Now being an old hand at surgery (heck, I’ve done 2 in a week), I figure I would be back at work the next day. I mean, this second surgery only had me in the hospital for less than 3 hours from check-in to when I was walking (on my own accord) out the door. The other surgery I was there for 10 hours and I felt great 2 days later.
Remember how my new technique is to assume the worst so that anything beside that is a pleasant surprise? Well I made a serious mistake in not doing so with this surgery. By that night I was sitting on the couch, tears streaming down my face as the pain was unbearable, begging Brent to bring me another pain pill that fortunately I had on hand from my first surgery. One pain pill doesn’t do it. I beg for a second. The second one starts to make my body tingle and the pain to ebb. I wait 2 hours and take a third and go to bed. I sleep the sleep of those driven into unconsciousness thanks to the pharmaceutical industry, but as soon as that wears off I’m uncomfortable. Now I can’t lie on either side and getting up requires me to use my lacking stomach muscles. Pain screams through my shoulder and I stagger downstairs to pop 2 pills at once.
This goes on for days. By the end of the weekend I finally feel good enough to try to get caught up on work and prepare for the week ahead. All those gals I read about that think their port is their best friend, they’ve had 2 put in, they’ve left theirs in for years – I think they might be nuts. I bet they all have nipple rings. Only reason I would leave this in is for fear that I might need another one inserted again.
As I write this I am over 2 weeks out from that surgery and although it isn’t excruciating pain, I sure as heck don’t want anyone hitting/touching it. I dread the day they use it.
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