 4-6 hours = it has already been proven that this will remain at 2 every 4 hours, as weaning down to 1 every 4 hours simply did not work.
I have to admit. I followed the rules today, and felt so much better. Well, until tonight. But that's another post.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
wedding post - oh no not the parental dinner!?
Oh, what to do when you need to introduce the parents, and one set is acrimoniously divorced?
If you are part of the aforementioned acrimoniously divorced pair, and happen to be the mom, you assure your son that you will do anything and everything to make sure there are no embarrassing moments with your ex. You will swallow your tongue, even if it chokes you. You will be civil, and attempt to be amiable in conversation.
This is one of Jason's issues. When I'm well enough to travel without being exhausted when I get there, Jason and Jen plan to get the parents together to meet. For some reason, I'm under the impression it will be at a restaurant, but I may not have heard correctly. I've been to different things with my ex (graduations, prom picture venues, etc...) where we have managed to be civil, and be amiable.
I worry, though, that this particular item will be be an issue for Ron. I can just see him making snide side comments about me - my hair, my scar, my clothes, our marriage, our divorce, you name it - and embarrassing Jason.
Well, only time will tell. I urged Jason to have a conversation with his dad, and that's the best I can do.
If you are part of the aforementioned acrimoniously divorced pair, and happen to be the mom, you assure your son that you will do anything and everything to make sure there are no embarrassing moments with your ex. You will swallow your tongue, even if it chokes you. You will be civil, and attempt to be amiable in conversation.
This is one of Jason's issues. When I'm well enough to travel without being exhausted when I get there, Jason and Jen plan to get the parents together to meet. For some reason, I'm under the impression it will be at a restaurant, but I may not have heard correctly. I've been to different things with my ex (graduations, prom picture venues, etc...) where we have managed to be civil, and be amiable.
I worry, though, that this particular item will be be an issue for Ron. I can just see him making snide side comments about me - my hair, my scar, my clothes, our marriage, our divorce, you name it - and embarrassing Jason.
Well, only time will tell. I urged Jason to have a conversation with his dad, and that's the best I can do.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Stupid things I've done since surgery
I won't even bother numbering this, since I'm bound to lose track, and because I'm sure I won't remember the order in which they happened. Hmm, maybe I should make an effort at the end of each day to record each day's stupid antics.
Todays stupid thing was to fall down the steps. My stomach had been bothering me, so I went upstairs to get my Tums, which sometimes help quell those little pains. After I had gathered the few things I wanted, and put them in a bag (this is important), I began to slowly walk down the stairs.
Now, I walk downstairs the way a toddler does. Hang on the bannister, and walk, one step at a time (one foot down, other foot down), until you get to the bottom. I got about 4 stairs from the bottom, and decided to get try walking down the last stairs normally.
I'm not entirely certain what happened, meaning - did I miss a step, or just slip off the step. Either way, I found my feet flying out from under me, and me bumping down the rest of the way. Thankfully, the stairwell is built so that the bannister and wall are on my left, so I banged my left shoulder, knee, and I think my hip. I'm not entirely certain - I blame this on the meds. I do remember I landed in a somewhat awkward position.
I don't think I'm hurt, aside from a few bumps, and possibly a few bruises. My neck doesn't hurt any more than it normally does, and I didn't bang anything near my neck (where the scar is). I think the worst is to my pride. Just feeling stupid is all.
ok, well, time to go to bed - I can't believe it's 1:30 -- as always - time has gotten away from me.
Todays stupid thing was to fall down the steps. My stomach had been bothering me, so I went upstairs to get my Tums, which sometimes help quell those little pains. After I had gathered the few things I wanted, and put them in a bag (this is important), I began to slowly walk down the stairs.
Now, I walk downstairs the way a toddler does. Hang on the bannister, and walk, one step at a time (one foot down, other foot down), until you get to the bottom. I got about 4 stairs from the bottom, and decided to get try walking down the last stairs normally.
I'm not entirely certain what happened, meaning - did I miss a step, or just slip off the step. Either way, I found my feet flying out from under me, and me bumping down the rest of the way. Thankfully, the stairwell is built so that the bannister and wall are on my left, so I banged my left shoulder, knee, and I think my hip. I'm not entirely certain - I blame this on the meds. I do remember I landed in a somewhat awkward position.
I don't think I'm hurt, aside from a few bumps, and possibly a few bruises. My neck doesn't hurt any more than it normally does, and I didn't bang anything near my neck (where the scar is). I think the worst is to my pride. Just feeling stupid is all.
ok, well, time to go to bed - I can't believe it's 1:30 -- as always - time has gotten away from me.
time to get diligent?
