HOBBLING ALONG

Friday, May 22, 2009

Post Op Achilles Debridement

6:00 p.m.

My husband recieves a message from my surgeon:

• surgery went well, it took just about an hour
• he’ll see me again in 10 to 14 days
• he washed out my tendon area
• there was no pus
• he removed the non absorbable sutures and then closed me up.

My ankle is in a 3/4 splint — there is a soft spot of padding on my front shin — the rest is in plaster — and am told that I can only put “touch down weight bearing” on it.

7:30 p.m.

I wish I were this cute under the stupor of drugs, but there is a spot on the lawn which marks where I ungraciously “left” the cranberry juice and graham crackers that I was given in the recovery room.  Fortunately, I did this under the cover of night when my husband left me at the car to retrieve my crutches at the front door.

Still being drugged did not help the coordination I needed to walk to the front door on my crutches.  I barely could keep from falling forward and once at the front door, I had my husband wheel me on my office chair to the bed.

I am in intense pain as the anesthetic wears off and against my better judgement, I take a Vicodin to lull me to sleep.

12 hours later, Saturday, May 23, 2009, 8:00 a.m.

I force myself to do an antibiotic infusion.  This is the worst that I have felt in months.  Vicodin and I have a love-hate relationship.  She dulls my pain adequately enough, but trades it for a day-long throb at the base of my neck — either that or the caffeine withdrawals I have been going through since I have decided to stop drinking colas.

How easily I had forgotten the pain of post-surgery — having my body sliced into, flesh excised, tubes unnaturally forced against the tender tissues of my throat, tendon picked at and finally pierced shut to keep me from bleeding over.  The things we go through as ATR sufferers . . .

Hunger is now an afterthought and only exists because I am reminded of it.  My dream post-op meal still remains in the refrigerator and I have to hold everything within me to keep from losing more of my stomach contents.  I guess thick curry gravy over fried shrimp and onions was not the ideal introduction to food.

I break our household rule and have my sushi delivered to my bedside.  I am very careful not to have the little orange roe eggs spill on to the sheets and they pop like little salty pearls in my mouth.  My stomach growls beneath, not expecting to be awakened by such a salty sensation.  The family is gracious to bring me home something to eat after every errand:  acai fruit, brie cheese, bread, crepes, chili, chicken soup, pickled lemons, grated ginger, plates brought home from the potlucks I’ve missed.

It’s only Fresca, crackers and sleep for me.

3:00 p.m., still Saturday

There are no tradewinds this weekend and I feel every toss and turn as my ankle throbs and my torso feels worked out from being on crutches for a total of 10 steps.

I am somewhat hungry and my husband gets a Jamba Juice Chocolate Moo at my request.  He also prepares a just-in-case container for me.  Determined to stay off Vicodin, I down 4 tablets of 200 mg. Ibuprofen like candy.  I prop my foot above the sofa to begin watching our TIVO’d collections of “Law and Order”.  At the second hour, I glance at the nearby container and as if by power of suggestion, the entire moo order comes out in a different format.

The drugs do their wonder and I have the most vivid dreams I’ve had in quite a while — being chased by wolves, squeezed into a dumbwaiter, entering an airplane hangar that looked like a spider and wishing I had a camera to record it — go figure.

Monday, May 25, 2009

8:00 a.m.

I have been afraid to have anything substantial to eat, but this morning, I am feeling human once again.  I am welcomed to this — a “Lover’s Delight” crepe — filled with fresh bananas, strawberries and what seems like a huge glob of nutella.

If I can keep this down, I’ll finally be able to tackle those leftover dream meals that I have waiting for me.

~booklady