“Am I going to fall asleep?”
“Sleep? What do you think this is, a Motel 6?”
“They said I was going to fall asleep. And I heard them say they were switching to the stuff that was going to make my sleepy. And that it would happen immediately. But I’m not—”
That’s the last thing I remember of my surgery. Next thing I know, I’m climbing into a wheelchair and then I’m getting transferred to my friend’s car. I’ve got gauze in my mouth and I’m somehow fully-dressed. I understand now why I wasn’t allowed to take the bus home—I would either have passed out or gotten arrested for public drunkenness. Or both.
I’ve slept more in the past 24 hours than I do during most work weeks (OK, not really, but I’ve slept A LOT). I can’t eat anything solid yet, mainly because I can’t open my mouth wide enough to fit anything but soup or smoothie in there. The lump is not actually gone yet, but has now become a sore, amorphous swollen mass. I have two stitches which will miraculously disappear or dissolve or something like that, and the lump will fade away into lumplessness.
Aside from yesterday evening (after the drowsiness and anesthesia wore off, but before Asa came home with my hydrocodone), there hasn’t been too much pain—except for when I swallow, which apparently uses every sore muscle in my entire head, including those that control my ears. Who knew?
I could’ve gone to work today, but I didn’t manage to wake up until 10:30 this morning (hooray for 13 hours of sleep!) and I’m still a little drowsy and out of it. That, and who needs work when you already have a headache?
Anyway. Apparently Vicodin + Laura = boring blog posts. I’ll go back to lying on the couch.
8 responses so far ↓
1 Whatever749 // May 22, 2007 at 2:25 pm
I either missed something or you never said anything.
I hope you feel better and I hope everything is alright.
2 TimsHead // May 22, 2007 at 3:50 pm
I remember (vaguely) getting sodium pentathol for the removal of an abcessed tooth. They asked me to count backward from 100. Think I made it to 97. Then I woke up still in the chair, discombobulated, with an odd feeling in my mouth, and reached up to take out the gauze. There was, perhaps, some kind of cuss word uttered by someone in the room and then they gave me another dose. Then I woke up and my mom was walking me into another room to lay down. Everything was sort of fuzzy. I told her I loved her.
Needless to say, she probably recalls the whole thing a bit better, and perhaps more fondly.
3 Low_Mom // May 22, 2007 at 4:41 pm
Lori + Vicodin = Happy Mom.
Glad you got the lump removed !
4 thinlizzy // May 22, 2007 at 5:00 pm
I hope you’re up and back on the bus soon.
5 Laura // May 23, 2007 at 3:48 am
yeah, you’ve pretty much captured a traumatic medical event… it’s a little fuzzy. glad you’re sleeping it off. can’t wait to hear how life is different sans lump.
6 michael5000 // May 23, 2007 at 8:26 am
When I go in every once in a while to have my esophagus tinkered with, there’s two syringes on the IV drip. After the first syringe, I always say — with my usual sparkling wit and keen observational powers — “Wow. That feels really good.”
After the second syringe, I fall deeply, helplessly in love with my doctor. Really: Dr. Wang, I’d follow you anywhere. You have no idea how purely I adore you after the second syringe. This stage lasts about five seconds.
Then, suddenly, I am in a car riding home and Mrs. 5000 is making fun of me for asking the same questions over and over again. (”How long have I been awake? Oh, OK. How did the procedure go? Oh, OK. How long have I been awake? Oh, OK. Did Dr. Wang give us any instructions? Oh, OK. How did the procedure go?”) But she stops to get me ice cream, so I’m happy.
7 Hannah // May 23, 2007 at 10:11 am
Wait, why did you have your clothes off in the first place?? Sounds a bit fishy…
8 Boo // May 24, 2007 at 6:30 pm
Glad to hear you are rested and now lumpless. have to read above.
This was neither long nor boring btw.