#16 Post Op

“Judith, it’s time to wake up.”  Someone is talking to me, but I don’t know that voice.  Groggy-headed and seriously disoriented I try to clear my thoughts, but it isn’t easy.  Then it hits me: I’ve had the surgery, I’m alive and everything hurts.  My left hand is hooked up to something so I gingerly move my right hand over my tummy.  Yup, there are some bandages; no, a lot of bandages and everything feels bloated, tender. There are too many lights and a lot of noise. I’m in Recovery. So how long have I been out?  My mouth is so dry it feels like sawdust. 

“Your room will be ready soon.”  Blood pressure is taken, temperature and pulse, all the normal stats.  I think I just wet myself, but I don’t feel wet. I can feel a plastic tube touching my inner thigh. I have a catheter?  I’ve never had one of those before.  It’s good that I don’t actually feel it in there. I must be going in and out of wakefulness because there are gaps in what’s happening in the recovery room.  My head is still groggy and although I’ve been out for what must be hours, I feel really tired.

Someone has determined that I’m ready to move. My stretcher wheels are unlocked, someone pushes along my I.V. and we bump our way through the door, jiggle down the hall and thump into the elevator.  It feels like an earthquake every time the edge of my bed hits something.  My stars, can’t they tell how much my body hurts with each and every bang?  We get to the sixth floor and they wheel me into the room.  Now they ask me to lift myself up on my arms and shift onto the bed.  Oh (@#*+), that’s painful.  I think I need to rest now, but they don’t agree. 

Someone is fitting something on my legs. I still have the pressure stockings, but this is different.  Velcro fasteners secure weird looking pant legs with tubes attached.  When they turn on the pump I get the most relaxing leg massage I’ve ever had.  I can feel the air pressure moving up and down each leg, like a talented masseuse.  Nice!  I sleep.