post-op report

weekend before the surgery, dave got me on a mountain bike!!! it was awesome, first time on a mountain bike. across from our apartment is pierce college, and there's a nice section of dirt tracks right by the 'football stadium'. yes, i use that term loosely. it felt great to actually be back on a bike. i didn't like the traffic, but luckily with the weekend, the worst part was crossing de soto. from there it was pretty empty. i was a little worried on the downhill parts, but it went really well. i wasn't able to go for very long, got very tired but i lasted longer than i thought i would. oh, and i've officially stolen one of dave's FOUR mountain bikes.

mom came up the day before the surgery. she and i and dave were able to spend the day together, which was a huge help. they proved to be great distractions. she's fallen in love with the turkey burger at the counter, so that's where we went for lunch. we proceeded to take her to lululemon, where she went a little crazy. that afternoon was a little tiring, we got in a lot of walking in santa monica.

tuesday morning i was a basketcase. i hate going under. HATE it. as i've stated before. i was to be the second case of the day, which meant that i would be there at 9, and be taken back at 11. but the day before they called and told me that i was going to be taken back at 10, and i needed to be there by 7:30. even better - fat girl likes food and the sooner i got back to surgery, the sooner my NPO status was over (nothing by mouth = no food/drink). we got there like good little boys and girls, at 7:15. i was going nuts. mom and dave were doing their best to keep me preoccupied. we got registered, and between my mom and dave, they decided he would be my temporary power of attorney. there was no way i was making that decision, so i literally looked at the 2 of them and said 'ok, who wants it?'. the way my mom has seamlessly deferred to dave (at times, mind you) throughout this entire process has been incredibly comforting, and altogether disturbing. it's something i've been struggling with.

we waited to be called back to the pre-op area for an entire 3 minutes, when a lady with a clipboard came in and told me i was the first case of the morning. i told her that wasn't the original plan, that i was sorry we hadn't been told bc we would've come sooner. she told me the first case patient showed up late, so they were taking me first. this meant i had literally zero time to fret. they took me back immediately. anyway, an actual MD put in my IV. never seen that before. i had to stand up to be marked by the doc doing the surgery so that he could see where the sac was. that was comforting to me, because i was worried that if he marked me while i was just sitting there, the way the fluid settles, it's hard to see the actual delineations of the hematoma. the anesthesia team was good, and assured me they'd medicate me well afterwards to ensure i wouldn't vomit. i said goodbye to mom and dave, the versed was pushed, and i was out of it. it's so disturbing to feel the versed hit, be mid-convo with a doc, and know in the back of your mind that you will continue that conversation without a hitch, but you'll never remember what the hell you said. did i mention i HATE anesthesia?!

and OF COURSE i woke up hurling my socks up. and hurling, and hurling. it sucked beyond belief. i seem to recall vomiting a pretty good amount, although i know that's unlikely since i hadn't eaten since the night before. they had to medicate me at least 3 times that i remember. finally resorting to phenergan, which knocks me out without fail. i could hear everything around me, but i couldn't participate in any of it. it was a very concentrated effort to answer any questions. yuck. i heard my nurse giving report to the 'floor nurse' on the phone. WTF?!? the floor nurse?! i was being admitted?!!! wasn't prepared for that. for some reason. dave seemed to be, he brought an extra set of clothes. mom seemed to know i was. but in my mind, i'd come to, they'd recover me for a couple hours in the recovery room, and they'd send me on my way with crutches. nope. it wasn't happening. i don't know why it never occurred to me to actually ask my doc if he expected me to stay overnight. but i didn't. so in my fog, i opened my eyes and verified with the nurse that i was being admitted. then i heard her say to the floor nurse that i had a pretty big dressing intact with minimal drainage so far, and that i had THREE JP drains. THREE. i not-so-quietly said 'THREE JP DRAINS?! HOLY SHIT!!!'. she laughed at me, and repeated me word-for-word to the floor nurse. and then laughed at me again. great.

after some room confusion i made it to my room. we'd figured out that i'm officially 'allergic' to dilaudid. i put that in quotes because i don't really consider vomiting an actual allergic reaction, but if saying i'm allergic ensures that UCLA will never give it to me again, dammit, i'm allergic. it was about 3pm by the time i made it to my room, which blew my mind since the surgery only lasted about 1.5 hrs. i spent A LOT of time in recovery. dave and mom found me, and set up camp. since i'd had such a vomiting issue, and since it's customary post-anesthesia, they tried to make my diet clear liquids only. um, no. i asked for more, they told me no. so i took a sip of my chicken broth, drank my apple juice, and proceeded to eat my coco puffs momma bought me from the cafeteria. clear liquids my ass. i was hungry. and i didn't have any nausea.

