My surgery was originally scheduled for 9:30am but then it was changed to 1:30pm. Ugh! A longer time to feel famished and thirsty. But at least I didn't have to check in until later in the morning.
So we arrived at the hospital promptly at 11:00am as instructed.
An hour later (this would be a sign of things to come), they finally came to take me back to pre-op where I changed into my gown and got hooked up to IV fluids. By then I was dehydrated (and felt hungover) so I was thankful for the fluids. That made my pounding headache go away so I could sit and read a mindless novel by Vince Flynn.
After reading some 250 pages, they finally wheeled me back to the OR. Yep! By then it was 6:30pm.
ONLY FIVE HOURS LATE.
I'm not sure how long the surgery took but the first time I glanced at the clock it was 8:00pm.
Oh Lawd! I was hurtin'. That gas pain was terrible! Personally, I think they could have done a better job squishing all that gas out before closing up my incisions. But what do I know? I'm not a surgeon. My belly felt like a brick wall and I looked pregnant.
I stayed in the PACU (post-anesthesia care unit) for about 2 hours before they took me up to my room where my mom & BFF were waiting for me.
All I remember about being in the PACU is that I got in trouble for scratching my face. My nurse, a man, got right in my face and said, "YOU ARE GOING TO HURT YOURSELF. Scratch with your blanket, not your fingernails." Umm okay. Sorry dude. I was kinda out of it.
While my nurse was wheeling me from the PACU to my room he said, "I saw you in pre-op and I wouldv'e never guessed you were a patient. You're so pretty and skinny. You were walking around and reading a book instead of laying on your bed, so I assumed you were the patient's family member." Hmm, I guess the hospital gown I was wearing didn't give it away.... (but that was a sweet thing to say).
Speaking of "skinny," they weighed me in pre-op and I was 180lbs exactly. That's not skinny when you're 5 ft 2...
So, he got me to my room and thankfully, it was late, so my mom and BFF didn't stay long. I just wanted to be by myself because I was in pain and didn't feel like putting on a brave face for everyone else.
During the night, I only slept in one hour increments. The pain would wake me up and then I'd decide to pee. Every trip to the bathroom was a big production. Before sitting up, I had to pull those massaging things off my calves. Then, I got up, unplugged my IV pole, pulled my PCA line off and wrapped it around the IV pole, and drug the damn thing to the bathroom. And, why, might I ask, am I ALWAYS the person that gets the shitty grocery cart that has a messed up wheel? This dubious honor apparently applies to IV poles as well because every surgery I have ever had, I've gotten the IV pole that doesn't want to roll. I nearly pulled it on top of me more than once. My IV pole had six wheels and I'm positive at least two did not work AT ALL.
Around 4:00am my nurse came into the room and caught me in the bathroom. She was like, "What are you doing??!"
Me, "Going pee.....?" (Was it a trick question?).
I got scolded for getting up alone and for not measuring my pee pee. Sorry!
And well, since I was already out of bed, she decided it was time to start walking. Yep, at 4 in the freaking morning.
So we did a few laps around the unit. She had me step on a scale. 187! What the EFF??????
Seven pounds of fluid? Are you kidding me? That woke me right up.