I lost most of August in the hospital, during which time I had a procedure called a pleurodesis. It is far and away the most pain I have ever felt. I had no idea the level of pain I was capable of enduring. Not to say the doctors didn’t try to prepare me with their warnings of “you will experience pain upon waking,” “don’t try to white knuckle it,” “stay ahead of the pain,” “we’ve prescribed multiple pain meds, ask for them BEFORE you need them.” Even if they had said “you will pray for the sweet release of death,” it probably wouldn’t have told me the full story.
Plus, there is only a 70% chance of success and we won’t know for several weeks if it was successful.
At one point my blood pressure fell to 64/44 and someone pushed a button which called to my room my entire cardiology, pulmonology, surgery and endocrinology teams, the hospital chaplain, my RN and her mother because my RN was “freaking out,” and grad students who’d put their names on an “I’d really like to see someone die” list. I might be exaggerating, but not by much.
During the next weeks I had the full range of possible emotions, someone in administration asked for my DNR, and the chaplain explained why that was important.
They sent me home on the last Saturday of August. We were supposed to go on our anniversary trip, but decided it was probably too soon.
I spent most of Saturday and Sunday mad as hell and feeling like I’d been the 3rd car in a 6 car pileup.
Monday I was nasty to Charles and the dogs. I awoke miserable but as I moved around the house, the misery let its grip off a little bit. I was still mad.
Tuesday, I felt better enough to notice. Charles decided to go to the office.
I took an unassisted shower; meaning, I picked out my own clothes, undressed, turned on the water, lathered, rinsed, repeated, and then dressed again and combed my hair. This seems like such a small thing, but so much of what I am going through right now is infantilizing, being helped with dressing and feeding, that it wouldn’t shock me if Charles put a bib on me. People might want to call that baby steps, but I prefer to call them “markers.” Feeling a little less like a child for small pockets of the day thing is a good thing.
I wasn’t sure if the way I felt the day I came home was as good as it was going to get or if I would start feeling back to normal, or somewhere in between. How would I know if progress was being made? I decided to use markers.
The unassisted shower was the first on Tuesday. I unloaded the dishwasher (marker) and loaded it again (marker). I was able to retrieve the hummingbird feeders, wash them, refill them with nectar, and return them to their hooks, all without oxygen (marker, marker, marker, marker).
These are all markers of normal things I was able to do before, and that I want to continue going forward.
I started a loaf of sourdough yesterday (marker) and finished baking the loaf today which I gifted a friend for her birthday (marker). I welcomed a friend in, and received the flowers she brought (marker). Another friend groomed my dogs.
Today wasn’t as good as yesterday, but it was better than Monday. I had another unassisted shower (marker), I put some of my clothes in a drawer (marker), and I made dinner for Charles and me (marker).
I’m going to start another sourdough loaf tonight (marker) and may even get an Epsom salt bath (marker). Is shaving out of the question?
Please check out my other blog all about our life on our homestead and apiary – https://sugarberryslope.com/sugarberry-buzz-blog
