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Since Sunday:
1. First broken bone
2. First time 911 has been called on my behalf
3. First ambulance ride
4. First time in a cast
5. First crutches
6. First major surgery
7. First nerve block
8. First oxygen tube
9. First use of bedpan
10. First sestina.
Apparently, being stoned on Tylenol 3 makes blank verse easy.
I'm on oxycodone now and still pretty stoned, so I can't write you a coherent post about my surgery, but I can offer you some bits and pieces.
First of all, it went well.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mirrorthaw said the surgeon said everything went pretty much exactly as expected, which is always good. They didn't have to put in a screw to hold the two sides of my ankle together, which means I won't have to go back for them to take that screw out again. Also, the bone chip out of the back of my ankle that was small enough they weren't going to worry about it apparently came right back into line with the rest of the joint. Which is also good.
The nerve block is definitely the patient's friend. They say 12-18 hours to wear off; mine took more like 24-30.
I don't want to be a guy, but I do occasionally wish for male plumbing.
Oxycodone also gives me the weird sort of dreams that I get with a fever, the kind where it's like I'm listening to a series of conversations in the next room all night long. WEIRD conversations.
I am covered in gray adhesive residue, particularly my left hand and forearm where the IV was.
I have the best husband in the world. And I don't think the moon has better husbands, either.
So, crutches. I discovered Tuesday morning, because I was staring at them (either in the bathroom or because I was being wheeled about the hospital, and the fact that I can't choose between those two contexts tells you something about the merry hell oxycodone wreaks with my short-term memory), that my crutches were set to 5'6". I'm 5'5" if I stand up very straight, and I know I said so to the ER nurse because that conversation I actually remember. However. There we were on 5'6". The pre-op nurses very kindly reset them to the correct height, which made a huge difference. ("Weren't you uncomfortable?" they said. "Well, yeah, but I thought I was supposed to be.") Then the physical therapist who came around yesterday and taught me how to go up and down stairs (in an alternate methodology to the old reliable scoot-on-your-butt technique, I mean) readjusted the crutch height and the handhold height, and voila! I wouldn't say they're comfortable exactly, but they're really not bad.
The physical therapist was also very impressed with my upper body strength. Another first: the first time I've ever been called a powerhouse.
And the meter has run out on my ability to form coherent sentences. Thank you, everybody, for your kind thoughts and good wishes. Very much appreciated.
I'm on oxycodone now and still pretty stoned, so I can't write you a coherent post about my surgery, but I can offer you some bits and pieces.
First of all, it went well.
mirrorthaw said the surgeon said everything went pretty much exactly as expected, which is always good. They didn't have to put in a screw to hold the two sides of my ankle together, which means I won't have to go back for them to take that screw out again. Also, the bone chip out of the back of my ankle that was small enough they weren't going to worry about it apparently came right back into line with the rest of the joint. Which is also good.
The nerve block is definitely the patient's friend. They say 12-18 hours to wear off; mine took more like 24-30.
I don't want to be a guy, but I do occasionally wish for male plumbing.
Oxycodone also gives me the weird sort of dreams that I get with a fever, the kind where it's like I'm listening to a series of conversations in the next room all night long. WEIRD conversations.
I am covered in gray adhesive residue, particularly my left hand and forearm where the IV was.
I have the best husband in the world. And I don't think the moon has better husbands, either.
So, crutches. I discovered Tuesday morning, because I was staring at them (either in the bathroom or because I was being wheeled about the hospital, and the fact that I can't choose between those two contexts tells you something about the merry hell oxycodone wreaks with my short-term memory), that my crutches were set to 5'6". I'm 5'5" if I stand up very straight, and I know I said so to the ER nurse because that conversation I actually remember. However. There we were on 5'6". The pre-op nurses very kindly reset them to the correct height, which made a huge difference. ("Weren't you uncomfortable?" they said. "Well, yeah, but I thought I was supposed to be.") Then the physical therapist who came around yesterday and taught me how to go up and down stairs (in an alternate methodology to the old reliable scoot-on-your-butt technique, I mean) readjusted the crutch height and the handhold height, and voila! I wouldn't say they're comfortable exactly, but they're really not bad.
The physical therapist was also very impressed with my upper body strength. Another first: the first time I've ever been called a powerhouse.
And the meter has run out on my ability to form coherent sentences. Thank you, everybody, for your kind thoughts and good wishes. Very much appreciated.
