I have a confession to make. This is NOT the first time I've taken out my computer to post on the blog. I've been loopy, but not so out of sorts that I couldn't function. I have, however, been in a sulky, sympathy-based funk. Let me first say that I was right. I really did kill the operation. The surgeon relayed that things were pretty messed up when he got in there and he had to do a lot of work, but alas, he mended the tears and sewed me back up.
I can't remember coming out of my first 2 surgeries, but this one is vivid. The nurse and I exchanged anecdotal tales about going against our mother's wishes of piercings and tattoos once we turned 18. My mom was in the room for it, so I'm sure she appreciated the bumbling confession of thoughts behind the actions that upset her years ago. No secrets when under the fog of anesthesia. The car ride is hazy, but I believe I directed my mother where to go. Oh yes. And I watched her struggle with my Prius in the lot. She had the reverse lights on but only budged an inch or two at a time. Austin Powers style. The car has a back-up cam! She claims she couldn't see anything out of the camera or the car. Perhaps my drugs had taken on osmosis and carried over to her. Eventually, she backed out of the lot and got me home.
Two of my friends were waiting with open and able arms to transfer my dead weight into the upstairs part of my house. That is the bigger blur of the day, but I do remember needing to use the restroom immediately and then being tucked in bed. Looking at the pictures after, I actually thought I looked somewhat coherent, but questioned my outfit choice. (The important stuff, right?) I suppose worse things have happened. My first request? 2 cups of coffee. Mom prepared a gourmet piece of buttered toast with turkey to balance out my beverage needs. Satisfaction isn't even an appropriate word to describe how glad I was to consume this.
I can't remember coming out of my first 2 surgeries, but this one is vivid. The nurse and I exchanged anecdotal tales about going against our mother's wishes of piercings and tattoos once we turned 18. My mom was in the room for it, so I'm sure she appreciated the bumbling confession of thoughts behind the actions that upset her years ago. No secrets when under the fog of anesthesia. The car ride is hazy, but I believe I directed my mother where to go. Oh yes. And I watched her struggle with my Prius in the lot. She had the reverse lights on but only budged an inch or two at a time. Austin Powers style. The car has a back-up cam! She claims she couldn't see anything out of the camera or the car. Perhaps my drugs had taken on osmosis and carried over to her. Eventually, she backed out of the lot and got me home.
Two of my friends were waiting with open and able arms to transfer my dead weight into the upstairs part of my house. That is the bigger blur of the day, but I do remember needing to use the restroom immediately and then being tucked in bed. Looking at the pictures after, I actually thought I looked somewhat coherent, but questioned my outfit choice. (The important stuff, right?) I suppose worse things have happened. My first request? 2 cups of coffee. Mom prepared a gourmet piece of buttered toast with turkey to balance out my beverage needs. Satisfaction isn't even an appropriate word to describe how glad I was to consume this.
Bring on the TMI phase of surgery. I wish doctors told you all of that. "You might feel nausea." "You may have some throbbing pain around THIS region." "You may divulge your secrets in front of an audience of 1-7 people for no reason." In this case, I think my mom got the brunt of my deeper, more sentimental inner workings, but other 1st day visitors were subject to them as well. Did I sleep? Couldn't tell you. I ate dinner, advocated for my non-drugged state of mind, and called it a night. I slept approximately 3 minutes at a time for 6 hours, so to say that I was sleep-deprived for day 2 is an understatement. This is where my demeanor took a slight turn for the worse...
I had an appointment with my surgeon early that next morning, where he confirmed that things were going well and that showering needed to be withheld for another 3 days. My mom took me to starbucks (there is clearly a crave theme here), and followed it up with a fried egg and toast. Have I mentioned how awesome my mother is? Well...that will allow you to react to my next post-op phase:
The bitchy phase. Lack of sleep. Pain. Drugs. Loneliness. These are all contributing factors to the bitchy phase of ACL recovery. The interesting thing about this phase is that it can and will reoccur without any warning. The triggers are unforeseen and can even be outlandish. What sparked my first episode? Dirty hair. It's a real issue, people. Don't succumb to thinking that laying around with bedhead doesn't get to a girl. I wanted it washed and I wanted it washed NOW. The bathroom sink didn't work so my mom suggested the kitchen sink. Because it hurt my knee to try that position, I immediately blamed my mother for a bad idea. I then locked myself in the bathroom and did it myself. There were yells and stomps that led up to this big moment of independence. Yes, it was very similar to a 4 year old's tantrum over untied shoes. With a broken plastic pitcher, locked out legs, and audible whimpers and whines, I leaned over the bathtub and did the best job I could of washing my hair, followed by the lamest sponge bath ever. It wasn't pretty. But I did it. I hung my head and apologized to my mom. I'm pretty sure she understood, but it didn't exactly make her endless efforts seem any less thankless. She left that night.
A couple more friends came and went, joining and providing me with food. I watched stupid movies, stupid TV, and blazed through People Magazine's crossword puzzles. If I read any of the articles, I did not retain anything. It's funny how clear you think you are until you actually get OFF the medication. I did that last night. Why? I had a work presentation. How did it go? Well I didn't vomit which was great considering I felt like it 85% of the time I was speaking. Victory! My big night out landed me back in bed and passed out for my first consecutive hours of sleep. Did I mention that I was pouty all the way through this morning? I had a TERRIBLE attitude. I felt bad for myself. I was in pain. I felt fat. Lonely. Stupid. Misunderstood. Everything was going wrong and it was all because of my stupid knee surgery. I had planned for this self-sabotaging phase, yet it still snuck up on me.
