Today the goddess speaks about herself:
The goddess has a new lap top. It's a Mac Book, oh yeah, who's your goddess? I am totally excited to be able to write as much as I want from my recliner. As you are all aware, I am recovering from heart surgery -- Moo! (new cow valve)
This is so much more cushy than the chair upstairs. I am sure to be 43% funnier, writing from a reclined position.
I have kicked some heart surgery fanny, and now I am ready to write about it. Although, recovery stories are foremost on my mind, at the moment.
I've been sitting around for the last two and a half weeks getting used to the crack in my chest. Ow, sometimes that sucker hurts. Thank God for those narcotics they dole out just for letting some over educated hotshot cut you open, play with your insides, and sew you back together again. I am quite grateful for the sewing back together part.
Back to the drugs; apparently, I was so out of it I was singing, "I'm not going to rehab, no, no, no . . ." as I was coming to, in the recovery room. I remember nothing after the cute guy, in hospital scrubs, inserted something dreamy into my IV line, or before another cute guy, also in scrubs, was bragging about the small incision he had made. (I sure hope that was the surgeon talking). My next memory was having the breathing tube removed. I was trying so hard to be a little trooper, doing my yoga breathing, and trying to remain calm. That was a totally freaky experience. I don't know why I had to be any kind of alert for that experience! Umm. . . suggestion for the surgery suggestion box: keep patient heavily drugged while removing breathing tube. My recovery nurse, Kellen, told me that I was very zen like when I was going through that little trauma. I guess it could have been worse. Personally, I can't recommend that part of heart surgery.
Another thing that I can't recommend -- the massive amount of water weight gained during surgery. I was horrified to discover I had gained twenty pounds in less than four hours. I was sure that it would take me a year to lose it. The good news is that my weight gain distracted me from all of my other little worries like, pneumonia, hospital infections, the owie on my chest. You get the idea. Everyone told me that I was going to lose weight in the hospital, but no one told me it would be weight I gained under the knife. I believe the weight gain thingy is a hospital conspiracy to distract patients from the actual event. In that light, I can live with the new stretch marks that have adopted me.
Many nurses told me what a good little surgery girl I was, and how well I was already recovering. These molly-coddlers led me to believe that I was the star of the hospital. This allowed that insurance expediter to hustle me out of the hospital after a whopping three full days of being waited on, in my own private suite. I asked for one more day, but no, my great attitude was my undoing in the end. I was jettisoned out of there like a nobodies business.
I do have my memories to get me through the nights. There was the orderly who walked into the bathroom while I was going number two one last time. She and I had quite the long, soulful conversation. I just had to let go of that little shred of decency that I had managed to hang onto through all of the groin groping during my angiogram debacle. Dancing with my two sons just prior to being wheeled down to the operating room, is a really happy memory. This is probably where the recovery room singing came from. The nurses had never seen anyone dancing before heart surgery. I can't imagine why not, heart surgery is such a hoot. My husband and I having a cozy date in the sixth floor solarium was a highlight. We got to snuggle while watching, "What to expect during and after your open heart surgery". There were a couple of old men, in robes, sharing the experience with us, but I'll always remember it as a special time with my sweetheart. Also, I'll always remember the way my nurses, tidily clipped my colostomy bag to their hips when they wanted me to go for a walk, the stool softeners -- applied in the southern region, Nurse Dan, helping me on and off of the portable commode, and always being very considerate to lift my gown away from my bottom when I got back into bed, so that it wouldn't bunch up, and cause me discomfort, and the many, many hospital staff members who measured and recorded my each and every urination. These were the best of times, these were the worst of times, and like Wonder Woman, I took care of business with strength, focus, humor, and my chest and fanny hanging out.
May peace and a zen-like attitude be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.