Ok, so, surgery was just over 2 weeks ago. I am frustrated by so many things, I don't even know where to start. Here is what I posted at another forum:
I'm not sure I can put this in a way that make sense. For everyone else, the surgery was a big deal (it was for me, too, but I'll get to that). They had to sit and wait for hours (the surgery was nearly 3 hours, and I ended up being in recovery for nearly the same amount of time). This is a huge amount of time for them. They had to wait after I was taken to the operating room, wait for the surgeon to come out, wait for me to be out of recovery, wait for me to get to my room. In other words - they were awake and aware of time passing.
Me? I "slept" through the whole thing. All I know is that I was conscious, then I wasn't, then I was. I have no concept of the time I was out of it. I know how long it was because other people have told me. But I didn't experience it. So, the best comparison I have is that I went to sleep, and woke up.
So, to some degree, I think my frustration is that I have this disconnect going on. I don't feel fine, I don't feel like myself, I'm tired all the time, I'm more emotional now than even I thought possible. Stairs are a challenge; walking is a challenge. Putting on my damn clothes is a challenge. Things I took for granted (washing my hair, putting on my shoes) I can't take for granted.
I'm well aware this is all very temporary and that I need to get over myself. I think the reason I'm having so much trouble accepting that I can't do more is that I'm a control freak, and if I say I should be do "x", well, then dammit, I can do "x". Only, I can't, and my body is very quick to tell me so. I have also internalized my mother to a degree you would not believe (and no, I'm not going to bore you with that).
So, here's the thing. I'm a control freak. I want things to move at a faster pace then they are. Add to this the fear that people will be think I'm faking it, that I'm taking too long, that I should be doing whatever it is they think I should be doing.
Sometimes, all I want to do is lie in bed. Just be in bed, and do whatever. Watch tv, read, watch movies, catch up on crap on the internet. For sure, I could not do my job right now. Sitting up too long makes me feel worse, and I shuffle, not walk (although, sometimes, if I'm not exhausted, or highly fatigued, I can walk, it's just picking up my feet up is working dammit!).
I really do want to sit back, relax, and let things happen. I'm on Valium, for god's sake. Isn't that supposed to reduce anxiety? I need to realize that I actually do have a lot on my plate, but that there is only so much I can do about it, and work with it was I need to. I recently made a financial decision which allowed me to put things into the hands of an attorney (who came well recommended) and gives me the opportunity to do what I need to do. And, at the end of it, I should come out of the financial issues in a better place, which should go a long way towards easing my mind in that arena.
You know, if this weren't so sad, it'd be funny. How many times have we said - oh, if only I had the time, I'd lie around, watch tv or movies, read those books I've been meaning to catch up on, just relax. Well, here I am - that's all I can do, and yet I'm bitching about it. Just no pleasing some people, is there?
I'm not sure I can put this in a way that make sense. For everyone else, the surgery was a big deal (it was for me, too, but I'll get to that). They had to sit and wait for hours (the surgery was nearly 3 hours, and I ended up being in recovery for nearly the same amount of time). This is a huge amount of time for them. They had to wait after I was taken to the operating room, wait for the surgeon to come out, wait for me to be out of recovery, wait for me to get to my room. In other words - they were awake and aware of time passing.
Me? I "slept" through the whole thing. All I know is that I was conscious, then I wasn't, then I was. I have no concept of the time I was out of it. I know how long it was because other people have told me. But I didn't experience it. So, the best comparison I have is that I went to sleep, and woke up.
So, to some degree, I think my frustration is that I have this disconnect going on. I don't feel fine, I don't feel like myself, I'm tired all the time, I'm more emotional now than even I thought possible. Stairs are a challenge; walking is a challenge. Putting on my damn clothes is a challenge. Things I took for granted (washing my hair, putting on my shoes) I can't take for granted.
I'm well aware this is all very temporary and that I need to get over myself. I think the reason I'm having so much trouble accepting that I can't do more is that I'm a control freak, and if I say I should be do "x", well, then dammit, I can do "x". Only, I can't, and my body is very quick to tell me so. I have also internalized my mother to a degree you would not believe (and no, I'm not going to bore you with that).
So, here's the thing. I'm a control freak. I want things to move at a faster pace then they are. Add to this the fear that people will be think I'm faking it, that I'm taking too long, that I should be doing whatever it is they think I should be doing.
Sometimes, all I want to do is lie in bed. Just be in bed, and do whatever. Watch tv, read, watch movies, catch up on crap on the internet. For sure, I could not do my job right now. Sitting up too long makes me feel worse, and I shuffle, not walk (although, sometimes, if I'm not exhausted, or highly fatigued, I can walk, it's just picking up my feet up is working dammit!).
I really do want to sit back, relax, and let things happen. I'm on Valium, for god's sake. Isn't that supposed to reduce anxiety? I need to realize that I actually do have a lot on my plate, but that there is only so much I can do about it, and work with it was I need to. I recently made a financial decision which allowed me to put things into the hands of an attorney (who came well recommended) and gives me the opportunity to do what I need to do. And, at the end of it, I should come out of the financial issues in a better place, which should go a long way towards easing my mind in that arena.
