I must admit that when the nurses were surprised about the thirteen adhesions, it went over my head. I was in too much pain to make the connection. Tuesday night was very difficult for both P and I. Nana brought SS over after recovery, I spent time with my baby, but too brief for me. SS was getting no where near me, she was scared, and really, can't blame the kid. SS spent the night with her grandmas, and played with June Bug (their chihuahua), and Lambert, a friend's dog. I am always anxious about SS around animals, not because of SS, but concerned about the poor animals. This is the same child that made Grandpa's cat run away for two days. She was only two at the time, but darn. Abuela was concerned about SS crying for us, probably recalling SS's monumental meltdown on I-5 after my first surgery. However, SS had a good time, got her dog fix (expecting the inevitable request for one soon), and although she was up by five, and had an emotionally draining day, did not go to bed until ten. That is some serious stamina.
My guilt at the lack of preparation overrode my need to want company, and I asked P to go home early. He was past exhausted and I expected him to crash as soon as he made it to bed. I was in too much pain to catch any sleep. Their night staff was not as attentive. When the RN asked me my pain level, she stated it could not hurt that much, that it was probably just gas. Well, this was my third abdominal surgery, plus I'm old enough to know when I'm hurting. I had orders for morphine and percocet, alternating every two hours. It did not happen that night. At one point I waited ninety minutes for my pain med. I was lonely and hurting. I texted P when I knew he would be awake. He did not get any sleep either. I thought that by not having me tossing and turning, and not having SS kicking and punching him, he would get a good rest. Poor guy is too used to that abuse. Reality is that when things are tough, we just need each other. Even if my pain was under control, it would have been difficult to sleep. I've never been in such a loud floor, laughing, talking, and other noises I could not recognize.
Dr. M asked me if I wanted to go home yesterday, because I could stay longer. Hell to the no! He surprised us by apologizing for "overselling outpatient surgery." The stoma site hernia was a breeze to fix. But the upper hernia was troublesome. He said he was surprised that I had not had intestinal blockage already. Go me! Then the third hernia he was unable to palpate during pre-op, was lower than expected, and there was something about the position that could have caused a lot of damage. He decided not to do a traditional incision because he knew about my previous hospital stays, and how difficult it was for SS emotionally. I guess it made an impression when SS broke down in his office. P thanked him for taking the extra time.
SS came home from her grandmothers' bearing gifts, talking about yummy night food (dinner), cocoa puffs for breakfast, and dog tales. P dressed her in her costume and the staff were going gaga over her. It made it difficult for Nurse Grumpy to bite P's head off for breaking the rules. Besides, what was he to do, leave her in the car? We came home, and did some serious cuddling in bed. Dr. M assured me that I would crash as soon as I got home. I so wish that was the case. P took SS to trick or treat at the outlets, where she saw many fellow super heroes, and would greet them like they knew each other. I was not allowed to partake in the festivities because of the walking. Also, in a rare moment of responsible behavior, I did not give in to SS's pleas to sleep with us. I most definitely do not want more surgeries. We were so tired after SS's bath, dinner and bed, that we did not spend much time checking my mutilated torso. Quick showers, bed, and although no more than an hour collectively for me, P slept well.
This morning we took a closer look at said mutilated torso, and things fell into place. The plan was for two points of entry. Instead, I am sporting eight, Dr. Moore did not mention the extra six. It explains the level of pain, and it's made me even more hideous than before. OK, OK, the I'm alive thing, I get it. It just sucks to have not had a scar on my torso until three years ago, then bam. It really sucks.
P wanted to stay home today, but please, I took care of a two year old in diapers with an open wound, and carrying a wound vac. I will be fine with a potty trained, more self sufficient SS. The only hitch I expected, and it happened was SS's need to have me pick her up. Not going to happen, unless she loses twenty four pounds. I'm really proud of my guardian angel, she does an amazing job of watching over me. P also does an amazing job of taking care of me. The grandmas took great care of SS. They also kept SS's mind off of hospital, surgery, and pain thoughts. For that we are grateful.
Up at 5:00 a.m., and still managed a smile. SS was a bit hesitant about my surgery this time.
Making sure that the information on my ID bracelet was correct.
Back to angry bird mode.
Double checking my IV, and with good reason, it was inserted in a weird, and painful position.
My gorgeous private nurse, who is beyond competent and very throughout. He offered me a quickie before he went home for the night. Talk about concierge medicine.