I don't function when I'm on opiates. I can't focus long enough to read, write or have an intelligent conversation. All these are a challenge without being under the influence and it only took me two days to finally realize that it was either the (prescribed) drugs or some pain/discomfort to finally draft this.
For a very long time I've been afraid of breaking bones. It's an irrational emotion to me as I've never broken any but have seen people do and how much they have to depend on others' generosity to maintain any semblance of normalcy. Last weekend, I've had a procedure done on my shoulder that should have been addressed a few years ago. About six years ago, I remember averaging about 18 mph when the front wheel of my bicycle caught in the railroad tracks and next thing I know is road rash, torn clothing and twisted bars. I thought the injuries were superficial (still have some scars) and got better overtime with minor medical intervention. If it weren't for lack of time, I delayed being seen on purpose due to not wanting to hinder my progress/changes in career. The "Suck it up, Buttercup" mentality can only go on for so long and when the discomfort started making my quality of sleep worse (one of the simple pleasures of my life), I decided it was time to go under the knife. I should preface by saying that I'm not a huge fan of hospitals. My mom was a nurse for a very long time and I've seen her do (still does) a lot of good by helping people in need. All my mom's close friends who I think are awesome women happen to be in the medical field and I used to visit them at work often. But it's something about the smell of disinfectant, people's state of mind, sadness that didn't make being around hospitals good memories for me.
Last week was the busiest it has been at work. Juggling various things and trying to do as much as I can so that my colleagues didn't have to take over much from me, working for a new boss who I believe is on a different temperament than I am, stressing about the outcome of my surgery and the impact it would have upon returning to work was quite an emotional roller coaster. But since I'm rocking the single life, I had to prepare by cooking in advance, doing laundry and cleaning the house until 2 a.m the day before the surgery. It probably would have helped if I wasn't fasting or that I had to be up by 6 a.m. Asked a couple of colleagues that live close to me to drive me to and from the hospital and promised them lunch (that's how I operate) to thank for their kindness. The night before the surgery, told my Brother From Another Mother that he's the Emergency Contact and where all the guns in the house are in case things go south. Though I spoke to my family and prepared them about a week in advance, I waited until being prepped for the surgery to tell Dad. The fact the my phone number spoofed from Columbia and perhaps spending a minute to explain the process didn't help any in easing the news. So much for not trying to upset family over news.
Other than being cranky for not getting more then 4 hours of sleep AND not having 3 cups of coffee before leaving the house and having blood pressure being a little higher than usual due to nerves, it was a great day. I didn't realize how much paperwork was involved in order to take care of any untoward outcome. While I was driving to the hospital, I was joking with J & A (my coworkers) that I didn't have enough time to say my final "I love yous" to the family but once I got there and went over the paperwork, it was no laughing matter. And once the nurse said I had to take ALL of my clothes off and change into a surgical gown, I knew it was the real deal. Anyway, I disrobed only to wear my clothes again as I didn't know how to work the countless velcro patches on the gown that I had undone. After giving a sheepish apology and getting instructions, I changed into the gown and got comfortable on the gurney/stretcher.
I couldn't have asked for the sweetest nurses - my main nurse was Ms. A who made sure I was comfortable, another with Filipino accent who I immediately started talking to about my SCUBA trip in the Philippines while she hooked me up with an IV, the anesthesiologist along with her assistant who made sure I understood the complications that might arise during the procedure, some other nurse with a very long last name who went all over the questions again (I think either she wanted to talk to me or was new and was practicing talking to patients) and finally the surgeon who asked if I was ready and that I had to wait a couple more hours while he worked on another patient. By this time, my arm was "dead" due to the numbing agent the anesthesiologist stuck in a nerve in my shoulder and I was enjoying the calm thanks to drugs that brought my BP down and like the nurses said "take the edge off". Some of them were prior military so the conversation was humorous in its own way. I shared with them as to how my mom was a nurse as well and that I was thankful to all of them as each one checked up on me. Later, I was woken up from my nap and wheeled into the surgery room. I last remember asking what time it was (10:50 a.m.) and given an oxygen mask and to take "five good deep" breaths. My right hand being numb, I held the mask to my face with my left hand and counted one, two, three, four, five, thinking yay for making past five, sixxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.
