The Sober Widow

Chapter 14

The surgery took 12 hours, performed by the same doctor: Dr. Leigh Dageforde. I say that name with hushed reverence. She saved my life. The first time I saw her after surgery, I burst into tears, and our first appointment after I was home and recovering, I hugged her fiercely. (I probably embarrassed her but I Did. Not. Care.) I swear that right now, typing this, I’m tearing up a little.

Anyway. I woke up in the ICU. I had no idea what time it was. I knew where I was and what had happened to me, but apparently, I slept for a good eight hours after the anesthesia wore off. So essentially I was unconscious for 20 hours straight. Therefore, it was the wee wee hours of the morning, and when my nurse told me it was 5:00, I thought she meant p.m., so I asked for my phone and called my brother immediately. His response: “so happy you’re alive. I’ll talk to you later.” 😊

When I woke up, I couldn’t move. I had a catheter in my neck that was being held in place by these plastic rings, and it was jammed against the bed. Plus, I had IVs in both arms and the heart monitor pads all over my chest. It was alarming, but hey! I didn’t die!

Also, I was starving and very, very thirsty. Which is a good thing. Naturally, they’re not going to give me anything to eat or drink, but I got my trusty ice chips and that was enough for the time being.

Because I had absolutely nothing to do, and by this time I’m wide awake, I was bored out of my mind. You would think that I’d just go back to sleep, but that was impossible. I was too happy and excited that the surgery had happened and that I was going to be okay (hey, I’m an optimist). But I can’t call anyone and wake them up.

Fast forward to actual morning, when things started happening. Now they have to make sure my digestive system and waste removal parts are working. This took a little while and I don’t want to gross you out more than you’ve already been just in reading these posts. Suffice it to say there were outside things being brought in to jump start certain activities and I’ll leave it at that. But overall, everything worked just fine right out of the gate. Truly a miracle.

And during this time so soon after surgery, I was terrified I was going to rip my stitches (actually staples, 72 of them in total!!!) either by moving or by coughing/sneezing. That seems ridiculous but my whole abdominal area had been opened and this was pretty new territory for me. Everyone put that idea to rest fairly quickly. But I still coughed lightly.

I think in the old days, folks stayed in the hospital longer after major surgery, and no one expected too much from them right away. Not anymore! I was up and out of bed the next day. I could only use a walker and walk just a couple of steps at a time, but they were not going to let me be inactive. And that’s a very good approach. Now remember that it’s December 11 (prep and surgery took all day December 10) and I am anxious to get home before Christmas. Which is funny in hindsight, but I had been cooped up for so long that I just couldn’t wait to get home and hug my dog, sleep in my own bed and take a goddamn shower! I’m sure you understand…

They had been making noise about sending me to Spaulding Rehab before sending me home. I did not respond well to that. Seems they were worried about the fact that my bedroom is on the second floor of my home. I’m sure you’re asking yourself “didn’t she think about making arrangements to sleep downstairs?” and the answer is no, my house is really not set up that way, plus I REALLY wanted to be normal again. So now starts the hard work. In order to be satisfied that I could handle stairs, and walking around my house, I had to prove it.

Day 3 after surgery: I’m walking the hallways of the hospital with my walker, round and round, saying hi to the nurse’s station every time I passed them and laughing about it. On Day 5, I worked it out with the PT people that they would help me master the stairs. I started with the small step used in aerobics and quickly graduated to the stairwell with supervision. I was CLINGING to that banister with all my might because that was the only way I was going to make it, but I made it. I did this a few times a day, along with prowling the hallways. On Day 7, they told me I could go home the next day. If I could have, I would have jumped for joy. Then my nurse told me that a lot of transplant patients are afraid to go home and delay it as long as possible. I was shocked at that, but then when I thought about it, I could see the logic. Especially when I was home and made my brother stand at the bottom of the stairs in case I stumbled. Going up was easy (it took forever though). Going down was extremely scary. I took “one step at a time” very literally.

So, there you have it! Home eight days after surgery. I was able to be in my own cozy house with my dog and my brother for Christmas. We had Chinese food delivered and watched all our favorite Christmas movies. The only thing that would have made it better would be if Tony were there.

Stay tuned! Much more coming, believe it or not.