1. I was asked to pee into a hat and was told to not empty the hat. I filled the hat in the middle of the night, so I called my nurse in.
Me: My pee hat is full.
Nurse: Okay. I’ll empty it.
Less than an hour later, I walked into the bathroom and found that my pee hat was still full. I dumped out the hat and put it on the floor because I was TIRED of dealing with a hat full of pee! I then used the toilet and NOT the hat and INDEPENDENCE! When I told the nurse that I dumped the hat out, she seemed a little angry. (I’m still feeling slightly guilty about the whole pee hat thing. It occurred to me afterwards that pee in a hospital is like a diamond in a jewelry store. Things like clarity and color need to be documented so the pee’s worth can be estimated.) So much talk about pee. Let’s move on to blood.
2. I woke up and blood was soaking through my dressings and through my gown. I called the nurse in, and she asked if I wanted to change my gown. I told her that I did, but that changing the dressings seemed more important, because they looked a lot worse than the gown. She then taught me how to change my own dressings, and I felt like we were at a slumber party doing each other’s hair, except I was dealing with tape and gauze and nobody walked away with a sloppy braid. The next morning when the surgeon visited, he asked, “Why is there gauze on the incision sites?” He didn’t seem happy, so I said, “I might have done that.” He said, “I asked your nurse to remove the dressings.” That’s when I may have said something like, “My bad.” (I typically don’t talk like that. Morphine.)
3. I woke up and heard my kids talking about dinner and I remember feeling stressed out that they would want me to prepare something for them, because there I was in a hospital bed zonked out on morphine and anesthesia and my only supplies were saltines and an emesis basin.
4. I sent Jeff to the store to buy an enema. I don’t need an enema, but it’s sitting right here by me as I type this message to you. Like a tiki idol.
I’m still hazy, which I hear is the anesthesia wearing off. Apparently, it can take WEEKS, which is why I’m taking milk thistle pills and drinking detox tea. (I hate the fog.) Also, I’m just painy enough to require Percocet again, and that bums me out because Percocet makes me fall asleep at weird times. Other than that? All is well. (Except for a touchy subject that involves kids and texting and I would really like your opinion regarding what sort of texting parameters you would place on an 11-year-old girl. I have an 11-year-old girl. She’s a gem. However, we need to set up some rules.)
The UPS man just delivered a box from Zappos. It’s addressed to Jeff, so I can’t open it. (It’s against the law to tamper with someone else’s mail. I once found out that one of my bosses in Nashville had thrown away some of my mail. When I jokingly reminded him (electronically) that what he did was a crime that is punishable by incarceration, he responded to my e-mail with a simple question: ARE YOU THREATENING ME? (I did not respond. He has since passed on.))
It looks like my surgeon implanted a chicken foot into one of my incisions. I would try to remove it, but it might be his surgical signature, and you should never scratch “Monet” from a wall of water lilies.