BUCK UP. If I really keep it real, this was the best I've ever felt post-surgery. I was able to take my brace off a few times a day to loosen up the hold. I was able to stop taking pain meds within the 3rd day. I was well fed, to say the least. I was killin it, except in the attitude department. I woke up this morning, clearer than the rest of the week, with a little looming crabby-pantsness. I grabbed the broken plastic pitcher, washed my hair, and even shaved my legs the best I could. I made it into work just minutes past 9am, and I kept my head down until almost 2pm, when all the blood had drained to my ankle and I couldn't possibly sit in a chair for another moment. Some of the inadequacies fixed themselves, and to be honest, some stuck around. Nobody came by. My dishes remain unwashed in the sink. My bed is unmade. I'm sure people would understand these small, unimportant issues if they were to catch them, but there isn't any reason to. I'm on the mend, and it's time my attitude was too.
I had an appointment with my surgeon early that next morning, where he confirmed that things were going well and that showering needed to be withheld for another 3 days. My mom took me to starbucks (there is clearly a crave theme here), and followed it up with a fried egg and toast. Have I mentioned how awesome my mother is? Well...that will allow you to react to my next post-op phase:
The bitchy phase. Lack of sleep. Pain. Drugs. Loneliness. These are all contributing factors to the bitchy phase of ACL recovery. The interesting thing about this phase is that it can and will reoccur without any warning. The triggers are unforeseen and can even be outlandish. What sparked my first episode? Dirty hair. It's a real issue, people. Don't succumb to thinking that laying around with bedhead doesn't get to a girl. I wanted it washed and I wanted it washed NOW. The bathroom sink didn't work so my mom suggested the kitchen sink. Because it hurt my knee to try that position, I immediately blamed my mother for a bad idea. I then locked myself in the bathroom and did it myself. There were yells and stomps that led up to this big moment of independence. Yes, it was very similar to a 4 year old's tantrum over untied shoes. With a broken plastic pitcher, locked out legs, and audible whimpers and whines, I leaned over the bathtub and did the best job I could of washing my hair, followed by the lamest sponge bath ever. It wasn't pretty. But I did it. I hung my head and apologized to my mom. I'm pretty sure she understood, but it didn't exactly make her endless efforts seem any less thankless. She left that night.
A couple more friends came and went, joining and providing me with food. I watched stupid movies, stupid TV, and blazed through People Magazine's crossword puzzles. If I read any of the articles, I did not retain anything. It's funny how clear you think you are until you actually get OFF the medication. I did that last night. Why? I had a work presentation. How did it go? Well I didn't vomit which was great considering I felt like it 85% of the time I was speaking. Victory! My big night out landed me back in bed and passed out for my first consecutive hours of sleep. Did I mention that I was pouty all the way through this morning? I had a TERRIBLE attitude. I felt bad for myself. I was in pain. I felt fat. Lonely. Stupid. Misunderstood. Everything was going wrong and it was all because of my stupid knee surgery. I had planned for this self-sabotaging phase, yet it still snuck up on me.
BUCK UP. If I really keep it real, this was the best I've ever felt post-surgery. I was able to take my brace off a few times a day to loosen up the hold. I was able to stop taking pain meds within the 3rd day. I was well fed, to say the least. I was killin it, except in the attitude department. I woke up this morning, clearer than the rest of the week, with a little looming crabby-pantsness. I grabbed the broken plastic pitcher, washed my hair, and even shaved my legs the best I could. I made it into work just minutes past 9am, and I kept my head down until almost 2pm, when all the blood had drained to my ankle and I couldn't possibly sit in a chair for another moment. Some of the inadequacies fixed themselves, and to be honest, some stuck around. Nobody came by. My dishes remain unwashed in the sink. My bed is unmade. I'm sure people would understand these small, unimportant issues if they were to catch them, but there isn't any reason to. I'm on the mend, and it's time my attitude was too.
You can't tell, but this blog has actually taken me 6 hours to write. It's because I've been doing self-sufficient things throughout it. Such as cleaning out my ice machine. Putting my dirty clothes in the hamper. Warming up my dinner. Napping. Don't worry, the dishes are next, I promise. Let me just tackle this Wheel of Fortune episode first.
The truth is, I got caught up. My life does change a little with another surgery, but I don't necessarily need to make those changes poor ones. I can't believe how many people have reached out and been in my corner. The least I could do is get a hold of myself. So there it is. My confession is that I've been moping around and perhaps shed a tear or two. My confidence has drooped, I haven't answered actual phone calls, and all of that talk I did about kicking ass evaporated into a few days of struggle. Are there other things going on in my life aside from the latest incisions? Of course. I'm a young female - life is rarely dull. Unfairly associating life's good and bad with the surgery has GOT.TO.STOP, and I promise it is tonight! My ACLs will NOT define me! Hoorah!
The truth is, I got caught up. My life does change a little with another surgery, but I don't necessarily need to make those changes poor ones. I can't believe how many people have reached out and been in my corner. The least I could do is get a hold of myself. So there it is. My confession is that I've been moping around and perhaps shed a tear or two. My confidence has drooped, I haven't answered actual phone calls, and all of that talk I did about kicking ass evaporated into a few days of struggle. Are there other things going on in my life aside from the latest incisions? Of course. I'm a young female - life is rarely dull. Unfairly associating life's good and bad with the surgery has GOT.TO.STOP, and I promise it is tonight! My ACLs will NOT define me! Hoorah!