by Phyllis
Dr. Bester finally condescended to appear for one my appointments with him before surgery, and most (and if not most, then at the very least none) of my fears and concerns were allayed. I asked him too how my body would know to breathe through my newly-functional nose instead of my mouth as it had my whole life. His answer was so impressive I cannot now remember what he said.
Little should be said of the actual procedure in that I clearly was present but not aware of its progress and ultimate completion. My first recollection was in the first recovery room where, still a little loopy from anesthesia, I told jokes and in other ways attempted to be funny for the nurse attending to me. I can't recall clearly, but if you know me, you will agree it must have been hilarity itself.
Then came the recovery room where two dear sisters were the first to visit me. And I am not saying one of them asked me about the pain medication I was given and received a prescription for, but about the time people started visiting me this was a constant concern for everyone.
"How are you doing, Phyllis?"
"How are you feeling, man?"
"Everything go okay?"
"Hey, what did they give you for pain?"
Evidently a necessary piece of information, judging by how quickly it was always asked. And by the reaction when I told them what it was.
"Oh, sweet, dude. That stuff is awesome!"
"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about."
"Cool, I had that one time and I still have some left. It rocks."
So people like pain pills apparently. But I don't.
Whatever they gave me (and sorry, all you drooling pain pill fiends out there, because I can't remember what it was) just made me feel weird. As I sat on my couch staring at the wall, I felt like I was sitting there and also hovering about two feet to the right and above me. And I didn't care about anything. I may not have known about anything. In any case, I hated how it made me feel, so I stopped taking it and dealt with the pain. Remember I told you I have a decent tolerance for pain.
And trust me, it hurt. Try breaking your nose sometime (I was told that, in essence, this had been done in order to perform the surgery) and see how you like it.
And so my recovery went.
(I recognize this post does not deal a great deal with our beloved doctor. More on him in the next post as I continue my recovery.)
5 comments:
These two sweet sisters who visited you, were they your sweet sisters or were they nuns? And did they hover above and to the right of you?
Just curious.
i was there just after the sticks got put in there. and i am his sister. sweet. did i just make a cameo in phyllis's blog?
After my one experience with surgery I woke up in the worst pain ever and with a sure knowledge that I was going to puke. The nurse crushed my pain pills, dissolved them in warm water, and wanted me to drink them. She said this would get the medication working faster, and keep it from irritating my stomach so I would not throw up. She was wrong on both counts. Of course the surgeon had a backup plan. He had ordered for me an IM injection of morphine. Lucky me. (Did you see me roll my eyes?) I don't know why some nurses think they have to take a running start with the needle to get medication into the muscle. Mine are not buried that far under my skin. Oh well. Morphine, I eventually learned, is pretty good stuff.
Sorry, this was about you and your supposedly no longer deviated septum. I appreciate that you tried to entertain the nurse. Judging by your description of how the pain meds made you feel, I'm sure you were very funny w/o even trying. He he he. What happened next?
Pain tolerance is an interesting thing. I've recently learned that despite my ability to birth children with no desire for any pain meds, I cannot survive 24 hours after wart injections without something stronger than tylenol.
I think people with high pain thresholds are osmond, but it's probably all relative.
1. Carol's Corner--these were blood sisters of mine. The two eldest.
2. Michelangelo--see no. 1, but yes, you did.
3. Anon--you help prove my point with your story about morphine: people like pain drugs. Also, it is no surprise to me that your nurse was wrong in telling you about your crushed and dissolved pain pills or that she was inept at sticking you with a needle; nurses are almost as bad as doctors. Do you know any?
4. Queen Ann--there is something stronger than Tylenol?
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