It’s a really nice day today. A nice day to go outside, play in the park, go for a walk, spend some time with friends....sigh. Oh well. I went outside for a little bit as one reader advised I need light...preferably sunshine. As I was sitting out there on the garden bench looking at my brother’s front yard, I again took notice to the grass and greenness here in Houston.
Almost every time someone learns I’m from Seattle, the subject turns to rain or how much greener it must be up there. You know what? I believe it rains more here...inches wise, and so far, from what I have seen of TX, it is way greener here. Funny considering WA is called the Evergreen state. Sure there are forests with evergreens and that beautiful rain forest on the Olympic Peninsula...if you ever go to that state, you will do yourself a huge disservice if you do not visit the Rain Forest. Gorgeous! But overall, TX is a lot greener than Seattle simply because of the amount of trees and also, the grass is different here.
The grass in Seattle is really fine...thin blades and since people expect the rain to water their lawns, most don’t ever turn on the sprinklers. Here, the grass blades are thicker causing the lawns to look fuller and for the most part, they are a much brighter shade of green.
1) I’m getting bored and 2) To get my fear out of my system. If I have something going on in my head, I have to release it either by speech or writing or it will grow in my head and disturb me for all eternity...or until the situation has passed. Whichever comes first.
So, let’s talk about surgery. I know from reading all these emails of well wishes that many, many of you have gone through some downright horrific incidents in your life...some which make my shattered ankle look like a flea bite. And many of you have gone through surgeries and will probably tell me I’m being ridiculous or worrying too much or what have you. Well, here’s the thing. I’ve never gone through surgery...or at least, “intrusive” surgery.
When I was little, one of the scars I received as a token of bio dad’s affection, (for those new readers...you’ve been spared the story but if you are still curious, go read Dec. 31), was about the size of a 50 cent piece on my head. When I got adopted, my parents decided to get the size of the scar reduced as it was located right where a part in the middle of my hair would end. This would lead to many questions and talk and they wanted to spare me of that I think.
So I went into the hospital. I was about 5 years old. I remember not really understanding what was going on. The first thing I really can recall is laying in the hospital bed, chatting away with my mom and a nurse coming in to administer a shot in my butt to knock me out for surgery. Now, I’ve always hated needles but I don’t recall this one hurting.
The nurse came back some time later, and there I was, hyper child that I was, still fully animated, chatting away and energetic. Shot didn’t work. So the nurse gave me another one.
Shot didn’t work. hahaha. I had a LOT of energy when I was a kid.
They gave up that approach and wheeled me into the surgery room where another nurse brought out a mask and told me that she was going to put it on my face, I was to just keep breathing like normal, it wouldn’t hurt at all and she was going to tell me a really good story until I fell asleep. I was a little nervous at first....like I said, I’m extremely claustrophobic and I don’t like anything forced on me that restricts my freedom.
She put the mask on me and started telling me the story of the Little Pink Cloud. I don’t remember much of the story except that it was every child’s fantasy. There was candy galore, stuffed animals, baby bears and elephants and unicorns and rainbows....and that she kept ending each sentence with, “....on the little pink cloud.”
Next thing I know, I woke up.
But I was still in surgery and they weren’t done.
The enormous amount of pain at the top of my head made me scream and cry. I recall the shocked look on the doctor’s faces. I can imagine....I had two shots and gas and I still woke up before they were done.
I got knocked out quickly again and then I recall being back in my hospital room and my mom being there when I was awake. I also remember the hospital staff totally spoiled the hell out of me. I felt like a celebrity. Various times nurses would come in and play with me or just see me and one went so far as to take me down to the nursery so I could look at all the new babies.
But that was not ‘intrusive’ surgery. That was just reducing the size of a scar. Quite different than what I’m going to go through now.
I have stated before that I have an (sometimes) overactive imagination topped with reading way too many real life horror stories.
I don’t like not feeling in control....I mean, a roller coaster is one thing...but losing control and being knocked out...I don’t like it.
What if I get a nurse who is psycho and is on a rampage to kill all females who remind her of someone? What if she puts something deadly in my IV drip instead of the stuff that is to make me go to sleep? (Yes, I know it’s called anasthesia.)
What if I get the doctor who just barely passed his studies? Just because he/she’s a doctor doesn’t mean they graduated at the top of their class!
What if they make a mistake? What if we suddenly discover I am allergic to something afterall......too late.
What if the building catches on fire right at the crucial moment of cutting? What if the doctor has a heart attack or stroke or passes out for some reason right when they are about to snip something I really need? What if the scissors slip?
I know these are far fetched happenings but they could happen. Anything can happen! I know that includes that everything can go smoothly and I’ll be perfectly fine and worried for nothing.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sitting here inventing worst case scenarios, those are just ones that came to my head as I sat here and typed this. Mostly I just try to read or write people back or enjoy the absolutely beautiful flowers my sister got me or think how lucky I am that so many people care or how great it will be to finally be able to walk on two feet again....but every once in awhile, that fear of the unknown comes creeping in and takes over for a few minutes.
You may proceed to tell me I’m being silly....that’s fine. Like I said, I have to get it OUT of my head so it doesn’t grow into something irrational.
What do you mean, “Too late”? Hmph!
By the way, last night I was sleeping and in my dream I had this broken ankle with my splint on. I dreamt that I took two steps with my right leg and I woke up crying. And the worst part? I FELT the pain even though I had not moved an inch...my leg was still elevated on pillows, my cat was up by my head but upon wakening, it felt like I had tried to step on it. I don’t know if in my sleep I had tried to stretch my leg muscles or if I had tried to move it or if I had even gone so far as to hit the wall with it and put it back on the pillows before I awoke but that was horrendous pain. Did anyone else who has broken an ankle, wrist, arm, or blown out their knee ever have something like that happen?
I think I was trying to stretch it as not using it has tightened up the muscles and I would love nothing more than to be able to stretch.
Anyway, I find out Tuesday if/when I go for surgery. If that is the case, I’ll probably have it by the end of the week or early next week.
I wonder if the VA has good hospital food.
Ok, that’s enough for now. I’m off to read sites and make extremely lengthy comments there to pass the time.
I’m about 3/4 of the way through the thank you letters. Still working on those...don’t think I forgot you cause I didn’t.
<--- Here Endeth The Lesson
