Glad That's Over!

Having been a "more than a handful's a waste" kinda gal for all of my adult life, the loss of one scant handful is not nearly as traumatic for me, psychologically, as it would be for some naturally better endowed ladies. Small mercies! Anyway, I'm now "One Boob Annie" , with a little drain bottle hanging by my left hip, hopefully hidden by loose shirt and tee shirt. From a distance I might bring to mind Annie Get Your Gun- this is Oklahoma, USA so, "is she carrying?"

It's no joke, but ya gotta larf or you'd cry! I just now did the latter, by the way, after finishing, but before publishing this post, husband's other daughter left a bouquet of lovely lilacs in a vase outside the front door. Tension needed to break and it did!

All went well surgery-wise. We arrived at the hospital at 7.30am, Tuesday. It wasn't long before I was being wheeled in to the operating room . That was a huge relief because waiting is always the worst part of the job for me. Husband tells me that Recovery Time was a longer drawn out affair than expected, but I doubt that was anything to do with my own condition, because I felt amazingly alright when I first opened my eyes, and really for the rest of the time spent in hospital, apart from the last few hours. Husband stayed with me all day and through the night, plus we had visits from husband's daughter, son and their spouses, which proved uplifting - if a tad loud!

I guess it was understandable that hospital nurses, who were all wonderful, seemed to be unaware of my secondary current issue being managed after a colonoscopy a week ago. The lymphocytic colitis. When the nurse suggested that I should take Miralax stool softener, because surgeon doesn't want me to strain on the toilet, and affect the stitched incisions, I had to larf! It worried me a bit until my GP happened upon me during his hospital rounds; the sight of a familiar face, who didn't have to ask the ubiquitous robotic question "What is your full name and date of birth?" , was kinda soothing and helpful.

On Wednesday, during the afternoon and early evening hours, the surgeon's "office day", he had become otherwise engaged somehow, and I couldn't be discharged without his visit and say-so. We'd hoped to go home early afternoon-ish, Wednesday, but didn't get home, after a frustrating time feeling somewhat imprisoned and unsure of what might happen next, until around 8pm, clasping some pain pills in hand.

All's well after a decent night's sleep on my own lovely recliner in our living room.

It's not that I'm a control freak, when it comes to what others do - honest ! I hate, hate, hate though, not being in control of myself. That has been the source of my lifelong "white coat syndrome". Hatred of hospitals has grown over time after heart-breaking experiences when my father, then my mother, then my beloved longtime-partner died - in hospital during the 1990s and early 2000s. During the past two years I've had to fight hard to overcome those feelings. It's a work in progress!

Next stop, tomorrow, will be a visit to surgeon's office for nurses there to inspect my drain bottle, decide if I still need it, and maybe loosen the tight binding around my chest a wee bit. Husband was taught how to empty and measure drain contents (mainly smallish amounts blood and fluid) regularly and to keep a record of date, time and amount of each collection. Not thinking much further ahead than that, at the moment.