Recovery - Day 3. Saturday

My fancy leg warmers by Kendall... They're a little freaky looking (and sounding), but if they keep me alive, I can handle it. 

They are fancy wrap around compression gadgets that pressurize my legs every 20 - 60 seconds to force blood flow through my legs.  I have to wear them until I am walking regularly, but they don't bother me ... my legs are numb anyway and I'm not exactly feeling much.  And the pump  is quiet.  These are used to prevent blood clots, because blood clots cause stokes, and I'd hate to come through all this process then die of a stroke.  That would suck.

So, Day 3.

I've hit that day where the swelling is at it's worst, the high of surviving the initial surgery is gone, and pain medications have been reduced. In other words, reality is setting in. I'm tired.  Very, very tired.

I woke up well rested at 5:30am when my nurse brought me my wee hours of the morning cocktail of drugs.  My incredibly busy morning consisted of eating breakfast (Rice Crispies this morning!), unsuccessful attempt number gazillion at the commode and texting friends and family. 

Morning Exercices

The deadly physio duo showed up for my "bed exercises" (not nearly as fun as you may be thinking).  Essentially modified quad curls, leg extensions and abductor muscle exercises.  Sounds exciting doesn't it.  In reality, 15 reps of those three exercises on my weak, spazzy leg exhausted me. 

They gave me a break for an hour (where I napped), and then we did "marches".  Yep, standing in one spot, being held up by two people and an underarm walker. The objective was to lift each knee 15 times.  That's a real challenge when you don't know if one of your feet is even on the floor, let alone your knee being in proper position to hold up your weight.  I was unsuccessful more than once, wobbled, leaned heavily on the physio ladies, foot flopped all over, landing nowhere near where my brain was directing it.  I have a distinct lack of connection between brain command and foot action.

I had a break for lunch and more texting (and more nap), and then it was time to sit in a chair for half and hour.  Who'd'a thought. Sit for half an hour.  Yep, two people to help me move to a chair, sit for half and hour and two people to move me back to bed. Sorry to those who were a little freaked out by that sight. 

They are stubborn, these physio people, but I think I'm one of their few patients who actually want to be doing, and see the importance of, the physio.  I'm the one who sees the walker come in the room and says "ooooh, do we get to go walkies? ??"  Kinda like a puppy seeing a leash. I WANT TO WALK!!!

Rehab and going home

But I don't get to home next week because I won't be able to walk out.  They are going to keep me here and move me to the rehab unit - a "medium" rehab centre designed for those requiring 4 days to 4 weeks of physiotherapy (there's no occupational therapy).  I'm told that today is the worst of the leg swelling and that it should start to subside. The nerve swelling in my spinal cord will take upwards of a year to heal, but any of my movement being restricted by leg swelling should start to improve. 

My neurosurgeon seems confident that I will walk again. My physio ladies say they have seen significant improvement over only three days and that I'm doing fabulously.  Tonight I'm so tired, I overdid it, and had too much company, so my legs are just deadly numb and I can only see what I can't do.  I can't get out of bed on my own. If there is something just outside my reach that I want, I can't get it - I have to call someone.  The food for dinner was crappy and the nursing staff are pouring laxatives and prune juice into me as fast as they can (and they refuse to believe that the best trick, is lots of coffee first thing in the morning). Walking seems like a lifetime away.

For tonight, I eat the fresh fruit my friends brought, take yet another nap and hope tomorrow brings a day that feels like I achieved something.

Recovery - Day 2

Day 2 started out innocently enough.  I was transferred from ICU to a private room and managed to get four straight hours of sleep. Yahoo!!

I woke up around 3:30 am, started reading a book, my head was clear and it was going to be a great day.  Except with getting so much sleep, everything seized up.  The back incision had tightened up and my right leg wasn't wanting to move, but with a bit of coercion, I got things going again.  It's gonna be a great day.

Well, my day turned into two things.  The adventures of walking and the adventures of peeing.  I have become two years old again :)


Walking
Did I mention the physio ladies?  They were back and back with a vengeance.  The tough old Scottish lady wasn't going to let one of her patients get away without moving today!  Did I mention she decided we were going to walk today?  Right now I can only weight bear one my left leg, so you can imagine my joy at the thought of that!  Yeah, I wasn't going to win that battle.

So off we go.... Me leaning on the queen sized walker trying to convince my right foot to find the floor while trying to convince my brain that the right foot was actually on the floor and that I should lift my left foot (think prancing horses).  Add to the picture the tough old Scottish lady supporting my right side, her assistant wheeling behind with a wheelchair  and holding my gown closed at the back, and my dear man leading the pack pushing my IV stand.  Unfortunately all hands were occupied and we didn't get it on video.... But I'm sure tomorrow won't disappoint.

Making the Pee
And the adventures of peeing. Apparently surgery can cause havoc with the ordinarily uneventful task of peeing.  Especially when there is swelling in the bladder area.  Especially if you develop a lazy bladder because of  catheters left in, especially if you aren't moving around.  Wow, can we hit any other risk factor?  Maybe being on an IV but still drinking lots of water because the rooms are hot!

Combine all of that with 40 years of conditioning that you don't pee the bed, and bed pans become impossible.  So tonight's adventure was the commode.  Three people helping me out of bed properly (yeah, painful) and onto a commode - one of those chairs with a hole where they can fit in a bed pan, or wheel you over a toilet.  Half an hour, just sitting.  I should have brought a book, or my cell phone.  Me and your average two year old trying to pee before bed time.

