I’m Walkin’

OK, I'm 12 days post op and things are looking up. Pain is still a constant and it appears that the doctor expects that. He prescribed a bottle with 200 Norco in it and 2 refills. That scares me when he thinks I will need 600 Norco! Norco, of course, is my new best friend, followed by Dilaudid. Or maybe it's the other way round? Sad, but I have no refills available for the Dilaudid, though I will ask for one this week. Dilaudid makes the mornings bearable. And the evenings. Twice a day is all I need and I will have to tell him that. I'm also taking Tizanidine, a muscle relaxant to help with back spasms.

I'm getting around more with my walker and taking longer walks. I try walking without it and find it to be moderately scary and don't get too far away from the walker. Also, I have to be picky as to when I go walking. The pain meds allow a short window of opportunity between the times I take those meds. I have to start walking about 45 minutes after taking my Norco and I must end it about an hour before the next one. Even with those restrictions, I have about 2 hours in which to exercise. If I'm not napping.

I just had a brain flare! Maybe I will paint my walker. It's mine after all and I do have some incredible paints. Maybe Sharpies would be the way to go? Why should walkers be industrial gray in color?

Can’t be mine…

Walkers. I used to be one and now I have one. What a letdown.

It wasn't too long after surgery, maybe a day, when I noticed the walker laying up against wall across from the bed. It didn't take me long to figure out that there was a good chance that particular walker was mine. It wasn't there by accident. This was confirmed by the nurse when she told me, "We'll get you up and standing in your walker while we make the bed." My walker? Later in the day, I was given a quick lesson in its use and was told once again that it was all mine and that I would only get one like this, free, in my lifetime. If I lost it, I was out of luck!

OK, I'm home and the walker came with me. I'm even appreciative of its presence, despite the fact that it has left 'walker tracks' all around the house; thin lines in the carpet left by wheel and brake as I drag myself around. Hey, it's definitely better than crawling!

Post-Op Day 6

Life goes on. Painfully. I don't know where the pain came from last night as I was getting ready for bed, but it was shockingly intense. I had wakened from napping on the Lazy Boy, had navigated to the kitchen for two of my pills and then into the bathroom. Even now, I can't remember where the pain came from; I was moving between the toilet and the countertop when it struck. BANG! This was the kind of pain you would expect to leave scars on your psyche. It may have.

It's been 5 hours since that event and I don't think I'm recovering at all from the pain of last night. And I've been up every two hours since that time. Most of the time, it's because I need to urinate and that's a good thing. I'm hoping that the increased urination will draw fluids away from my ankles, which were looking particularly swollen; a bad sign. As of this hour, I have urinated 3 times since midnight for a grand total of 43 milliliters.

Funny, ever since my year of Medical Miseries began with surgery to repair my umbilical hernia back in October of 2008, I have become quite comfortable with all of the different medical terms for peeing and pooping and how often those things should occur. Plus, the doctors and nurse are quick to discuss just what portion of your anatomy they will be caring for. It's all so familiar that we think nothing of discussing these matters in mixed company and even with strangers; as long as a few of them have a white coat on. Yes, all modesty is abandoned once you go through those hospital doors. Modesty only gets in the way. When I needed my catheter reinstalled late one night, I never even though about the gender of the one to do the chore. OK, I did think about it, but only briefly.

Here I am, I've got a few pills in me; Norco and Tizanidine. That makes me close to comfortable but offers no cures. And the Tizanidine is the one that gives me hallucinations that are more enjoyable than not. In another fifteen minutes, I can take a Dilaudid. An even better chance for fantasy! By the way, fantasy is 100% better than pain. Most of the hallucinations have been of a parallel universe. I live in this one but dream/live in that other one and sometimes they twist and loop and become one universe for a moment or two. Strange things can occur.

But, right now, the pain is affecting my memory and that makes writing very difficult for me. And, when I read over what I've written, a lot of it makes no sense. I may have to go and sit for awhile; in the dark.

 

 

It’s over…sort of

I'm 5 days post op and 2 days post hospital. Life goes on. And let me tell you about the pain! Yesterday afternoon, I was pretty well armed with my new drugs to stop pain. Norco, Neurontin, Tizanidine, Dilaudid and etc. I was sedated as much as I could be without falling over, but the only pain relief came when I was asleep. It's the same thing this morning; once I'm upright, the pain strikes me from every angle. Yikes! Did I do too much on Saturday morning? And how much is too much?

Well, I'm off to do a walk. From the study to the kitchen and back. Can I make it? (Minutes go by…tap your foot in frustration) OK, I'm back. I found that the trip down was very comfortable. I opened the door for the cat, heated up my creamer and made my cuppa tea, took my temperature (99.4) and then found that I hadn't included the Tizanidine in my 3:30 round of pills, so I took one. Up the hallway I rolled and then sat at here at the desk, still upright.

Anywho…what I discovered while making this trek was the fact that the pain decreases in a direct relationship with my speed. The slower I do anything, the less pain I have. So now I go slow, very, very slow, and it's enough to make my head explode. I'm the guy that hates to wait for anything and now I find myself waiting for…me.

Well, I'm certainly well medicated. There is still a lot of pain in my right hip and thigh and that comes right through the drugs, ripping through! I'm also quite 'spacey' this morning; I can't depend on 'me' for anything at all. I better explore and see what I really can do and what I think I can do..

I'm back and can report that I'm feeling better. My posture also dictates my pain levels, so I have to spend some time getting settled into just the right spot. Also, I have to move my fingers slowly on the keyboard or I am very frustrated by the many misspellings. And have I told you about the hallucinations? They would be scary if I weren't medicated to the brim. Plus, I talk to myself a lot; or I talk to the mysterious people that are here in the room with me. I only see them briefly and then they move to a place behind me.

 

Finally

Life goes on. And what is today? It's the day before, of course. The day before a whole new life for me. Tomorrow at this time I will be getting ready for the trip into Chico; to Enloe Hospital and my long awaited surgery. A laminectomy, foraminotomy and spinal fusion with instrumentation, to be a little more exact. And if the surgery has the expected outcome, I will be pain free for the first time in…oh, let's say 20 months.

OK, not completely pain free; not at first. I will still have to deal with the surgical pain. Dr. Mimbs, my neurosurgeon, has told me that immediately after the surgery, I will feel as if I've been run over by a truck. His truck. He apologizes for that, but it's to be expected. And he tells me that I will be in love with the 'clicker' for my PCA. (Patient Controlled Analgesia pump) That's the pump that delivers morphine as needed. I can certainly understand that kind of love! But, he also told me that I will not feel the pain in my hip and legs that has plagued me for so long.

Recovery will take from 6 months to 1 year. Which is a whole lot better than 'no recovery', which is what I had to look forward to if I didn't have the surgery.

That's the physical effect of this surgery. There is also a mental effect to deal with. I will have to become a person who is not in pain. That pain has controlled every aspect of my life for the past 20 months and it has changed me in ways that even I do not know of; yet. I have to imagine life with hope. I have to imagine life without Vicodin.

And it all starts tomorrow at 7:30, the expected time for surgery. After waking up in the recovery room, I can expect to enjoy a week in the hospital. I doubt that I will be allowed to use my netbook computer while I'm there. I'm taking a notebook and pen so that I can continue my daily journal in written form. That's what I'm hoping that I can do. I'm not sure how well or legibly I will be able to write while using the PCA, but I will give it a try.

And after all of that, I can begin dreaming of marathons again…