I figured I'd better get back to this as with each new day and feeling so much better, the hospital experience is starting to fade!
At midnight, after walking the halls for what felt to be the kabillionth time, I sank down into the miserable recliner in my room and began a silent berating of myself:
What have I done?
I can't do this!
I can't undo this surgery, so what the hell is going to happen to me?
Exhaustion and pain produces feelings of helplessness apparently. A moment later, my night nurse, Colleen came into my room and I burst into tears.
"Please, tell me this gets better!"
Apparently nurses are accustomed to hearing these kinds of meltdowns from patients, because Collen didn't even ask if something out of the ordinary was wrong, "Sure does, sweetie, a bit better everyday."
"I'm just so tired and I can't sleep and that bed is made out of concrete or something."
She considered the situation for about a millisecond and then said, "You know, that chair lays the whole way back. Maybe you'd be more comfortable sleeping there for the night. Why don't you go take another little walk to help tire you out and I'll get you set up."
The chair was marginally more comfortable so I did finally sleep and barely even opened an eye to the tech coming in during the night to take my vitals, or the phlebotomist coming in at five to draw blood. The next memory I have is of the residents making their rounds and waking me up to talk to me.
Apparently, my white blood cell count (wbc) had gone up from 12000 to 14000 and this could indicate some kind of infection and they weren't sure if I would be released today or not. I so wanted to go home and sleep in my own bed and not have to be alone at night (the hospital is impossibly lonely, but with two kids, there was no way the Brit could stay the nights without literally moving heaven and earth. It was all made worse with being an hour and a half from home, so I wasn't the most convenient person to visit), so this was not the news I wanted to hear.
Not long after the Brit got there, Dr. Schweizer popped in and confirmed what I was dreading; that I was not going home as scheduled. They wanted to watch me and if things didn't come down by morning, they'd do a chest xray to see if I had a touch of pneumonia maybe brought on by anesthesia and my sleep apnea.
I was sorely disappointed but tried to make the most of it by walking more, doing the breathing exercises and that afternoon, the Brit helped me to get a sort of shower. I say sort of because the shower in my bathroom left a lot to be desired; not much power, and what was there kept dwindling and you couldn't even turn the stupid thing around the whole way to get the water hot. But all in all, when you haven't bathed in three days, it was amazing. I got to wash my hair, though we lacked a pick to comb it with but the Brit went downstairs and bought me one. The nurses supplied towels, washclothes and a clean gown, so I felt refreshed and better than I had felt since I was a pre-op.
The Brit stayed later as my mom had not come down with him as she had thought I'd be released that day and my sister popped over for a bit to visit as well. My spirits felt better and I was really tired by the time my husband left. For the first time, I actually slept pretty well.
To be continued...