The Day After Surgery Day

Things I learned the day after surgery day:
  • "Mommy hearing" works just as well for hearing your mother call for you at 12:30 a.m. as it does for hearing a child need you.
  • Surgery day ain't nothing compared to the night and day after it.
  • Nurses are the best. Well, at least the good ones. Which we've been lucky to have. 
  • Gravity = the enemy of breast surgery. 
  • Despite a high cure rate, breast cancer IS A BITCH.
Go easy on me for the the wackadoodle post this probably will turn out to be. This girl is very, very tired. 

I believe it is the all-night marathons with sick children that prepared me for the past 30 or so hours. I can't (won't) go into details, because this ain't my story, but . . . um, wow.

For starters, the surgery was more invasive and bigger than realized. Next, around 12:30 am, PONV (google it) set in again and it got pretty hairy. Mums refused pain meds for fear of exacerbating things. The wounds made effectively dealing with all of this very tricky (read: impossible).

It is at this point that I'm seriously self-editing and deliberately leaving out. But know this: shit got real. 

Anyway, I finally decided to take matters into my own hands. As I told Mom, "I have a driver's license and a credit card. There's nothing I can't do today." It was sort of B.S., because I couldn't, like, make this all go away, but after spending a LOT of time on the phone and speeding to a pharmacy in Factoria (sorry, Mom and Dad, for any speed camera tickets you get in the mail next month), I had a prescription for--and then bottle of--Zofran.

In the meantime, I've had some stellar moments of brilliance. First, my parents house is on top of a mountain with no street lights, outside lights, night lights, ANYTHING. So, when Mums called for me, I jumped out of bed and went running through absolute pitch black dark, thinking, "This was my room for 19 years, I can totally predict where the doorway---SHIT!" and ran smack into the wall.

Then this morning, I spotted three overripe bananas. Feeling valiantly maternal and domestic, I made banana bread, warm with my knowledge that I was filling the house with the aromas of homey baked goodness. Yeah, so Mums asked Dad to turn on the 757 engine-style fan in their kitchen because the smell was making her sicker. Whoops. On the plus side, it kept Dad and me alive until dinner.

Then, while picking up the prescription, I had to wait  a couple minutes. I was a bit out of it and they called "Hofmann" over the speaker. So, naturally, I got up, like Pavlov's pooch. Of course, my mother is an Opp. The woman who actually was the real Hofmann looked at me like I was trying to steal her Vicodin. Whatever.

I'll level with you---aside from a successful surgery yesterday, things have been dicey. I was quite unprepared, as I think we all were. Were we naive? Maybe. I guess it doesn't matter.

I'm probably still too close to everything and maybe things seem worse than they are. Let's go with that. . .  and get some sleep.


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