Energy Crisis

I know it's incredibly lame of me to keep using the same excuses for not posting, but recuperating is sucking the energy out of my body. Doing simple tasks take forever and are exhausting. The narcotics aren't helping the situation much either; while the relief from pain is welcome, the constant haze it leaves me in makes it really difficult to get much of anything done without numerous naps.

My parents brought me home last Sunday, and made sure that I was settled in with a well stocked kitchen of food I could actually prepare while I was convalescing. The cats seemed to be happy to have me home, although they weren't thrilled about the fact that I had taken their footstool so I can keep my leg elevated. (They can no longer watch birds and passing traffic from the front window, and have to gaze out of one of the other eight million windows in the apartment.) They also seem to be a bit freaked out about the crutches, and have learned to give me a wide berth when I'm hobbling to the bathroom.

The kitties have also realized that I cannot discipline them as quickly as I used to, since it now takes me a few minutes to pop up from the couch and shoo them away from whatever it is that they shouldn't be doing. Needless to say, the gaping hole that Ma Huang has clawed into the back of the sectional has grown, and Kismet managed to knock the antenna off the television the other night. Apparently the sound of me hissing at them from the couch as I struggle to get up isn't all that threatening.

Oh, and one of them managed to chew through my phone cord while I was gone. Thanks, kids.

I went to the orthopedist last week to have the splint removed and get a boot cast. I was more than a bit curious to see exactly how much damage I'd done to my ankle; the sight of my swollen toes and the bright purple bruising that had extended above the knee had me fearing the worst. It actually wasn't that bad. The ankle was still pretty swollen, there were a few blisters that had dried and scabbed over (as well as one that had apparently been filled with blood and had dried black), and there were bruises on the back of my leg and the bottom of my foot that looked pretty nasty due to the constant elevation of my leg. There was a 2 inch incision on the left side of my ankle and a 3 - 4 inch one on the right side, both held together with surgical staples (20 in all, which the medical assistant removed). The doctor was pretty pleased with my progress, fitted me for the boot cast (which I am able to remove when I ice my ankle and when I bathe), gave me another prescription for Percocet, told me to work on flexing my ankle in a 90 degree angle (I have a slight case of foot drop), and sent me on my way.

I spent most of last week laying on the couch watching bad TV and reading various entertainment message boards. I had a few visitors (Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and JohnnyB stopped by last Monday and made lunch, and Zappagirl stopped in Thursday with a copy of Smokey and the Bandit from Netflix), but for the most part I was on my own. (Roger Mexico called a few times, since 500 miles is a bit far to drive to drop in for a visit. He's been busy as hell with classes and work and moving across town, so his phone calls were much appreciated and cheered me up immensely.) Admittedly, I got a little stir crazy last week. I'm really missing the freedom of running to the local Blockbuster on a whim.

I've had to become extremely resourceful and plan out every venture from the couch. It's not like I can make twenty seven trips to the kitchen whenever I want something. No more staring blanking into the open refrigerator, trying to decide if I'm hungry or not. (Lately, the answer has been no. I suppose that's a silver lining in all of this, right?) Every trip is mapped out - "OK, I need to refill my water. I need to go to the bathroom. And I suppose I should make some lunch while I'm up. A sandwich or something. Oh, and I forgot to take my vitamins this morning and I left my cel phone in the bedroom. And I need to ice my ankle for a bit, so I'll need to grab the ice pack and fill it. I think that's it. Here goes." Balancing all of this is a bit challenging since I have no free hands. I've been relying heavily on large pockets and my softsider lunchbox.

I went back to work this week. Ugh. You wouldn't think that a desk job would be that physically draining, but for the past few days I've come home completely exhausted. (Today was exceptionally bad, since I had to attend a staff meeting this afternoon on the second floor of my building. Stairs are still a major challenge.) I'm managing to muddle through, busying myself with cleaning up the messes that were made in my absence. I need to get things organized, since all hell will be breaking loose next week when most schools start back and we start scheduling tours and demos for the year. And it is good to be back, with something to keep my mind occupied that doesn't involve the reported awfulness of Gigli. I missed the people from work and the weirdness of trying to hold a conversation while various animals are running around the office and making noise in the background.

So things are progressing, albeit slowly. I successfully managed to hop up the stairs to my apartment last night rather than butt-scooting. (I felt like my heart was going to explode afterwards, but I still managed to do it.) I managed to wash my own hair tonight. Still haven't been brave enough to attempt the bath or shower yet. Hopefully I'll manage to do that soon; sponge bathing sucks. All I want to do is take a long hot bubble bath. And take out my trash. And get my mail. And go to Kings Island. And drive my car anywhere. And wear something besides shorts. And, oh yeah, I'd really like to be able to walk.

