Resilience

Getting through nearly half a century with no surgery was kind of a lucky break, I thought, but I finally took my first trip under the knife on Friday, October 15, thanks to a not-so-lucky break in my abdominal wall that first appeared in 2006 after a yoga class! At the time my thinking was to treat the hernia in a manly way... I would exercise the muscle to build up the scar tissue and it would go away. I did forget about it as the pain receded, and then I got cancer, and a bone marrow transplant, recovery, and life went on... until....

A recent yoga class reminded me that it was time for a patch-up. I was envisioning my old Teddy bear, who had stitches and patches everywhere. An eye is missing, an ear is sewn on, his mouth is after-market, his arms and legs are all stitched on... many of these seams are in different colors and gauges of thread and stitch length. He's threadbare and in the words of the Velveteen Rabbit... definitely REAL. Surgery on my belly button would only make me more real, right? The hernia was not going to heal itself, that was for certain.

I consulted a doctor I know, who happens to be a plastic surgeon. He explained to me that he would not repair my hernia the same as a general surgeon. General surgeons make a small incision at the site of the hernia and adhere a mesh patch to the abdominal wall to secure the area, but my doctor would be doing a bit more for me.

When I met with him on Surgery Day, the doc explained that he'd be making an incision across my bikini line, and then he would (somehow) (I don't want to know how) proceed to pull my skin away from the abdominal muscle tissue, look inside the tunnel, and sew the abdominal muscle from the midline of the sternum, all the way down! Well it, WAS Surgery Day! Who was I to argue?

Everyone at the hospital seemed to be making merry, all the way from the phlebotomist to the anesthesiology assistant.

What, me worry?

Mr. Shiny Happy Anesthesiology first gave me a shot that he called my "glass of wine," just something to "relax" me before the big guns. Remember Propofol? Michael Jackson's best friend until the day he died? Yeah, I got Propofol. Haven't slept that well since.. 1969...

I woke up and it was Monday. Just kidding. It was about 4:30 Friday afternoon (Happy Hour), and I was still at Sparrow and not in Neverland or in Heaven.

I was also in PAIN.

Oh yes... I was a trouper for a bone marrow transplant but I'm not sure if I ever mentioned there wasn't much, if any, pain involved in that transplant. It's not like they scrape the marrow out and put new in, or something like that. So this pain thing was new, and... painful. It was also itchy. I'm allergic or sensitive to opiates and they make me itch all over... like I have an outbreak of fleas or something. I'm trying to scratch but it's hard to move... you don't realize how much you use your abdominal muscles until you have this type of surgery.

I also had (and still have) a drain tube sticking out of my groin area with a bulb on the end of it that looks like a hand grenade, to collect fluid from the incision wound. This drain tube appears to be attached to the inside of me through a hole, with a stitch. Where is the other end of this thing? It freaks me out, so I'm not asking.... just trying to ignore it. I guess the alternative would be super-oozy so wow, I've got a drain tube!

My first night I fell asleep in my chair watching episodes of "Breaking Bad" while on Vicodin. My sister was there with me and we shared some pizza from DeLuca's prior to this passing out. I give her props for putting up with me in my post surgical pain haze, ceaseless itching and crappy mood.

She left on Saturday afternoon as we had agreed but the worst was yet to come.

On Sunday the pain meds had taken their toll. I became sick to my stomach, and vomiting was the worst pain yet. All those stitches both vertical and horizontal felt like they were breaking loose. I couldn't take another pain pill after that. This led to a crying jag and angry spell. I flipped through my papers, and according to the "What to Expect After Surgery" handout I received from my doctor, I was a day ahead of schedule. Love that!

Now I'm settling into post-surgical recovery, otherwise known as Staycation. I'm filling up on old episodes of "Men" -- "Manly," not "Mad," because I gave up cable months back. I'm reading the books that have been beckoning at my bedside for months, and drooling over the back issues of Bon Appetit my sister left behind. The pain is tolerable with doses of Motrin as needed. I've got my feet up more than usual and have to ignore Dante's urges to get me out to the yard to play. I'm awestruck that I survived a transplant in order to have abdominal surgery, and I'm amazed at my body's ability to heal.