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Charlotte, one of my nurses, said, "A hospital is a place to get better, not a place to sleep."
Absolutely correct. I got woken up at midnight and 4 am to have my vitals checked. I had to call for a nurse to help me out of bed every four hours for a pit stop. Also, she'd observe how much I'd voided and plug my IV monitor back in. My IV monitor would also sing loudly at 3:30 a.m. because my IV bag had one more hour to go. Or I'd moved my hand with the butterfly in it the wrong way. Or it was feeding me air.
I was not in a private room, so there were two other patients who all had the same things going on. It wasn't quiet. 8 hours uninterrupted shut-eye is a goal to which I aspire.
Yesterday, as I was choosing between watching the infomercial about how to look as beautiful as Cindy Crawford (just what every woman fresh from a hysterectomy needs) and the re-run of Conan O'Brian (who makes me laugh, but that might pull the stitches) , a thought struck me. Surgery makes us all go back to being proud of things we (as adults) haven't been proud of in years. In fact, many of the things surgery made me proud of I usually have to excuse myself for. A nurse applauded me when my bowels moved. I told my mom proudly, "I'm sitting up. I took a walk. I went to the bathroom all by myself." Nothing equals the feeling of an entire medical staff rooting for you to have the ability to pass gas.
Fortunately, I'm a "tough girl" type. I've brought home the vicoden they wanted me to have in case I had pain, but I didn't ask for any in the last 24 hours. I don't foresee it getting any more painful than it is right now.
I'm grateful to be home, but find myself even more grateful that I'm alive and I know such wonderful people who wished me well through this. That's the part that makes me want to cry. I'm rich beyond belief with all of my friends.
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