The last few days of my hospital stay were at times so much like a World Cup Soccer BBQ that I felt sheepish when the doctors came around. Some nights I had four or five friends visiting. We’d close ourselves into the lounge with TV, they’d get some beers from the cafeteria and some juice for me and we’d have ourselves a fine evening, all things considered. It was just all sorts of wrong. Hospital are supposed to be yucky places! Everyone jokes that it’s pleasant enough that we should meet there to watch the soccer even after I’m discharged. The hospital is, they point out, the safest place to get really drunk!
For other events on days 4, I point to some journal entries:
–Jen presents the idea that my scar is like a tattoo (but much less passé and unfadish). A marker of a rite of passage. Like a tribal tattoo (says me). “it’s badass” she says. I am really taking to this idea.
–Some of the sensation is starting to come back. Which is both good of course and terrible. Last night, and again tonight, I got a little irritable, tired, painful, impatient. I cannot quite 100% put my finger on where the pain is. There is something deep in my shoulder. And along my side I guess. I think the shoulder pain is from the surgeon digging around for my lymph nodes, deep into it.
Today I realize it is (also?) from holding my shoulder taught. If I gently massage my left shoulder with my right hand, the back of the shoulder, the pain goes deep and hits the spot. Definitely the feeling is coming back to my skin and I can feel the tubes and wires sticking out of my torso. Before it was nothing. Now I can feel them. It might not be the heaviest pain in the world, but it sure is gross, cause I know that it is tubes and wires sticking out of my side like some mad science experiment. The grossness makes the pain 10x worse.
The bitch nurse tonight is not my regular one. They give me a shot in the belly every night against flebitis. Tonight when she did it, it hurt. And she pulled on my tube roughly (relative to what should have been). I think she must care a fraction less since I am not her regular. Grrrr.
As I lie in bed trying to sleep I feel the sensations. There is a bit of a weighted pressure that is in movement, mostly traveling up and down the main part of the incision. It’s not at all unpleasant. Like a snake slipping over grass. Smooth and consistent. It hurts there a bit as I breathe deeply, like a bruise in my lung, though must less than when I had the supertight bandage on. There is a here-and-there, more then occasional, skittering, tingling that also moves by the tube entry in my skin. By the wires that hold it in. Across the incision. The feeling of a stick poking harshly into my arm pit, where it hurts the most often, when I try to fully relax my shoulder. Surely my back is generally still achy from unnatural posture as well, though of course better than previously.
Only two more days to go in the hospital! I will be ready to leave, though I cannot imagine that in the US it is 48 hours maximum and sometimes an outpatient procedure. This seems absurd. I think, not for that last time, that I am happy I decided to stay.