There's something about laying on a paper sheet in the doctor's office getting 24 staples removed from your tender abdomen that gets a person to thinking.
I think I've had enough.
Enough pain. Enough whining. Enough dark side roads.
I find myself yet again writing about one more event that I need to purge from my mind. Put aside, let go and move on.
Not that I'm done dealing with this latest side road...it'll be the middle of May before I'm allowed to go back to work, several weeks at least until I can pick anything up and dear god if this house doesn't up and crawl away in disgust at the level of filth that currently resides here, it will truly be yet another miracle for this Mahoney household.
Of course, I can't come here and whine about some exotic illness either. If something's going to go wrong with me it'll be with my bowel. Yes. I'm going to write on a public forum about my intestines.
God my life is so awesome.
And of course if I'm going to go and get a twisted bowel and need emergency surgery, I'll do that when The Husband is away. In another province, two airplanes away. But hey! The Eldest can drive so that saved me the ambulance cost.
Just looking for the positives. It's all I've got.
I found myself laying in the ER at 3 o'clock in the morning, begging God to just make the pain stop and saying the rosary at super sonic speed over and over and over again while breaking The Eldest's hand in a death grip. Two x-rays later and voila: twisted bowel. Which explained the pain worse than childbirth. And all my yelling. Plus the vomit. Oh and there may have been some accusations that the doctor wasn't getting to me soon enough. It's a bit foggy.
God was watching over me and my Mom was organizing a speedy solution to my predicament. There was a free operating room and the surgeon was able to come in right away. By 9 am I was saying good bye to about a foot of my intestines. I woke up to a 7 inch incision down my abdomen, 24 staples holding it closed, 7 days in the hospital, 8 weeks of not lifting anything and many days of lounging around looking at the dog hair accumulate on the carpet.
Laying in a hospital bed unable to move without crying despite the epidural in one's back plus a morphine drip, gives a person a lot of time to think. A lot of time to think about life changing in an instant, being blindsided when you already feel like life has kicked the crap out of you. You have morphine hallucinations about demons and fire and brimstone. You replay talking to your husband on the phone before surgery, telling him you love him, please don't come home, you'll be fine, his work up there is important for our family, but every fibre of your being wants him there with you. You think about telling your Eldest child goodbye and that you love her, everything was going to be fine as they wheel you off to surgery, but the inner you is freaking out and you just want your mommy there to say get ahold of yourself. You're not going to die for crying out loud, it'll all be ok.
Yep. A lot of time to think.
Most fortunately for me, my big sister pinch hit for her and called and talked me off the ledge. Then Nurse Sandy was sent directly from heaven to hold my hand and be just about the best nurse on the planet. Nurse Sandy didn't have to hold my hand and let me ramble on in my morphine fog about my mom and my life and how grief over The Husband's dad was a different life experience then grieving over my mom.
Yes. Nurse Sandy was awesome. I am also hoping I never have the need for the use of strong narcotics in my life again. Even while having those conversations with the nurse there was part of my brain yelling, "What the hell are you blathering about? You are freaking stoned. Shut up. Crap. Is that a demon behind her? Why is this hospital so full of people turning into demons?"
As I relived all those moments in my head, I was able to start sorting everything out and stop being such an idiot. Count my blessings, so to speak. My awesome family rallied once again. Our Eldest, my dad, my siblings...all super duper troopers. My dearest Husband got an early flight home. I get to take 8 unpaid weeks off of work.
Plus I didn't die, I lost 10 pounds and Extra Strength Tylenol does not make me see demons.
Perspective. It's a wonderful thing.