On Tuesday morning I awoke from my anaesthetically induced slumber before they pulled the tube out of my throat. I could feel them pulling what felt like EKG stickers off my legs and arms, maybe they were straps. I was still quite drugged. I thought I could tell what they wanted to do next, and that was going to be pulling out the tube from my throat. For some reason that seemed like a bad idea, so I sat up (weird cuz I was so weak) and grabbed the wires that one of the male nurses was holding. There was a nurse on each side of my bed, doing stuff like pulling off batches of wires or whatever, and I held onto the bundle of wires and didn't let go. I can clearly remember the expression of confusion and possibly anger on his face as he tug-o-warred with me over the wire bundle. Then I realized I DIDN'T know what he wanted to do next, but I couldn't talk because there was something in my mouth. Oh yah. The tube still in my throat. That. I tried to indicate that he should take the bundle of wires out of my hand, but I don't think I had much brain-to-muscles-in-hand co-ordination. And then it all went dark again.
I woke up again as the tube exited my throat. I forgot to mention that because I was vomiting so much when they did the second surgery, when they put me out they had to push on my Eve's Apple to suppress the vomit if I did so while they intibated me. When I woke up that time, it was at the moment they were pulling out the tube and I did throw up, into my ears. Back to the third (fourth) wake-up. The bed I was in was inflating and deflating in a very relaxing rhythmic motion, under one leg, under a shoulder, the other leg, the other shoulder, the bum; a very high-tech bed for bariatric patients who can't prevent their own bed sores. I felt I didn't need this bed. Even though I was as weak as a kitten.
The rest of the week was full of pain, drains, more IVs, and looking forward to visits from Carol. At least I was moved to a room that had a free tv and a phone.
I'm having a very hard time relating this story to you. Going through all the negatives is making me feel awful. I am so sorry, my family and loved ones, that I put you through the worry and anxiety of this whole mess. I am going to synopsize the rest of it.
I moved out of the ICU into HDU (High Dependancy Unit) on that Friday. That was the day Jake came from Sudbury to take over from Carol who had to return to North Bay. I was able by then to get out of bed to the toilet, or for small walks in the hall, or to sit for brief periods of time. On Sunday night my roommate went into code blue and died. I moved into a regular room on Tuesday. The surgeon said I could possibly be discharged on Friday. False hope. I was still there over the weekend. Monday was awful and I will relate that story in more detail, but not right now.
To end on a much happier note, I've lost 93 lbs since January. I feel good except for the wounds still in my belly. One of the most wonderous perks is that formerly painful waiting room chairs with arms are no longer painful. That part doesn't seem real. My bum fitting in chairs. In a couple weeks Sage will be going into JK all day every day, and Hayden will be going into Grade One. I can't believe my boys are so old! I will probably cry, sending them off to school together on the 7th. And the plan is that I return to work on September 8th.
Ta for now.
