Keep Me Hangin' On

Well, if you've been waiting patiently for my usual home-from-the-hospital-and-disgruntled-with-life post-surgery post, here it is! (And if you haven't, well you've been warned ...)

We made it home in a mere EIGHT hours from Nashville yesterday. Since Vanderbilt UMC is 220 miles from home, this means we averaged a barn-blazing 27.5 miles per hour on our trip home. Why, you may ask? The main reason was an agonizing, desperation-fueled search for a near-the-interstate-exit pharmacy that would fill the pain prescription of a random traveler who looks like she has been fighting a wolverine. I actually learned a couple of things: 1. Pharmacies don't generally flock to locations near interstate exits, and 2. Good ole', hometown pharmacies are very suspicious of crazed patients in nightgowns seeking pain pills near the interstate. When we finally found a Walgreen's store 100 miles from home that would fill it, they made us wait 35 minutes so they could "verify the authenticity" of the prescription. Oh, sure, take your time. I'll just be over here in the parking lot screaming and writhing in pain while you verify it. (And what choice do I have at that point, anyway? Now, they have the prescription in their hands and if I take off, it will only seem more suspicious to them.) As nightfall came, a fog settled in over the shroud of snow-covered trees, further slowing our progress. In spite of my gown and blanket, I shivered the rest of the way home, ignoring the urgent ring and buzz of the cell phone, trying to doze until relief came from the pain and we made it home. Upon arrival, I greeted the freshly-delivered hospital bed like an old friend, and settled in for a long night's rest.

I tossed and turned all night, sweating and drifting in and out of disturbing dreams filled with an army of green-glowing skeleton doctors (ala neurosurgery interns) moving my hospital bed down a long white corridor while flying monkeys dabbed at my sweat-soaked brow with white washcloths. Between dreams, I felt nervous and jittery. It was a relief when daylight finally came.

Or so I thought. You see, the geniuses that run our local school system decided to call school off for Tuesday, not based on any actual weather that was actually on the road, but based on a forecast that we might get more this afternoon. So -- I not only have a shoulder-blade to rump incision that hurts like crazy and lies right beneath me so that I am on it all the time, I now also have a band of rowdy children who don't adapt well to schedule changes and are now home for the day, bored and restless. I won't torment you with all the gory details, but here are a few highlights:

- Lacey (as in my ADULT daughter Lacey) trying fiercely to run Zach out of the front room, where I had sent him because my nurse was here with my gown pulled up completely over my head to check my incision.

- Derrick purposely whamming the vacuum cleaner into the wall so that I would jerk awake from my sleep. He and Eric have long thought that it is quite hilarious to see someone yanked from sleep. I think Eric has finally outgrown it, mostly. Derrick, not so much.

- Ashley, who baked a cake and is now going to frost it, tries to get the layer out of the pan and yells for Lacey to help when it falls apart in her hands. Instead of running to help, Lacey mimics her, signaling an angry tirade and a mostly-ruined cake.

- The final straw: I sent Ariel and Zach (who could not be civil to each other) to their own rooms to play while Don cooked, and finally managed to doze a few minutes before he brought me a plate of spaghetti. Ashley and Lacey were fixing the kids' plates and pouring their drinks. As I pulled the fork to my mouth, I opened an eye. First I saw Ariel, standing the doorway of her room with a wild-eyed look, waiting to get out of her bedroom (which she considers a punishment, no matter what the reason she is in there). When I dropped my gaze, there was Zach, slithering like a snake across of the floor on his back, trying to sneak into the family room without my notice. (All of this in the 15 seconds before supper was ready for them!) I handed Don the plate in despair and cried myself back to sleep, only to be awakened a short while later by a call from my mother, asking if I realize that school has been called off for tomorrow, too?

Oh, but wait, there's more ...

I managed to pull myself together and stick it out until the kids went to bed, after which I was going to brave the great frontier known as the drop-arm bedside commode (because this day really just wouldn't be complete without a little bathroom humor, now would it?). There were flaws in this plan, the main ones being that 1. it was time for pain medicine (not a great time to plan activity), 2. it was getting late and I am weaker later in the day, and 3. I REALLY needed the toilet by now which just makes everything that much more urgent. I used the slide board and got on the potty without much problem. Then I tried to figure out how to clean myself without pitching forward off of the dumb thing. By this time, I am really weak, my legs are basically numb, and I am going to use the slide board to slide back to my lift chair. About halfway across, we realize that there is too much gap between the board and the chair, making it unstable. I had to slide back onto the potty and wait, weak and in pain, while Don got and positioned my Jazzy on other side of the chair and sidled me up to the bed. My arms are weak, my legs useless, completely numb and twisting as I go, my butt is stuck to vinyl Jazzy seat, and then we realize we have another problem: the chair is turned the wrong way, and will have to be moved before my legs can be turned into bed! Okay ... stop, breathe, relax, don't panic. Don covered me with a sheet and we called Eric and Lacey to help lift my legs, move the Jazzy from beneath and turn me into bed. All told, what started as a simple trip to the toilet had ended in nearly an hour of sliding, positioning, maneuvering, and struggling.

Now I am in bed, resting quietly, and wondering why in the world I didn't opt for the bed pan. My incision hurts and my fever has spiked to near the "call-the-hospital-if" level. But, hey, being the eternal optimist that I am (and armed with a fresh dose of pain medication), I welcome the night with its uncertainties and strange, drug-induced dreams. Flying monkeys? Glowing skeleton doctors? Hey, that's nothing compared to the insanity of my waking hours.

To sleep, perchance to dream ... and maybe, just maybe, to propel myself forward to a kinder, gentler day of my life.

:-) Sharon