My hospital experience.

So, it was all basically a breeze! Jon drove me to the hospital, we checked in, and very shortly afterward, they put me on a stretcher and a LOVELY nurse named Colleen hooked up my IV and did all my paperwork. I was FINE, until the doctor and anesthesiologist showed up. Gulp.

Dr. Todd was his usual, kind self. Dr. VanDamme was a sweet, funny, but reserved man. They gave me their pep talks, and then Dr. V gave me a little shot of something to relax me. I was relaxed but perfectly aware of my surroundings. I did a little stand up lying down, as I was still a bit nervous, and had everyone laughing all the way to my operating table. Once I got there, a few more chuckles and it was LIGHTS OUT.

I woke up in recovery, moaning. I was trying to say that my throat was killing me, but all that came out were moans. That's not unusual. Coming out of all that dope is tough. The nurse, an old blonde woman with glasses, said to a nurse passing by, "Oh, drama!" I was FURIOUS. What do you mean, DRAMA? As soon as I could form coherent sentences, I snapped. "I can't CONTROL it, honey. My THROAT is killing me." She put on her sweet nurse facade and explained that everything I was complaining about was normal. Bah. I ignored her til it was time to go up to my room. I could see Jon sleeping in one of the chairs as I entered the PCU wing. He opened his eyes and sat up.

That's when they turned direction and took me to ANOTHER room, just beyond it. It is, apparently, the tiniest room in the western hemisphere. We could barely get my BED in there. Odd. I could've sworn I saw empty rooms on my wheeling in, but oh well.

My room suddenly became bright, beautiful, and perfect. Why? Because of Eric. Ohhhh, Eric. My favorite nurse in the WHOLE world. Eric looked like a cross between Denzel Washington, Dijmon Hounsou, and Malik Yoba... only more chiseled. OH. My. JEEEEESUS! Seriously, the guy was so beautiful, so fine, that I wondered if the morphine wasn't messing with my sight. He was, in a word, DELICIOUS.

Of course, this same nurse got to be great buddies with my husband while lifting me up to help me to the bathroom, and lifting me off the toilet. Nice. I guess the magic is gone. I'm SURE that's why he wasn't interested in me. It was my pee.

Nevertheless, he was a great nurse. Very attentive and kind. And hawt. I mean, supportive.

He left at 8 PM and the Edie McClurg of nursing arrived, with her aide, a princess in shining armor. Pam, my nurse, just couldn't be more cheerful about ANYTHING she had to do for me, and made darned sure I didn't feel at ALL pressured to hurry if I had to pee, roll over, or just whine. She was a true doll. Happy, chipper, but not in the fake way. Very genuinely loved her job. I couldn't have asked for a kinder lady, who even made sure I had antiseptic hand towels to wash my hands when I came out of the bathroom.

With all the fluids they were pumping into me, I had to potty a lot, and at one point during the night, Emily, the aide, came in to get my vitals. I shyly asked if she could just unhook me from all my machines and I'd make my way to the potty without her, she waved her hand as though swatting a fly, unhooked me, and chatted with me all the way to the bathroom.

She asked me if I wanted her to help or if I could do it, and I swore I could. She said, "Just call me on the little red button beside the toilet when you're done, and we'll get you back into bed." So, I waited til the last possible minute to call her. She was there immediately, and had the hand towels waiting for me. OMG, the efficiency! For someone like me, that is the ULTIMATE compliment.

Anyhoo, these two angels left at 8 AM and the Hawt Angel returned, chipper and ready to get me up and walking. I was ready, too. He told me that first I'd need to go take a leak test. After much giggling on my part, he explained that it was an upper GI type test to make sure my new pouch had no leaks. He got me all settled into a wheelchair and off I went to radiology.

Jon was CONSTANTLY whining about being cold, so the nice assistant there brought him a warm blanket. *insert roll eyes* She brought me one, too, but I wasn't cold. I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I put it in my lap. The doctor came in shortly thereafter and had me stand on the x-ray type machine, and sip some awful yukky goo. It tasted like the syrup in Sprite without the fizz OR water. ICK. I only took three sips before he was happy, so it wasn't too bad.

