Saturday morning I woke up feeling hungry, actually hungry, stomach growling and everything. My liquid breakfast was not satisfying at all. The beef broth was gross, plain chicken broth I can handle but this stuff was vile.
When the doctor came in I asked to be advanced to real food, maybe some fruit? He was concerned I had not had a bowel movement yet and I countered logically that I have had no solid food yet…I mean I’m good but I can’t make something out of nothing.
PT guy came for me and we walked to the end of the hall by the nurses station, then he gave me a ride in the wheelchair to the PT room. I remembered a room like this from being 12, various ramps, bars, steps, platforms, even half a car for practicing. He took me to the steps, tied a safety belt up around my armpits, and asked me to walk up the stairs. First I tried it using both railings, then with only one side like I have at home. I felt it pull in my hips and back, but my legs felt strong. I got to the top much more easily than I thought I would be able. Down was even easier. I may have audibly woohooed here, as he gave me a puzzled look. I explained i couldn’t do this easily before surgery, that my leg was much stronger now. I did it twice and started to get tired so we stopped.
He didn’t wheel me back to my room, only back to my hallway. He asked me to walk the rest of the way. I was already tired but he said we needed to build up my stamina. So I did it. Slowly. I think some molasses covered snails passed me actually. But I did it. Woohoo for stamina.
Back in my room an aide came in to help get me cleaned up and changed into a fresh gown. Her idea of helping was different from mine though. She put everything in the bathroom, walked me there and left. I told her I couldn’t bend or reach my legs or back and could she help? Her response was that she had a horrible headache, about to explode, and had to go sit down. So I got back in bed half clean with what I could reach by myself and I would ask hubby to help me when he got in later.
I was disappointed when lunch was more broth and jello. I asked the nurse if the orders were changed? She said not yet, but she saw drs notes that he was going to. I said OK. But then i told her how hungry i was and that i was dying for some fruit. She came back in with a few fruit cups hidden in her pocket. I could have kissed her! She smiled and said Shhhh like it was a big secret and I smiled back before digging into the best tasting pears of my life.
Then I heard a familiar voice, my son. Hubby had brought my kids to visit. They looked scared at first, I tried to let them know I was ok. My youngest got in bed with me, I put a pillow on my belly so he didn’t bump my incision. He liked putting my bed up and down. They brought me flowers, a stuffed bear, candy, and a duck figurine. My middle guy didn’t make eye contact with me, he was struggling. My daughter was chattering away telling me about her week.
Then a helicopter flew near, my room was next to the landing pad. And my youngest seriously must have had his own flashback or something like it. He says, that’s like the one I rode in…I can’t feel my legs…I can’t see…
I yelled to hubby to catch him before he hit the ground and he just made it. He nearly passed out, was all in a cold sweat. We gave him ginger ale and turned on the TV. Hmmm. Guess little guy remembers his icu trip to the special childrens hospital in the helicopter about 2 years ago when he was only 5. And seeing his mom in pain and inflated and all bruised everywhere was bad enough without the helicopter reminder. Poor little guy. He was OK though.
My sis in law arrived soon to take the kids to her house for the night. We planned the timing so their visit with me would be brief, for them, and for me too.
Then I heard another familiar voice. My oldest brother was there. I was somewhat surprised he had come, especially since earlier today was mom’s actual funeral. Hubby said he brought his whole family, so I decided to visit with them out in the hallway, not enough space in my tiny room.
I was shocked that walking was getting easy, that I had already recovered from PT earlier. I stood and walked and chatted with my brother, his wife and several of his kids until I got too tired and shaky. I felt special and loved. He said the funeral went well and he was so pleased my surgery went so well I was up and walking.
When I got back in bed, I realized I may have overdone it. Ok definitely had overdone it. My back went into spasms. That wonderful nurse saw this and brought me a giant sack of ice nearly as big as me, asked me to roll to my side, and lean against the ice like giant frozen body pillow. The ice helped in a few minutes and I fell asleep. I woke up soon, feeling very cold, but much better. I asked hubby to move the ice and I was thrilled to see dinner had come, with mashed potatoes! Real food! Nothing tasted great, but with my numb tongue and growing hunger it didn’t matter much. My belly needed food. I still didn’t eat much, I felt full right away, but it was a satisfied feeling.
I slept well that night, in between the poking and prodding of course, and the constant calls from my roommate. She was 79, often not entirely lucid, quite loud, quite demanding. She would ask for nonsensical items with the call button and whoever answered was always polite and always sent someone to check on her.
The next day my sis in law came to visit, the one that went to my mom’s memorial. She brought more flowers.
I didn’t have so many visitors or support during my surgery when I was 12. I was alone for nearly all of it. AF stopped by most evenings after work. Mom only came once when my brother drove her, too afraid to drive to the big city. So for 2 weeks, I was alone there. Alone for all of the tests and PT for a newly paralyzed girl. I don’t remember being afraid or lonely. Abused kids aren’t entitled to feel that. So I didn’t. But I feel it now. I look at my kids, and can’t imagine ever leaving them alone. So I feel now what I couldn’t then, and I understand the depth of my pain and PTSD. I’m ready to care for this woman, that as a child was uncared for. I’m no longer ashamed of the girl within. I understand her, and want to help her.