I'm Home

I'm so thankful to be home, resting in my own bed. Surgery went really well yesterday. I was the doc's first patient of the day, so I didn't have to wait long at all. Less wait = less anxiety. Better for everyone!

They had a really hard time getting an IV line going. I had to get stuck eight times before the nurse called in someone else. The anesthesiologist finally came in to set the line and, as I stayed very calm (this fall, I was stuck repeatedly for over 2.5 hours, why I resisted a pic line, I'm still not sure...) thanks to my prior experience, one of the four nurses around me commented on how great it was that I wasn't a screamer or crier. You know, because that would make this situation worse. For them, I guess. Not sure how it could be worse for me.

I digress, so I take it as a good thing and I'm feeling all proud, and then my dad says, "Oh, just wait. She's a crier." Thanks :) Everyone laughed, but it made me feel better. Just because that's my wonderful dad. They got the line set, and put the medicine in. Que tears (my dad knows me so well). As they wheeled me away, I heard the doc tell my dad, "Don't worry, we'll take good care of her." I don't know what I'd do without my dad!

Ok, this is getting long. Fast forward to post-op, and all is how it always is. The nurse was fan-freakin'-tastic. I should've gotten her name. One of the best nurses I've ever had. The doc came by to tell me what he always tells me after the procedure. All looks good. No big deal.

Except he didn't say that this time. He said things looked really bad in there (crap) and he had to really open things up and push back lots of scar tissue. But he said I should be feeling better soon. Good deal, I'm happy, off I go home (I always ask to be released super early, like, as soon as I can talk. I would much rather recover at home than at the hospital). My dad didn't even sit down and the nurse told him to get the car.

Winding up, I promise. I get home, all is going like normal. I text some people to tell them I'm home. Call my husband, my mom. Sleep a little. And then it hits. Worst.pain.ever. Ok, not ever. Pancreatitis is much worse. But almost up there.

As the anesthesia wore off, the pain got worse. And worse. Yeah, now I know why the doc was telling me what he did. Recovery has been really bad, just like my insides looked :-)

I'm just glad it is over, and I'm so thankful for my talented doctor and caring husband & father.

And now to end this post with a happy story!

When Max and I were getting ready for our nap last week, Max cuddled up and said he wanted to look at pictures of me & Mr. Richie. We were looking at our wedding pictures when Max announced, "Miss Jill, I'm gonna marry a bad girl!"

What!?

I told him he is only allowed to marry girls to whom I give approval. Silly boy, wonder where he got that.