I am sick and tired of feeling like shit….what a weekend, man. In addition to taking 1 vicodin every four hours I was also hooked up to a motion sickness patch which was stuck behind my left ear before surgery. Head surgeries are notorious for promoting nausea. Two days in a row like clockwork I would start seeing floaters, my vision would blur, and I thought I was going to throw up and die–in that order. I did not throw up or die, but it turns out one of the side effects of the patch is light headedness and fainting spells. So I ripped off the patch, cut down to 1/2 a vicodin, and started taking extra strength Tylenol. During the evening I spend half my time in bed and the other half sitting up on the couch in the living room. Josh has seen me sound asleep sitting straight up on the couch. It was only recently–today–that I was able to bend over, kneel down, or move my head with slight ease. I can walk straight now, instead of holding onto the wall or using a chair as a navigation tool.
Today I eliminated the vicodin completely. I know there is a huge culture out there that worships these pain killers but count me officially out. You know when you lie down and prepare for dream land you sort of let your mind wander off? Your mind relaxes and reviews your day, takes inventory of what you ate; little scenarios pop in and out. Add vicodin and your mind relaxes into a 60’s Technicolor movie, complete with bright reds and oranges, crazy bold patterned wallpaper covers all your thoughts, and different textures and shrill colors coat each and every detailed scenario. I woke up with a start each time: Was I dreaming? Wait, did I get any rest at all? I would wake up feeling vaguely cheerful, as if I was refreshed by my little stoner nap. Than, slowly, I would start feeling dizzy, sleepy, goofy…combine that with my crash test helmet and you have an uncomfortable situation.
My ear sings at night, different pitches and frequencies, sometimes is literally chugs like a train…all of this, I am sure, is just my eardrum healing. The good Doctor removed 90% of what little I had left–nuthin’ but scar tissue and calcium deposits–and stitched together a new little drum using cartilage from behind the ear and a little from the inside wall. When the painkillers wear off, my stitches ache. When the painkillers are in affect it is everything I can do to keep my hands off my Frisbee-shaped bandage. I wiggle it, I scratch the little holes in the plastic, I adjust the enormous Velcro sweatband-like strap that covers my head. Someone, while I was anesthetized, put little blue smiley face stickers on my patch. The damn thing itches so bad it makes me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. I called the nurse, begging for them to take it off sooner than next Monday. She laughed and said, “If I had a dollar for every time someone wanted their dressing removed sooner…It’s true, the bandage really is the worst part of the surgery.”
This is a statement I have finally been inclined to agree. Up until today, I thought the pain was the worst part. The kind of pain that only a sturdy vicodin can reduce. I thought the crippling nausea might be the worst part. Or the IV needle, ah yes, perhaps the IV is the co-winner. First of all, despite the numbing agent, I TOTALLY FELT EVERYTHING. The Anesthesiologist kept saying, “Huh, you shouldn’t be feeling anything right now.” A needle in the vein is a pretty distinctive feeling…anytime anyone messed with it I jumped several feet in the air. The result of this ill placed needle is a fantastic blue bruise on my left hand. Wow. I forgot that skin can turn the color of black tar if agitated enough.
On second thought, perhaps the worst part of the surgery is the unmentionable. A certain little side effect of pain killers…a nasty little secret. Let me give you a hint by describing my desperate diet over the past two days: Whole grain toast, High Fiber Odwalla called “Glorious Morning,” Metamucil, Water bottle after water bottle, fruit, raisins, nuts, lemon water, and finally…stewed prunes.