Now that I am doing better and am no longer under the influence of pain medication (well, other than Tylenol), I would be glad to share my experience with all of you. Why? Because misery loves company. That's why.
The day of my surgery they were running a little behind schedule at the hospital, so by the time they came to get me to start giving me the anesthesia, I had been nearly 14 hours without food, per their instruction, and I was doing everything in my power to still be a nice person and to talk over the loud noises my stomach was making. It is such a small organ, with such impatience, and quite the temper I might add. I had two people complain that my veins were being difficult. I smiled and oh so innocently pointed out that they are usually much more cooperative when I have been allowed to drink water. Seriously. No food OR DRINK for FOURTEEN HOURS. I was desperate. And trying not to be mean about it, because I really didn't want to upset the people who were going to be in charge of giving me meds.
After the extremely merciful, and wonderful people gave me medicine that made me completely unaware of how hungry I was, I only remember two things. The first was that I got a little motion sick when they wheeled me down the hall (that tends to happen when I don't eat) and the second was that I saw my doctor when they wheeled me in the room. He was being very kind and using his "soothing voice" when he spoke to me. After that I have extremely vague memories of not wanting the mask that someone kept putting on my face (because I don't like to have my mouth and nose covered at the same time - I don't care if that's weird, I don't like it because it makes me think of suffocating) and not having the strength to push them away. If I had not had just enough presence of mind to know that this was supposed to happen, I may have gone ape right then and there because that is one of my worst nightmares.
The next thing I know, I am waking up, it hurts to breathe, I can't speak, I can't swallow, and (true to form) I am nauseous from the anesthesia. When I get nauseous I get really hot and so the only thing I could do when the nurses asked me if I was okay (I was burning up, so I might have been breathing a little shallow) was to make a very weak gesture of me fanning myself. They got me a fan. And then told me to drink some water. YEAH, I'll get right on that. Just as soon as I can breathe without feeling like there are shards of broken glass in my throat.
It got slowly better after that. They kept me overnight for observation. The next day the worst part of my day was trying to actually eat the chicken broth they brought me. It was pretty much a no go. I don't even remember how many hours it had been since I had ingested food, but they had hooked me up to an IV to get liquids in my system and I was not hungry enough to withstand the pain of swallowing for mere chicken broth. Oh, and I almost gagged on the spot when I saw the Jello on the tray, so the wonderful hospital worker took it away.
For those of you who might have missed the memo, I hate Jello. Not the pudding kind, the jiggly, wiggly, gelatin kind. The kind Bill Cosby used to peddle. Jello=gagging. Food shouldn't wiggle all by itself once it's on your plate. But that is whole other crusade I could go on.
Once I got home, I learned very quickly that everything made me tired, and that eating chicken broth still pretty much wasn't worth the pain. I also learned that the old Brady Bunch episode when Cindy and Mrs. Brady got their tonsils out was a huge lie because you can't eat ice cream. Dairy coats your throat and makes it hard to breathe. LIARS. Also, you know who else is a big fat liar? Mary Poppins, that's who. You know how I know? Because I am pretty sure they mixed my antibiotic (which had to be in liquid form) with way more than just a spoonful of sugar and it still wasn't anything near delightful. And not just because it hurt to swallow. No, it was gross. Forget water boarding. You want to torture someone? Feed them that stuff. Quadruple ew with an ew on top.
Anyway, slowly but surely I improved. I can breathe, I can eat, I can talk. I still get tired a lot, but they told me that might happen. I still have to be careful about my level of activity and I'm not allowed to do anything strenuous for a bit, and I have to go back to the doctor in a few weeks. By then, he ought to be able to declare me fully healed and my life can return to normal, well, with better breathing and better quality sleep, but everything else will just be the same.
And since I had a LOT of time to sit and think, and watch really bad TV during my recovery, I came up with a few new blog posts to share with you. So be looking forward to that! Or at least feign interest. Fine, don't care at all, just don't tell me and spoil my fun.