Been seven years, bitch

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”
~ Albert Camus

July 13, 2003:

My alarm went off at some ridiculous hour like 4:00 AM that morning, and for a change I got up right away instead of slapping my alarm 42 times. I got in and out of the shower and gathered the last of my stuff, then met Sally by her car. We got to the hospital about 10 minutes early, and the bubbly nurse (who called me “sweetheart” and “dear” and “love” all within the space of 3 minutes) ushered me to a room where I was instructed to take off everything and don a lovely blue-checked hospital gown. I did as I was told, then Sally sat in the lounge chair and I laid on the gurney until the admitting nurse came along for paperwork.

I was all good to go until the nurse started the IV drip. She missed the vein in my left hand, missed the one in my right arm, missed another one in my right arm and finally called someone else in to get another shot at my left hand (this one actually worked). Nothing like being a human pincushion at 7:00 AM, I tell ya.

So after the IV got started … they left me alone. Sally had rocketed out of there as soon as she heard the word ‘needle’, tossing a ‘See you later’ over her shoulder as if she were just off to the grocery store instead of off to wait for me to come out of surgery. Heh, that chick is kind of a twat, really. Anyway, Sally was gone, the nurses were gone, and I was left there with whatever nerves I had built up.

And I started crying. I took off my glasses and did that little wave thing in front of my eyes, like I could actually air dry the tears before they fell. Didn’t work. Just as I thought I had it under control, the surgical nurse came in to tell me that they were ready to start, and then I burst out into a full-fledged crying jag. The nurse was great, though. She introduced herself as Rosie, and she listened to me when I told her I was scared and freaked out and about to panic, then she squeezed my hand and said she totally understood. It was all perfectly normal, and that she would worry about me if I wasn’t scared. Bless her heart … she gave me a tranquilizer. Wheee! Made everything else oh-so-much easier.

They wheeled me into the operating room, I got transferred from the relatively comfortable gurney onto this table that was maybe a foot wide and made out of ice. I cracked a few jokes, Rosie held my hand and explained everything that was going on, then I heard from somewhere above me that they were ready to put me under, was it ok?

At that point, all I could think was “Hell yeah, bro. Bring it on.”

And they did. I remember absolutely nothing about recovery except that it was noisy, hot and my tummy felt really heavy. And oh yeah – I was nauseas. The only dialogue I had:

Medical person: “How are you feeling, Kelly ?”

Me: “Nauseous.”

Medical person: “OK, we’ll take care of that.”

Five seconds later:

Medical person: “How are you feeling, Kelly ?”

Me: “Nauseous and my throat is sore.”

Medical person: “OK, we’ll take care of that.”

Five seconds after that:

Medical person: “How are you feeling, Kelly ?”

Me: “Nauseous and my stomach hurts.”

Medical person: “OK, we’ll take care of that.”

And there’s more, but I need a nap before I go on.

(later)

They finally figured out that it was the morphine that was making me so sick to my stomach. I had told them beforehand that when I had those kidney stones I’d had morphine and it made me ill, but evidently they had needed to see it for themselves. From morphine, we moved on to the drug that people knock over pharmacies for – Dilaudid. I can’t say that I ever felt good when I was in the hospital, but the Dilaudid through the IV strapped on the back of my left hand was definitely the high point (no pun intended). I stayed on top of it too – every three hours I hit the nurse’s call button and every three hours they brought me some of that sweet sweet nectar.

They told me that the surgery itself only took about an hour, and I got to my regular room about noon. It amazes me that I did this, but I actually got up and walked around the nurses’ station a couple times at 12:30 in the afternoon, about 3 ½ hours after they had closed me up in the operating room.

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In the process of walking after having major surgery, I’ve come up with a dance step based on a dance that was based on one of the Three Stooges, and I call mine the Kelly Shuffle. You start from a horizontal position in a bed, and get up by rolling over onto your right side, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, then using a nurse’s aid’s arm for leverage as you pull yourself up without using any stomach muscle whatsoever. Feel free to gasp and wheeze and cuss all you want; your assistants are very understanding of the ‘discomfort‘, but they still urge you to get up and do this as often as you can. From the sitting position, lean forward until your nose is approximately over your toes, then stand up – again avoiding using any stomach muscle. From here you notice that no matter what size hospital gown they give you, it’s not big enough to cover your ass. Beg the nurse’s aid to be able to wear your own clothes, and take your time changing into your old boxers and worn out t-shirt. Bra is optional so I suggest you skip it (especially if you‘re male).

And now you’re ready to embark on a true Kelly Shuffle.

Don’t worry about raising your knees very far – in fact, the closer your slippered feet stay to the floor, the better the Shuffle will turn out. Be grateful that the nurse’s aid is with you, because between clutching your gut and holding onto the railing for support you’ll not have a third arm to drag your IV pole with you. And of course you’re going to feel stoned from the Dilaudid and sore as hell in the mid-section area, but know in your heart that walking will help you get rid of the carbon dioxide they used in the operating room. The pain is temporary, you’ll get over it; the benefits are definitely long-term.

Think this is fun? Boy howdy, it gets better! When you get back to your room, suddenly feel the urge to pee, and try not to pee laughing when the nurse’s aid asks if you want a bedpan. Nah, as long as you’re up, you think you can manage the toilet on your own. This is when you find out that you can sit on the toilet and actually pee into the reservoir they have in there (to measure how much urine you’re actually producing), but wiping yourself is a little bit of a challenge. If you’re strong, though, and can’t really handle the thought of that poor sweet nurse’s aid wiping you, you’ll get it done on your own. You may have to call her to help you stand up, though, and using her arm and the leverage that the stainless steel sink provides, you stand and shuffle back to the bed.

Once you’re back in the bed and laying down and really just wanting to pass out and wake up like three weeks from now, the aid will strap the compression stockings back on your legs for you (these aren’t bad except for the noise – they kind of feel like a little leg massage). She’ll make sure that you’re as comfortable as can be, then she’ll cover you up, squeeze your hand andtake your vital signs. Be prepared to pass out before she’s even out of the room.

And that, my friend, is the Kelly Shuffle.

It’s been seven years, can you believe that? I went from roughly 300 pounds down to 145 at my lowest weight; I’ve bounced up a bit since then but I don’t feel out of control or nearly as unhealthy as I did back in the day so I’m ok with where I am. I keep up with my supplements, get my mineral levels tested once a year to make sure I am not malnourish-ing myself, I’ve reverted back to Gym-Bunny status and committed to running a 10K with Cynthia in September.

I’m-a go feel good about myself. You go do the same, ok?