I suppose that will all happen soon enough. Baby steps....

I Love/Hate Percocet

I've been meaning to update my posts for the past few days, to let everyone know that I survived surgery and all, but I've had a hard time pulling together enough energy. And for once, that's not just a lame excuse.

My surgery was on Monday at 9:05 am, which meant I had to be at the hospital at 7:00 am. I was allowed nothing to eat or drink after midnight the previous evening. I know seven hours isn't a long time to fast, but anyone who knows me is more than quite aware of the fact that I am not a morning person. Myo at 5:45 am in lots of pain with very little sleep and no caffeine? Not a pretty picture. (Especially when I'm nervous on top of of that.)

After being shown to a small pre-op room and changing out of my street clothes and into a hospital gown, I was visited by a non-stop parade of hospital personnel who inserted IVs (on the first try!), explained the upcoming precedure, gave me more Versed to calm me down, and finally wheeled me down to the operating room. The last thing I remember was seeing a bottle of Diet Coke in the window above the scrub sinks as the anesthesiologist adjusted the oxygen mask over my face and injected whatever it was that it would make me sleep into my IV. Two thoughts crossed my mind: huh, the sleepy drugs kind of burn and I would do practically anything for that Diet Coke right now.

The next thing I knew I was in recovery with a nasal cannula stuck in my nose. Apparently, I was having a hard time waking up from the anesthesia, because they kept reminding me to take deep breaths through my nose. I glanced over at the screen recording my vitals. My respirations were 8? My oxygen saturation was 86%? Not good. I was too tired to panic, though.

Of course, not being able to wake up just made me panic more.

I finally was sent up to my room, where they kept me heavily dosed with more Percocet and informed me that they had placed 8 screws in my ankle. (And I even got an X ray of it. You can't see the little Craftsman logo on my ankle, though.) Everything had apparently gone smoothly and I would be allowed to have a dinner tray that evening (hooray!) of chicken broth and jello (boo!). The hot tea was nice, though. My throat was incredibly sore from the anesthesia. The nurse also managed to scrounge up a Diet Coke for me. I immediately proclaimed it the best Diet Coke I've ever had.

I was kept overnight for observation, as expected. The overnight stay sucked. I was in extreme pain, which was kept in control by the steady stream of Percocet brought to me by my nurses. Unfortunately they were giving me so much that speaking without slurring or getting up to go to the bathroom was a challenge. (They were giving me two pills every three hours in the hospital; at home I'm allowed one every four to six hours. You do the math.)

I had a semi-private room, which meant I had a roommate. I can only assume she was there for the insertion of a personality, since all I know about her was that she had her TV on twice as loud as mine and went outside every chance she got to smoke. (Actually she must have been in a lot of pain, since she was on morphine, but I doubt that running outside to suck down a few full-flavor cigarettes was doing her body any favors.)

My mother brought me back to her house Tuesday afternoon. Since then I've been alternating between short bouts of drug induced sleep, watching entirely too much TV, eating, and hopping from room to room on my crutches (and collapsing in sheer exhaustion once I reach my destination). My computer time has been severely curtailed, since the computer is in the basement and I have to butt-scoot down the steps to get there. (As my niece put it the other night, "Can Aunt Myo come downstairs with her butt?")

I'm supposed to be going home tomorrow afternoon. I'm a little apprehensive, since it means I will be completely on my own and at this point I can't carry a drink into another room. I will be glad to get home though. I miss my cats terribly; I got to see them briefly last Friday night when my parents and I stopped by to pick up clothes and other necessities. (Zappagirl's been checking in on them, and says they're fine.)

I hate being so helpless. I can't even wash my own hair or get my own coffee at this point. I almost dropped from exhaustion after going down three aisles at Walgreens yesterday. Thankfully I have an incredibly supportive group of family and friends who have kept me sane and sent cards, flowers, good thoughts, chocolate and ice cream. Mucho thanks to Mom, Dad, Sydney (and Allison and Amanda), Roger Mexico, Rosencrantz, Zappagirl, Jooles, Mary and Lee, Doris and Jerry, and everyone from work. I appreciate everything you've done for me.

Ugh. My ankle is throbbing now, telling me I need to drag myself back up the steps. My life is no longer measured in coffee spoons; it's now measured in icepacks and class 2 narcotic dosages. How unpoetic.