Yes. That is what you think it is. A boot. You all know what that means. Boot. You break your foot. Boot. Break your leg. Boot. Break your toes. Boot. Neuroma surgery. Boot. Say it with me, people: Boot.
It's an endless cycle that brings joy to those who watch you hobble around, and heartache to those who have to hobble around. Sensible, yes. Stylish, no. But, my vet wrap... oh baby. I can't tell you how much I LOVE my vet wrap!
Sooo, I go in for surgery Wednesday morning, on an empty stomach, mind you, at 11:15 in the A.M. I was instructed to come to the hospital sans makeup, hair junk, and other accoutrements that typically adorn the female figure. I didn't find any of these instructions terribly hard to obey, and even managed to go to the hospital in pajamas. It was fantastic. Plaid shorts that used to be my brother's in 9th grade, a "Cavestock" T-shirt, from junior year, and my "Nephite sandals" from Target. Oh, it was a fantastic outfit! Since I knew I wasn't allowed to have anything in my hair, I decided it would be wisest to go with straight hair, so as not to scare all the hospital patrons with my witch hazel hair.
This proved to be a very wise decision, because right before surgery, they gave me a little cap that would have surely given me some horrendous looking fuzzy afro, had I chosen not to straighten it. You see, dear readers, my hair, being naturally curly, is inclined to do ridiculous things when it doesn't have any goop to keep it in check. Be it gel, mousse, pomade... I can make almost any of these concoctions work according to my desires. I only have one problem with my hair, and that problem is allowing my hair to dry AT ALL with no product in it. The results are hideous, hurtful, painful, and sometimes gruesome. I pity those who have to view me with clean hair. Who says that? Who worries about what their hair looks like when it's CLEAN?! Yeah... my hair looks better when it's two or three days dirty.
But back to the surgery. I straightened my hair. Good choice. Moving on. Before the actual surgery, the doctor comes in, explains to me what he's going to do, ya da ya da ya da... Then the anesthesiologist comes in, finds my "good veins," sticks me in the wrist... actually, that was pretty neat. It was a retractable needle, and it looked more like there was some sort of plasticky thing inside my vein because I could move it around... I don't pretend to understand, I just knew it was cool. They started me out with just the sugar water IV, felt a little bit cool, but didn't hurt at all. Then time for the fun stuff. Drugs. That hit my veins, and in five seconds I could not stop laughing. Literally. I laughed down the hallway, into the operating room... I remember that I was laughing, and I remember people laughing at me because I was laughing, I remember the anesthesiologist telling me he was going to put the mask on me, and I just laughed... then they told me to wake up. I laughed.
I pretty much didn't stop laughing for a good half hour. This is how anesthesia affects me, you see. I just laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh... hey, at least I don't cry, right? I know a couple of those... criers. So sad.
I woke up to a beautifully dressed foot wrapped in bright pink vet wrap with purple hearts. My wonderful Dr. Tom was so kind to me. He picked out the vet wrap just for me, to match my purple toes. Isn't he marvelous? Sadly, however, my foot looks like a clubbed foot, but at least it looks cute doin' it!
I proceeded to down my apple juice and water. Bad idea. When one is on drugs, attempting to relieve oneself of ones waters is a very dangerous idea, even under intense supervision. The whole world of porcelain seemed to be spinning around me, even though I knew I was planted firmly and immovably. That was a very scary feeling. However, I felt a lot better afterward. My nurse, Larry, who resembled Santa Claus, told me that since I felt good enough to go to the bathroom, they would probably let me go home after that. So I hobbled back to my bed, with the help of my mom, and collapsed against the pillows. I literally don't think I have ever felt that dizzy in my entire life. It was then that the intense throat pain set in.
Gasp, crackle, gasp. What did they feed me, sand?? I literally could not down enough liquids to quench my thirst. It was then that I decided I could never, not in one bajillion years, be a druggie. And then later I discovered why druggies are so skinny. You don't want food. Ever. For one thing, you usually feel rather sick to your stomach. For another thing, everything tastes like crap. And finally, you just plain don't care about it!
It basically bites beyond belief.
Luckily, both the raspy voice, and the not wanting food are mostly passed. I haven't had my stupid lortab since last night, and I still don't think I need it. I absolutely despise the way it makes me feel. I'm always asleep, and when I'm not asleep, I'm grumpy because I can't communicate coherently.
Thus, I have ceased to take any intense pain meds since 9 o'clock last night, and I feel ok. I refuse to take anymore of them.
This is basically my view throughout the day. I now inhabit the "big couch" upstairs, from which I have removed one large pillow, and placed several smaller ones behind my head and shoulders. It makes for a very comfortable recovery. However, the trips downstairs to the sleeping chambers are not so enjoyable. Today's movement is a lot better than days past, though. I have managed to hobble around WITHOUT my crutches for the past three hours! Go me and my bad self. 'Tis a bit painful, but so are the crutches.
Until next time, dear ones.