You know, if this weren't so sad, it'd be funny. How many times have we said - oh, if only I had the time, I'd lie around, watch tv or movies, read those books I've been meaning to catch up on, just relax. Well, here I am - that's all I can do, and yet I'm bitching about it. Just no pleasing some people, is there?
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Year
It's about 4 days before my surgery. I'm not sure how I feel. Scared? Nervous? I don't know. I seem to be focusing on everything around this, and not the actual surgery. I'm supposed to answer questions, but I don't have the answers. This whole process has just been confirming what everyone tells me - I'm a control freak. And, I'm freaking out because I have no control over this.
I know the world won't end, but I can wish my kids would get with the program. 4 days before surgery is not the time to pretend to be helpless about something as simple as laundry. Hoist on my petard -- my behavior coming back to bite me on the ass. Everyone sitting on their ass, while I run around making myself crazy.
I keep waiting for w/c to pull the rug out from under me. Maybe it'll be my pay. There are no guarantees that this new stupid adjustor will be able to competently set my weekly benefits up properly - and the last thing I can afford to is be short for paying bills while I'm recovering. I'm terrified of running out of available cash, or having that feeling. Well, all the kids have jobs - they can find a way to contribute.
Tomorrow is the final pre-op visit, where I hope to get some more answers. I still don't know how long this surgery will be. I know they can't tell me how long I'll be in the hospital - I hope only one overnight - but perhaps I can get a little more information to calm my nerves.
I know I don't want to be alone. Thank God for Munchkin - I feel so much better knowing she'll be sitting with Shannon and keeping her company. I really hate the idea of her being by herself. Jason and Schyler have already said they aren't staying. That's fine, but then Shannon would have been by herself - I don't know if she's asked her friends to come by or not.
Only 2 work days - I'm sure they will feel like an eternity. At least tomorrow is essentially a half day - doctor appointment in the afternoon, and who is to say whether I'll go back to work after. Who's to say what time we'll be done at the appointment.
I wish PPPE was here. I know that's impossible, but his presence would be a huge comfort right now. Even a phone call would be good right now. He'd be telling me jokes, and distracting me. I heard the fear and worry in his voice last night, and I know it's hard for him, too. It serves no purpose, though, for him to be here while I'm in surgery.
There are things I should have done, I know, but time got away from me, and I was afraid to do them.
These stupid steroids are making me crazy. Crying one minute, angry the next, laughing the minute after that. I'm glad to be working from home - at least the craziness is contained here. I need another painkiller, but if I take one now, I won't be able to get up in the morning. I almost wish I'd taken the whole week off.
Well, this was weird - just a bunch of random brains, while I try to sort out what I think and feel. Problem is, I still don't know.
I know the world won't end, but I can wish my kids would get with the program. 4 days before surgery is not the time to pretend to be helpless about something as simple as laundry. Hoist on my petard -- my behavior coming back to bite me on the ass. Everyone sitting on their ass, while I run around making myself crazy.
I keep waiting for w/c to pull the rug out from under me. Maybe it'll be my pay. There are no guarantees that this new stupid adjustor will be able to competently set my weekly benefits up properly - and the last thing I can afford to is be short for paying bills while I'm recovering. I'm terrified of running out of available cash, or having that feeling. Well, all the kids have jobs - they can find a way to contribute.
Tomorrow is the final pre-op visit, where I hope to get some more answers. I still don't know how long this surgery will be. I know they can't tell me how long I'll be in the hospital - I hope only one overnight - but perhaps I can get a little more information to calm my nerves.
I know I don't want to be alone. Thank God for Munchkin - I feel so much better knowing she'll be sitting with Shannon and keeping her company. I really hate the idea of her being by herself. Jason and Schyler have already said they aren't staying. That's fine, but then Shannon would have been by herself - I don't know if she's asked her friends to come by or not.
Only 2 work days - I'm sure they will feel like an eternity. At least tomorrow is essentially a half day - doctor appointment in the afternoon, and who is to say whether I'll go back to work after. Who's to say what time we'll be done at the appointment.
I wish PPPE was here. I know that's impossible, but his presence would be a huge comfort right now. Even a phone call would be good right now. He'd be telling me jokes, and distracting me. I heard the fear and worry in his voice last night, and I know it's hard for him, too. It serves no purpose, though, for him to be here while I'm in surgery.
There are things I should have done, I know, but time got away from me, and I was afraid to do them.
These stupid steroids are making me crazy. Crying one minute, angry the next, laughing the minute after that. I'm glad to be working from home - at least the craziness is contained here. I need another painkiller, but if I take one now, I won't be able to get up in the morning. I almost wish I'd taken the whole week off.
Well, this was weird - just a bunch of random brains, while I try to sort out what I think and feel. Problem is, I still don't know.
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