Next thing I know I'm in and out of consciousness about 7-8 times. Sometimes I would see and talk to nurses that I met before the surgery and some that were there after the procedure taking X-Rays. I remember my anesthesiologist joking that I told her all my secrets to which I said something to the effect of my swearing to secrecy per law, once asking for water due to being thirsty which was exacerbated by the intubation tube, thanking Ms. A for the said water and drinking it, the Filipino nurse (I can't recall her name) commenting how it was good to already see me consume fluids, Ms. M with the long last name checking on the dressing and that her name was now nurse Ms. A since she didn't do a banging job of taping my shoulder up. I do remember asking Ms. A if I was in and out to which she said "yes", joking with Ms. M that Ms. A did a good job of taping me up to which both Ms. A and Ms. M started giggling , Ms. A calling A&J for me to be picked up and when they showed I waved to them across the room and their instructions for me were to not let me drive for atleast 24 hours. I remember kicking them out of the room so that I could change out of the gown. I can't even recall the last time someone helped me into my socks and underwear but Ms. A made it look it was the most normal thing people do to another. I didn't tell her but it is why I fear breaking bones. Depending on someone for the most simplest of tasks that one take for granted. I hope she realized the sincerity in my groggy voice thanking her as she helped me get in the car.
Once I got in my car, I remember asking A & J to give me more water and once I got back to my house drinking even more. I thanked them both and sent them their ways as I felt good and walked around the house a bit. An hour or so later I realized I couldn't open the bottles of medication as my hand was still numb and if I didn't get to them, I would have been in a whole lot of pain while the feeling came back in my arm. But a phone call to A & J fixed that problem. But things have gotten better since. I drove myself to church on Sunday, saw my Physical Therapist on Monday and learned that I can get out my sling when I'm home and that I can do some exercises to keep mobility. Apparently, I'm a pretty good patient as I exceeded her expectations by showing a great range of motion on initial tests. But I'm yet to learn to crawl before I take off running again.
The last few days have been hazy. If I'm not sleeping, I'm listening to music, talking to family on the phone/video call explaining that I'm doing really well by myself. I think once I showed that I was back at cooking spaghetti, they're at ease knowing and believing that I'm doing well by myself. I think I attempted to read/write but can't seem to concentrate at all. I'm trying hard to keep some semblance of normalcy by waking up early and just drinking coffee and listening to music. Today was the first day of giving up on Percocet but I think the nap this afternoon was induced by some of it left in the system from the last few days.
This brings me back to the subject of facing my fears. I think the real fear is not breaking bones but in the aftermath of depending on someone. The other day I was talking to someone and mentioned that everyday I work on being humble. I pray to God everyday that I show His kindness and grace to everyone that I run into. It is very hard for me to ask for help. I don't look down on anyone asking for it. I just don't feel comfortable asking for help when there's something I can do myself. To some of my friends calling me and asking if I needed to be driven anywhere, I tell that I can manage. When people ask if they can bring me food, I tell them I stocked up on a lot of it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm denying myself kindness when I say no to such simple things. So instead of it being a fear, I think it's a pride of my heart issue. Would I respond the same if I were to find a girl who's kind to me and I turn her down because I've been independent for way too long? Would I ever not want to depend on my family and let them experience the joy of taking care of me? Do I want to be the kind of guy that's always taking care of others but never asks for a favor in return?
Anyway, it's time for me to eat and take all my medication and go to bed again. I realized I can do without the narcotics through the day so it should help me enjoy the next 10 days off from work and do other things. Perhaps I will think a little more about working on my pride and letting go of my ego.
