The recovery process after my first surgery was nothing I had ever expected. Here I am at 24 years old not being able to dress myself or take a shower without someone checking in every few minutes. My mom borrowed a shower chair from the senior center so that I could sit in the shower. I was too weak to hold myself up and the heat would make me dizzy sometimes. I looked like I was on the verge of death when I came home. I was just bones, my face was sunken in and my eyes looked huge.
Walking around my house was a chore in itself. I walked very slow and even needed help getting from room to room. It was hard to sit as well because the stitches hurt so bad. My mom would help me get dressed most of the time because I could barely bend to put pants on or socks or shoes. I felt like a zombie because I was on pain medicine at all times. Doctors told me to take one as soon as I could to beat the pain, so I was taking them every few hours. I was on a million antibiotics as well which sucked considering I am a horrible pill taker and these pills were gigantic!
Getting used to having a "poop bag" hanging from your stomach is not easy. Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful because it saved my life but it was hard to get used to. Everything I ate came out exactly how it went down. Didn't help that my bag was clear so I could see everything and it became somewhat of an obsession. I was amazed with it and hated it at the same time. It took over my life. It was all I talked about with my parents, constantly telling them and showing them which I'm sure they hated.
Sleeping became almost impossible at night. I was used to being up every hour in the hospital that once I was home, I couldn't fall asleep or would wake up every hour or so. My pain pills took away the pain but made me feel funny and I wasn't a fan. I was so out of it and loopy half the time. I wasn't allowed to drive for obvious reasons so my parents drove me around if I had a doctor appointment or just to take a scenic drive to get my ass out of the house. God Bless them because I don't know what I would do without them.
Emotionally, I was a mess. Physically, I was a mess. Mornings seemed to be the worst time of day for me because I'd wake up completely out of it and in pain. Then to top it off, I cried for about an hour or more every morning. I cried because of pain, because I felt sorry for myself, because I hated the bag, because life sucked at that moment. Let's just say I cried A LOT. I was miserable.
I would try and take a small walk, as recommended by my doctor, and it wasn't a pretty site. I made it to my driveway pretty much and felt like I was going to collapse. My lungs felt so tight and I was breathing heavily. I had what I call "the hunchback". It was very hard for me stand up straight and still is because I was laying down so much in the hospital that my lungs were constricted and my body was pretty much caving in to itself. Once a week or so, I'd try to go a little further on my walks each time and eventually made it halfway down the street. Not too shabby.
No comments:
Post a Comment