dave stayed with me that night. mom went back to her hotel. i wasn't the worst night i've spent in a hospital. i wasn't restricted with movement, so i was able to make it to the bathroom. that was interesting. walking wasn't the easiest, but i made it work. sitting on the toilet wasn't easy either, let me tell ya. my IV fluids were stopped by morning since i was keeping up with my intake/output. that was a good sign. i was woken up about every 3-4 hours throughout the night, as expected. sleep in a hospital isn't sleep. it's periodic napping. at one point i flashed back to the helpless feeling i had the last time i was in the hospital only a month and a half ago. and then i realized i'd be going home soon. i just had to prove i was ready to go home.

an NP came in to look at my incision site the next morning. for some reason, there was a master tape job, and i lost it while she was attempting to take off the dressing. it was weird. i got very, very angry. dave had to calm me down. i couldn't believe i was in that position, just having had surgery, after a month and a half of being hit by a fucking truck. i was so pissed. had to explain all that to the NP because she was looking at me like i was crazy. the site looked good, and she told me that if the drainage through the steri-strips remained minimal, i wouldn't have to dress the entire thing. that was good. i was still freaking out about the THREE jp drains.

after she assessed the site, she told me i'd be able to go home. so dave and i took a lap around the floor. i wasn't very steady on my feet, especially just standing, so we just kept moving, slowly. got passed 3 times in that lap by a balding man with a foley. that's just sad.

the week since has been ok. when we got home, i was telling dave that it was a royal pain in the ass to have to safety pin the drains to all my clothes. that's when his genius struck. he disappeared in the other room, and reappeared with one of our race belts for triathlon. it's worked like a charm. and it's even helped a little with my outlook.

we walked yesterday, tried to go see the horses like i was. but the horses weren't there. and i had some very odd muscle spasms going on. i've also developed some charlie-horse type cramping in my butt, on the affected side. incredibly painful, and it strikes when i'm completely relaxed. pretty annoying.

the drains are also annoying. it's very weird to have tubing hanging out of your body. not to mention painful. as a nurse, i'm used to dealing with them. they have to be emptied every 12 hours. but now that they're coming out of MY body, it's just gross. red and orange popsicles will never be consumed by me again. it's sick. and dave can't handle it either. so much for romance. speaking of, my ass has a huge dent in it now. when it used to bulb out, it now dents in. i have a divot in my ass. that is NOT cool. i'm hoping it's swelling-related, and praying it'll improve. i'll ask him about it at my follow-up.

dave has gotten back on the wagon as far as training goes. that's very hard to watch. i can't even make it to the wall (any wall) within 10 seconds, let alone run. i want it to be over. i want to be able to ride. or run. or swim. i'm tired of all this bullshit.

injury #1

some people say injury in triathlon is inevitable. others say if you are diligent about training, rest, nutrition, and mindful of your body, injury is avoidable. what do i say? i say son of a bitch. and god dammit. and really? WTF??? and that's after the tears, the anger, and the ever-present denial.

it all started last thursday night. right after i pulled off my SECOND toenail. i went for a run. at the beginning of the run, i was already having knee pain in my good knee, so i started experimenting with pronation/supination. the true ADHD kid that i am, i quickly lost interest in said experimentation and just ran. with only about 0.2 miles left, my knee brace was all but sliding off my leg, so i stopped to tighten it. when i put my left foot down to start running, the pain screamed up my foot and into my calf. i thought 'well, screw it, i'll just walk, my HR is too high anyway', so i walked in the last of the run. no biggie. i'd been having achilles pain, i thought it probably was just the MO for my f'd up legs in general. went to bed. woke up friday for my first actual work day of bedside nursing, and i couldn't bear weight. walking out to my truck in the garage brought tears to my eyes. i walked on my toes all day long. looked like an idiot. i just wanted to be home with ice. but then a new work buddy of mine needed help, which kept me from going home until well after 8:30 (i'd gotten off work at 3:30pm). saturday morning again brought me to tears, but this time i wasn't even able to walk on my toes. super irritating, especially since there's no bruising, no obvious swelling anywhere on my foot. so instead of my track/trainer workout which i'd been looking forward to for at least a week, i spent the morning in urgent care. which, might i add, was a total waste of time. the PA, although very nice, was not helpful. of course, i've got to remember i'm not the average patient. i went in, told him i was a nurse, and a triathlete, and that i have a race in one week. i told him how the 'injury' potentially happened, and what i'd been doing for it since. after that, he just kind of sat there and looked at me. excellent. not comforting at all. he offered xrays, which i declined. with no outward sign of injury, if there was/is a fracture, it's got to be miniscule, and the chances of an xray catching it are just as small. needless to say i hobbled away from that visit with nothing. well, less than nothing actually, as i was $30 poorer.

