I am a miserable human being.
Yesterday, on July 7th, 2021 I had my DRG trial surgery. For those of you who don’t know and haven’t been following me on the journey to fixing my leg, this surgery involves knocking you out and inserting several needles with wires and leads into your back… and then you wake up in a room, groggy, with someone you don’t know. They fuck around with the little robot that the surgeon attached to your person and make your leg (or whatever body part it is) twitch and spasm, sometimes buzz until you feel it so you know it’s in the correct place.
Don’t forget- you’re still groggy from anesthesia and Benadryl they gave you, and you cannot think clearly yet at this point. Then, they teach you how to use the remote, which is quite literally an iPod touch.
(Can I just say I’m very offended by this? I’m a Samsung girl…)
But I think what bothers me most, is that this is just my life now. Pain, nurses who couldn’t hit a vein with a cannon, bruises, surgery. Nurses hate me. Phlebotomists hate me even more. I am with utmost certainty a difficult patient. I know where you can and cannot stick me, I have very deep, superficial veins that blow easily. -Very, very, fucking easily.
You can stick me, and seconds later, that vein is swollen shut. Blown. Gone. Dead. You will get, at most, 6-7 drops of blood out of me, and that is it. Then, within minutes, it will be an ugly, monstrous bruise. And you know what? It hurts right now but, it’ll be worse tomorrow. And don’t tell me that “sometimes” even nurses and phlebotomists miss- because, while I know that they are people too, and they went to school for this- this is my body. This is the only one that I have, and it’s the one that I’ve lived in for 26-years.
My veins are crap- especially when you do not let me have food or water for 16-fucking-hours before you want to use me as a pin cushion. -not for my lack of trying to stay hydrated and keep electrolytes in my body, considering my new obsession with something called Liquid IV. -if you’re wondering, strawberry and watermelon are my favorites even though they’re 2/3 flavors I have. I’ve also got apple pie but, I’m a little scared to try that one yet.
(I swear I do not praise chronically ill TikTok enough because they have saved my ass so many times lately.)
Monday, before surgery was kinda great. I went out with my brother’s girlfriend, Dana, because I needed a friend and we went to two different Goodwills. I got a nice salt lamp wax warmer, a white pumpkin shaped bowl, a weird jelly pumpkin candle, a skirt (that can double as a dress!), and a giant stuffed dog. -He doesn’t have a name yet but, the running joke is that he’s my new boyfriend because, I’m going through a hard time right now and really, really fucking need a hug.
Yesterday, now, that was fucking hard.
I had to be at the hospital by 6am. I laid down to go to sleep at 3am… anxiety just wouldn’t let me rest. Dana picked me up at 4am, and I popped in and out of consciousness the whole drive down to Rush. The morning went by quickly. Covid test. Negative. Blood typing. A+. IV placed. But, at least to me, that’s the only thing that went by quickly.
Once my stuff was taken away to be put into a locker, my wheelchair came to cart me upstairs. Sadly, it wasn’t a transport that I knew- does that tell you how much I’ve been at this hospital lately? I know most of the transports on sight, and a lot of them I’m friendly with, and they’re friendly with me. Then I was sitting in my gurney upstairs, covered in warm blankets, and exhausted. Because first of all, I had not slept. Second of all, anxiety is fucking exhausting.
I’m tired. Tired of the bruises. Tired of the pain. And most of all, tired of the antibiotics every 6-fucking-hours. I guess I’m going back to bed because, at this point, I don’t know what hurts more. Sitting at my desk.. or laying in my bed with the stupid battery pressed into my back.
Ugh. At least I have peas from the garden, and my Grandma made me potato soup… And as for Camp NaNoWriMo, I’m going to take a couple days off. Hopefully I’ll be back at it again tomorrow, so I guess you could say I’ve “gone fishing.”
-Sky
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