Not Again

Monday is creeping up on me faster than I thought it would. There are several things that I do not look forward to, one of which is being cut open. I ask myself why I let doctors talk me into "procedures" and the answer I can give me is that I hate pain. This in its self is ironic, given that the cutting makes the pain worse.

Looking back in my life I realize that prior to 2000, I was never in the doctor's office. I hadn't even ever had stitches. Since that time however I have had at least 13 surgical procedures. I can almost pin point the day that everything went wonky.

My mom was the choir director of our church. I was a high saprano and the soloist. Currently my moms little arms were lifting and falling rhythmically, vainly trying to get the rest of the room to follow her lead. Everyone was standing, except me. I was pregnant and needed to be down for a bit. Currently my belly felt like my skin and muscles were suddenly too small and could no longer stretch over my son. That sensation would last for a few moments and then the muscles would relax. I thought my little mister was simply rolling around in there. Unfortunately, my back started to hurt too when the muscles tensed with his roll, so I had to sit.

The pain seemed to be getting worse. I signaled my mom for a break and went to sit on a pew. She stopped the choir and came to check on me. I told her what was happening and she told me I was in labor. Panic struck me at that moment because I was only 6 months into my pregnancy. Needless to say we stopped singing and went to the hospital. Sure enough mom was right (DUH). I was dilated to 6cm and progressing. My son felt like he was ready to come out, the doctors did not agree with him. Flat on my back, monitors hooked up, IV started and a worried Dr. Richard Welling. I heard words like "too soon", "Magnesium", "Trebutaline", "heart  rate", "fetus fatigue". I was terrified for my son. So like a good girl I laid in my hospital bed for three months and tried desperately not to have my kid until they said it was ok. Apparently those three months were harder on me than anyone realized until later.

Day One

Anyway, Monday will mark the 14th surgery since 2000. That is a hell of a lot of anesthesia. No wonder I can't  remember anything anymore. After my operation Monday, I will have more pain, swelling bruising, loss of use of my right arm for at least a week, post surgical depression (it's real don't laugh http://harvardmagazine.com/2000/07/an-understandable-compli-html), and loss of brain cells, which at this point I definitely notice. This is going to be a major disturbance in my life. I will miss school, I will miss all the things for my son, I will miss my nieces first concert, I will miss a shower for 3 days.

Day Three Showering

All this being said, the gains will be nice too. I will be able to grip things without pain and or dropping them. I will be able to bend my arm for longer than a few seconds without pain too. You never realize how much time you spend with your arms bent until you can't bend one without pain. This particular surgery I had performed in March of this year on the other arm. It was not fun, I can only imagine that this one will be worse since it is being done on my dominant arm. So far i have had to chat with professors, who don't like disruptions to your learning on a good day, and I have a party scheduled for the 31st that all the invites went out already. So I had to get people to help me set up and cook now. Stupid shit anyway.

Day Four

I will also have to deal with people who don't understand that the effects of surgery last more than two days. It seems there is a threshold of how long people can handle you being out of commission and needy. I can honestly tell people that the effects of this surgery can be felt for up to 12 months. It has been 7 months since my other elbow was worked on and I can still feel the repair healing.

Day Six

I think I will close by saying I would not wish this shit on anyone.

Day Eight