i drove out to malibu to meet my friends, and cried as i passed all the cyclists along PCH. the bitter jealousy was overpowering. i was even surprised by my reaction. i managed to find these velcro support things that wrap over the foot to help maintain the arch. like magic, i was able to bear weight on my heel the minute i strapped them on. my walk was better, but still very slow and still with pain. swimming, thankfully, remains in the cards, as i have zero pain. i kick haphazardly as it is, and when i do, it's not with enough force to flex enough to elicit pain. so i spent yesterday afternoon in the pool after lunch.

today was interesting. the MB swim. the walk out sucked. sand is not good when you can't walk normally. and sand walking for a damn mile just isn't my idea of fun to begin with. the swim was actually pretty good. granted the pier looked forever away the entire time, but it always does. i didn't see any of my friends while i was out there. with maybe a quarter of a mile left, i looked at my watch, and i was already at 23 min. at that point i knew it wasn't going to be a fast swim. i started hoping that when i finally did touch sand again, everyone waiting for me would just shrug off my overtly slow time to my new 'injury', even though my swimming isn't affected in the slightest. near the pier i thought i'd spotted one of my friends, so i stuck with her, until she took a really wide swing around the pier. i finally stood at 42 min, thinking (and saying aloud) WTF? i was dumbfounded. i actually was able to swim more of that swim that i think i ever have. i only took 2 10-15 sec breaks to fix my goggles, and other than that i was going the entire time. i asked a couple of the guys what the hell was up with that swim, and if it took them longer than usual too. they joked with me, and i never got a straight answer. imagine my surprise when i look back, and along come my friends, WALKING down the beach from the way i'd just swam. one of them said they walked it in after a half mile because the current turned against us. and then another friend came walking. i was blown away. i didn't notice i had to work any harder during the swim, i just noticed my watch. i guess i need to start paying closer attention. but the way i see it, if it happens like this in a race, getting out and walking isn't an option, so i'll just keep trucking.

can i just tell you how badly ice buckets suck? they SUCK. beyond suck. beyond blow. it takes my poor toes so long to reperfuse it's just painful. and it's the toes that have no nails. maybe toenails actually serve as a sort of insulation. hmmm

the plan for the week, charrissa shall be a fish. and ingest aspirin throughout (if i run in to a door at any point this week, i'll probably die from internal bleeding). and hope that my toes don't fall off from the godforsaken ice bucket. and find shoes that actually support me. yesterday when i went to the running store, the guy, as always, didn't believe me when i told him my shoe size. actually had to take off my new balances and show him the tongue. that's when i saw the width of these shoes is a 2E. wtf??? yes, i know that's where this injury has come from. and my achilles problem. ever want to see your coach's head just pop right off, tell him that little tidbit of info after hours of bitching to him about how you hate running, how running sucks and how you have pain here and here and here...that sucker will just pop right off. trust me. not only are these shoes about 4 widths too wide, but they're also walking shoes, which means the insole/arch is incredibly inflexible. yes, i know i need new shoes. but ya know, i've been unemployed for 11 weeks now. running shoes weren't really on my list of must-haves when my bank account never hit more than 3 digits.

santa barbara is in 6 days. 155 hours actually. i'm not convinced i'm not racing. i'm not convinced i am racing. it's my first race. ever. it's only a 2 mile run. i haven't tried it yet, but i seriously doubt the bike would be painful. i remember how to tape my feet/ankles like my old basketball coach used to do. i don't know how the tape would hold up in the water. i know that if i do too much right now, this injury will only get worse, not to mention plague me for the rest of the race season. but i'm not running at all this week - walking at work will be plenty. i'm swimming my arms off. possibly hop on the trainer towards the end of the week. i'm going to do what i need to do this week, i know that. but no, i'm not going to say i'm not racing this weekend. so get over it. and stop telling me not to race folks. somebody just better be ready to give me a piggyback ride towards the end of the run a week from today.