I am safely back in bed, recovering get from the trauma of getting up and being unsuccessful on the commode (and way too many catheters), taken my final doses of pharmaceuticals and am calling it a night.  Wondering what tomorrow's new adventure will be. Or not.

Post op and Recovery Day 1

Surgery day - post op
I don't really remember much about waking up from surgery except for asking the surgeon two questions: a) what time is it? (3:15)
b) how many vertebrae did you cut? (6)

After that it is mostly a blur of in and out of sleep and multitudes of pain killers. Also the surprise of a 5" incision in my right thigh where he did a ligament graft for my back.  OUCH!!   I know the staff in ICU continually checked my temperature, blood pressure, pain medication, IV and leg function. I'm not a big fan of being woken every hour, but it's not like I was really sleeping.

Day 1
In the neurosurgery ICU there were three nurses and three patients.  There was me, the quiet guy beside me and crazy guy.  Crazy guy turned out to be not crazy, but he was having nightmares and kept trying to take the tube out of his nose.  He kept the staff busy all right, and he was none too pleased when they put that tube back in.

My day started out with a brief conversation with the surgeon. He was thrilled at how the surgery went "given the situation". Hmmmm.  Herm was was bigger and complicated in real life, the surgeon had some very delicate cutting to do in my spinal cord, and while there are concerns about my right leg, he thinks I'll walk again. Hmmmm.  The rest of my day was filled with incision checking, more vitals checking and bandages checking.

Then the physio ladies showed up.  I had been warned that they would try to get me out of bed on the first day. And boy, we're they going to.  Holy bananas.... It freaking HURT.  Did I say hurt!!!! Holy crap.  one serious mental blow.  I stood up, leaning heavily on the walker and tried to lift one leg at a time.  Did I mention PAINFUL??!!

How did I come out?  My upper body has way more strength and movement and lack of pain than I was expecting.  Back incision reacted well to the morphine and barely hurt at all. I alas, had NO reaction to the morphine and have no exciting stories to tell.  The incision in my thigh hurts like stink and I have no idea how much ligament he grafted.... Probably 5".  Then there's my legs.  The left leg feels almost identical to pre-surgery except my foot is swollen and feels like it's asleep.  My right leg is spazzy. Way spazzy. It  feels like the whole leg is asleep.

But I have survived my first full day.

Update

Sarah is out of surgery and things went very well.  Waiting for details.  Great news!

Waiting...

Hello!  Guest Blogger (cousin) here.

Is anyone surprised that Sarah was up at Ugly-O-Clock posting  today’s message?  Anyone who knows her wouldn’t be.  She’s a planner.  As a fellow planner, I get it.  It’s comforting for planners to feel some sense of control when there are things happening around you that you have no control over.  We like things like Dr. Google – we want hard facts so we can plan more. We feel best when there are no more questions to ask and we understand EVERYTHING!  Yes, we are aware that we can be annoying to you “fly by the seats of your pants” people.  We know you don’t get us and in turn, we don’t get you.  That’s ok.  When faced with traumatic things in your life, you do what’s best for you.  Sarah has been remarkable throughout this entire process.   I’m so proud of her.   

Surgery Day. May 2, 2012

The iCU and the Neurosurgical Care ward prohibit electronics, so I will be away from the blog until I am allowed near a laptop again. For the next few days my blog will be guest hosted by my cousin who has put up with me through this. Coming to appointments, listening to me talk ad nauseum about whatever part of surgery or recovery was stressing me, sending me helpful links and articles and suggestions for my blog.  A special thank you to her, and I'm sure you'll enjoy her writing over the next couple of days.

Thank you to everyone who has me in their thoughts and prayers today.  Thank you for the cards, the emails, and the phone calls of support and encouragement. It's now time to hand myself over to the experts and let them do their job. And to hand myself over to the care and company of family and friends while I get on the road to recovery.  I will do my best to not be bitchy :)  To my kids. I love you, and I'll see you when I'm hopped up on morphine :)  To the man in my life. I love you, and thank you for being there for me every step of the way.

Today, a Big Day
Cut Carefully. Goodbye Herm
A new Beginning

I am ready.

T - 24:00 hrs

tick, tick, tick, tick ...

Honestly not sure what the day will bring. Besides the final few domestic tasks and maybe some  visitors -  brother freshly arriving in town, my parents, a good friend waiting on her own serious test results. 

High on the list of expectations for the day is irrational thinking. Obsessing about the details of what I've packed in my Go Bag, reading and rereading the pre-admitting instructions, focusing on the unknown after being dragged from the depths of anaesthesia, the thought of needles and tubes (I'm seriously needlephobic, so the IV is likely to cause me more grief than the actual surgery). Irrational will be the order of the day.

I am looking forward to getting this process going.  For me, it will officially start when we leave for the hotel later today.  Hospital admitting at 6:30am tomorrow comes early and we'd rather not be fighting rush hour traffic, the stress of getting there on time (like surgery will start without me!) or the panic thoughts of sleeping through the alarm.  Like I'm really going to sleep tonight.  Who's kidding who here. I will be visualizing the pacing around in my sexy blue gowns waiting to be taken to the operating room, role playing the conversation with the anaesthesiologist as I count down 10, 9, 8 ...  and anticipating the pain upon waking up.

My brother told me that the thing to fear is more damage, not the pain. Pain of past trauma is irrelevant.

He's right.
But today irrational wins.