Where were we?? Oh, right, you were wanting to know if eventually I got to go pee on my own? 😉
8:15 PM Monday March 13th:
We are getting in the car…..I want to think hooray but I can’t, all I can think of is how I so badly wanted an answer for my pain and pure exhaustion, and how now I feel worse then I did before. Every bump we hit makes me want to die more, I’m not in a ton of pain, but my mind is like burnt toast. You know when you try to scrape the burnt part off because it’s your last piece of bread, or your lazy or whatever…..my mind feels like the crumbs that land in the sink, singed, black, useless…..We pull onto our road, our unpaved road, which at this moment in time feels like a death sentence. Every bump we hit sends shooting pain into my bladder, I’m exhausted and it takes the last bit of my energy to hold back my stinging tears of frustration. I get into the house with my dad and Dirty Gentleman’s help and now I have a flight of stairs to climb. I get half way up and can’t move, I can’t hold it back anymore and I burst into tears wanting nothing more then to crumble right there in the stair case, but knowing I can’t for fear of damaging my incisions. My will has been trampled. It feels like I can’t fight anymore, fight to get up the stairs, fight to get out of bed, fight to be a special needs mom when my body can’t take it. I feel crazy. I feel weak. I feel like I have no reason to be so useless. My mom starts yelling at my dad and Dirty Gentleman to help me up the stairs, my dad starts yelling back, “She didn’t want help, I tried”. “I’m not crying because of pain” I shout up the stairs, I’m just really tired. My patient Dirty Gentleman helps me to our room where I can shut the door, and cry.
9:00 PM Monday March 13th:
I’m home, everything will be better now, right? Wrong. Everything feels the same. I can’t stop the flood gates now that they’re open. I’m emotional, oh how I hate being emotional. I’m frustrated and pure exhaustion is starting to kick in. My husband keeps telling me I need to rest, that I’ll feel better after I rest, I know he means well, but I also know I won’t feel any different after I rest. I try to go pee, again. Nothing. My Designer Diva comes to see me, to take a look at my battle wounds and tell me about her day, my Sir. E comes to see me, to tell me no thanks he’ll never look at my owies and to hug me. My mom comes in to ask how I’m doing, I express my frustration and she does what any good mom would do, she says “I know, but don’t worry….”. This makes me more frustrated. My daddy comes in and says “there’s nothing you can do, you just have to keep going”, “this whole surgery was pointless, it was a waste of time and my energy, and now I have to heal from this before I can even move on” I say in my highest pitch whiney voice. “No it wasn’t” replies my daddy, “It was to find out that it’s not what they thought, that they need to do some other things before you will feel better. It was just a step in the process. You just have to keep going kid cause there’s nothing else to do.” I know he’s right, why is he so level headed? It’s irritating. Everything is irritating in this moment.
10:45 PM Monday March 13th:
I’m in my ensuite. I’ve been here 6 times since we got home, I’ve been sitting here for 30 minutes. I finally get angry instead of frustrated, I push as hard as I can for as long as I can, Dirty Gentleman yells at me angrily that I’m going to rip my stitches. I don’t care at this point. It doesn’t matter. I’m feeling hopeless….Then, a tiny light at the end of this torturous experience, I pee, a tiny amount, but “progress is progress no matter how small” right?! I feel like I can at least sleep now. Who ever thought peeing would be so important to me. I can’t even tell you how much discomfort I felt from feeling like I had a full bladder for hours and hours on end.
11:00 PM Monday March 13th:
I take my drugs and my Dirty Gentleman helps me into bed. I sleep on and off, I wake up 3-4 times to pee half a teaspoon of urine, which is irritating because I need help in and out of bed and on and off the toilet. I don’t like depending on others, it’s not my thing.
8:00 AM Tuesday March 14th:
I wake up and feel the same. Actually, I think I feel worse. Most of the good hospital drugs have worn off, so now my mind actually works properly, and for the first time since my surgery I can think about things clearly. You would think this would mean that I would be more rationale, but actually it’s the opposite. I’m crazier then ever. I don’t want to eat, I can’t sleep because the stupid T3’s have caffeine, and my parents are here trying to take care of me. Don’t get me wrong I’m grateful to have them, but I just need to be alone and mourn the hope that’s now gone miserably in my bed.
9:30 AM Tuesday March 14th:
I eat breakfast miserably in my bed. I do everything miserably for now. I know I probably sound like a whining baby at this point, but bear with me I’m obviously having a mental breakdown.
-Present day note-
I have been in pain for just over four years. I have been in unbearable pain for just over 18 months. This surgery was going to be the first step in healing that pain for me, I’m not sure how to explain how exhausting that kind of pain is, especially with special needs children to take care of. So you can try to live with me through this surgery, finding out that your second last step to being pain free, has all of the sudden turned back into your first step in a 10 step program.
10:00 AM to 1:00 PM Tuesday March 14th:
I watch Netflix while mourning my loss and falling in and out of sleep.
1:30 PM Tuesday March 14th:
I start a horrific fight with Dirty Gentleman, a fight over something stupid and meaningless. After everything he has done for me in the last two days, I’m mean to him. He’s mean back though. We are both exhausted and frustrated. He has tried so hard to keep me positive and hold me while I cry. But I’m not having it, I don’t want to feel better. I want to get it all out and be done with it. He leaves to get some air, and my mom comes in to give me a lecture, so I yell at her too. She just sits there and takes it like a champ though. She goes out to the kitchen to do something and I can’t take it anymore. I literally jump up out of bed. A full on sit up the day after abdominal surgery, probably not the best idea. But what do I care, I can’t feel it….yet. I start cleaning. Yup you heard me, cleaning. I start putting clothes away and bending down to pick things up, I take out my makeup and organize it, I organize my dresser and my nightstand. My mom comes in and tells me how I’m going to regret that. “Pfft” Oops my incision is bleeding….
7:00 PM Tuesday March 14th:
I venture out of my room for the first time. It’s dark and the house isn’t the way I like it. There are things all over that place. I fight a little more with my mom and go back to lay down. I regret the cleaning now. I’m in so much pain I can’t move. There is this horrible burning pain from my belly button down to my pubic bone and it’s red, hot and hard to the touch.
9:45 PM Tuesday March 14th:
My Loveliest Red texts me. She knows exactly what to say. She tells me of course I need to mourn what I thought would be. Take time to have a mental breakdown so that I’m strong enough to go on. She tells me strength comes from working through things like this in your mind, you get the strength to go on after you’ve dealt with the present pain. Isn’t she so wise? I feel validated, loved and stronger all from a few texts. She’s my bread and butter. I tell Dirty Gentleman and he nods she’s probably right. “Probably, pfft” I think in my head. I drug up and actually get some rest tonight because I’m almost back to normal peeing. After crying over my pain I fall asleep with tears streaming down my face.
One more week and we will cover from then to now! Hope you enjoyed spending those first two days with me, come back next week for the rest 😉
To my Loveliest Red,