I was bundled up into my chair, and rolled back upstairs by Pedro. As we came up to the door of my room, Jon hurried in first, since he couldn't fit once Pedro, me, and the wheelchair crossed the threshold. I leaned forward to yank the blankets off of me, and a giant spider (Daddy Long Legs variety) sat up and smiled at me. I yelled, Pedro yelled, Eric, who was coming up to us, yelled... and then we all burst into laughter. If Pedro hadn't been there, I could've watched Eric laugh exclusively, his rock hard chest rising and falling...

So anyway, they discharged me later that day.

As I got myself together, but couldn't seem to shake the sore throat. Eric said it would get MUCH better with a good cough, using my cough moose that Dr. Todd had given me. I tried, but after I'd gotten dressed and ready to go, I checked in the mirror to see if my throat was red, and gasped.

My uvula was torn.

No, not my vulva, as my sister somehow decided I said, but my UVULA. The hanging thing in the back of the throat. It was nicely RIPPED, and hanging off to one side. I ran to Eric, nearly in tears, and showed him. He told me to open my mouth (flutter, flutter), and I showed him the problem. He immediately called anesthesiologist and they sent someone. Not the doctor, but older, chubby, white Attila... I mean, woman. She was only as high as my waist, but clearly a presence.

She first began by explaining that it might FEEL like a cut, but could be just sore... until I opened my mouth to show her. She held her own, but I did detect the slight inhalation of air when she stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, I see." Yeah.

She went to call the doc, and when she came back, said that he thought I might have been a bit difficult to intubate. I asked her if that was somehow MY fault, but she just shook her head and told me it would heal within the week. I hope so. If not, and I have to come back... dammit... I want Eric.

The Angels make them giggle

You know what shocks me? Well, more amazes. Sometimes my sons will stare off into the sky or somewhere into the distance behind me, and giggle. The unreserved joy that bubbles out of them makes me want to weep. I know it's God, delighted with His creation, smiling at them. Or perhaps it's the Angels making silly faces at them.

Imagine... He knew us before we were even conceived!! We were CHOSEN. God knew my twins before I even met my husband! He certainly must love us, to have picked us out for His very own. He must have an extra special place in His heart for me and my boys. Look how they laugh! Look at their joy! What puts that kind of joy into them? The kind of joy that filled the whole body and soul???

No matter... as long as they know Him, I am happy. I'll spend the rest of my life reminding them of His love for us, and hope it will bring the same smile of joy to their faces.

My Surgery is on Monday

Notice how I capitalized the "S" in surgery. I have come to think of it as a capitalized event. Sadly, instead of looking forward to how it'll change my life for the better, I'm viewing it as a chance to be taken care of.

I hesitate to think that I'm doing this so I can take a nap. I couldn't be that shallow, could I? I'm so exhausted, physically and emotionally, that I often wonder if I'm willing to go this far just to be given some attention and have my pillow fluffed.

Gastric bypass. Sounds like a fart is stuck in my heart. It just sounds ominous. I don't have the peace I once had about surgery. I had my gall bladder out and my breasts done, and neither gave me pause. I just went in, plopped myself down on a stretcher, and went on with my life. A little pain, a little discomfort, a little medicine, and I was back to normal life.

It doesn't feel like that this time. I feel... uneasy. I kept thinking that I had no peace about the procedure, but after prayer, I realize that I'm in a different place in my life, and my fears are centered around my children. Back the, que sera, sera! If I was out of commission, who cared? My cats had plenty of food and water, and the litter box be damned til I was better. Now... there are two little innocent lives and a teenager that depend on me. I'll be failing them while I'm in the hospital and recovering at home. That hurts me... deeply.

My children are crying it out and it is killing me.

He's gone to hell.

Cody has left for his biomother's house, and it was a tough one this time. He was stuck to me like glue for a few days before he left, and it just breaks my heart. All he can talk about is how horrible it's going to be, and all we can do is try to find the bright sides of everything, but eventually... he wears you down. You KNOW he's walking into a nightmare. *sigh*

I know who is real mother is, because I'm the only one who would rather see him go and fulfill the court's order than tear him in half. =( But it doesn't hurt any less.