Glittering Prizes and Endless Compromises

I love the song "Spirit of Radio" by Rush.  

Mind you that this has nothing really to do with the posting, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a great song.

By way of actual intention, consider this to be something of an update of sorts to my last posting.  To that point, I can report that a week + from the surgery that I am pretty close to being back to normal, with a few exceptions noted.  These include the fact that I will continue to be under lifting restrictions for a while to come and not being able to wear pants that have a belt is something of a challenge. I can live with both, by the way, thanks in part to my having stocked up on sweat and parachute pants.  Ms. Rivers also continues to ground me in reality every time I propose to do something stupid.  Which is often.

In hindsight, this has been more difficult than I imagined.  While I expected some pain after the main event, it ended up being more significant than I thought.  Not unmanageable, by any stretch, but more than I expected.  I'm talking about three nights sleeping in a chair, uncomfortable as it was.  And I hate sleeping in a chair, for the record.  The Hillbilly Heroin prescribed for the first three nights (well enough to cover three nights...) was helpful, but doing even the most basic things was a chore.  Now, the baseline level of pain is more like a mild discomfort, and I more or less don't get the throbbing pain from strenuous acrobatic activities such as "getting up" and "standing".  As I told someone at work, it feels like I have been getting better at a rate of about 5% per day.

Ms. Rivers and I, both being older than younger, still remember a time when these types of things resulted in overnight hospital stays.  To be honest, and fully in hindsight, I don't know that being in a hospital overnight or longer would have sped up my recovery.  This is in part due to the fact that your average hospital is in fact one of the least restful places you can find yourself at any given time.  This is out of necessity, which I get, but while sleeping in a chair at home I don't have to hear a buzzer coming from another room (for example).  And the lights are off.  What the same day surgery thing does require is a bit of diligence and reading comprehension, which makes me wonder why it apparently is as successful as it appears to be, but who am I to argue with success?  I just know that I am a rule-follower by design, so if the instructions say "don't peel your wound-glue like Elmers off your finger tips" then I gladly obey.

Productivity is down.

I have not been nearly as productive as I would normally be, which seems equal parts realistic and a non-event to everyone but me.  Being a rule-follower (as noted above), I have been pretty good at not exceeding the lifting limit placed on me, although I also confess to actually weighing a few things to see if I could get it to slide under the limit.  This is an example in action of the guilt I feel at not always being able to do things, to pull my weight, if you will.  In the far, dark corners of my head I can hear my mother yelling about my just laying around.  In my case now though I would have Ms. Rivers yelling about my doing too much (she actually doesn't yell...she doesn't have to...but it is a kind of motivational equivalency).  

As to what I have been up to, well, I finished watching all 17 seasons of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia".  Great show, by the way.  

And yesterday I picked up leaves from the front of the house (all while not lifting more than 10 pounds).  And I've done some online shopping.  That's about it.  That's about enough as well.

Lastly, thank you to all who wished me well, checked in on me or otherwise sent good vibes my way.  Every word or comment has been deeply appreciated.  

"Useless, Useless"

Source:  HERE.

As I was in the recovery area at Geisinger Wyoming Valley surgery center, coming off 4+ hours under anesthesia, the first words out of my mouth, as I was looking at the IVs in both hands was "Useless, Useless".  Nurse Brittany, who was equal parts kind and exceptionally competent, wasn't sure what to make of it, other than to tell me "You still have them" (as in my hands, I think).

Edit:  I should have mentioned that I have no idea why, while waking up, I was thinking about John Wilkes Booth on his deathbed.  Welcome to my brain.

Note that going into surgery I just had one IV inserted.  In my preferred choice for such things, the top of my right hand.  Sure sign you are getting older:  You have a preferred IV location.  Anyway, I never got a good explanation as to why I ended up with two hands pierced, although it was clear that the second IV needle was about the size of something used for knitting, based on what I saw coming out and the pressure that needed to be applied to get the bleeding to stop.

Where does this all start?  Well one needs to go back to 2009 when I started to have some discomfort in my gut.  Over time said discomfort manifests itself in the form of a hernia, a type of which didn't require any immediate treatment (as noted by the passing of about 16 years).  My agreement with my doctors over the years was this would be treated if it caused me any problems.  Well, much like small squeaks in an older car eventually become loud squeaks, my gut issue got slowly worse over time.  While I could have tolerated the minor discomfort for longer, I also realized that I wasn't going to have an easier recovery from surgery if I waited longer, so I decided that this was the year.  Also not lost on me is the fact that I know two older people who waited too long to get hernias repaired.  Plans were made over the summer to do the deed on Wednesday, November 19th.

By the way, what I believed to be a single hernia ended up being three hernias.  Two of one type, the third being the largest and the original.

So yesterday was surgery day.  Everyone was prompt and the staff were exceptional, including my surgeon and the above-referenced Nurse Brittany.  Now I just need to heal and make some better life choices.  Fortunately, I have Ms. Rivers to help take care of me, which basically translates into preventing me from doing something stupid.  This is actually more time-consuming than one would think.

Speaking of healing, I am early into the process, so some on-going discomfort is to be expected.  By "discomfort" I mean something that ranges from a mild annoyance to it feeling like my abdomen is being used as Rocky's punching bag.  Not being able to cough is a bit of a drag as well.  

There are other gruesome details, but the point has been made.

This was, by the way, my 5th surgery (three as a child, one to fix my hand a few years ago and this).  Not having the need for a 6th would be pretty good in my book.

All things considered, I will be glad at some point in the not-too-distant future that I had this done now.  A sad fact of adulthood, as opposed to childhood, is that in the former, things almost never get better if you ignore them.  While I didn't ignore my little problem, well 3 little problems, now was the time.  I do have some time off from work, so I plan on not doing too much over the next few days.  Sometimes that's easier said than done, at least for me.

A final note:  As I was brought into the operating room, I saw the robotic device that was going to be intimate with my gut muscles.  My first question to the staff was "Do they call that the Hernia-nator 5000?"  I did get a laugh.  Speaking of laughter, that would hurt right about now, so I am going to quit while I am ahead.