Monday, September 19, 2011

Itching, Bruising, Rupturing, and Much More Fun

Friday I had my discogram, which went very well as far as getting a definitive answer. My inter-vertebral discs, naughty little degenerates that they are, behaved beautifully. The suspected culprit pissed contrast dye out like a geyser. Ruptured, indeed. The test was less scary than I'd imagined, and I attribute this to an excellent anesthesiologist who relaxed me, getting me talking about my darlin' girl and her birth via my "Shayne" tattoo. He was interested in my warrior goddess birth after seeing my genital surgery in my chart. Talking about that day tends to give me a big swagger and remind me I'm the mama bear who eats pain for BREAKFAST. However, post-op was far, far more painful than I'd imagined. After that and an ER trip the previous weekend, Mr. Bones and I are shocked by my tolerance for morphine. That earlier visit was guessed to be either a weird presentation of a gall stone flare up or a killer stomach virus that lasted 6 hours- which neither of us bought. 

It was a long damn week. I'm left with 4 IV bruises and two ugly blood-draw sites.

The post-op pain was serious Friday evening and Saturday, then Sunday I felt my normal pain level. But during the night Saturday/Sunday, I started itching. Sunday night I called the Pain Center and they told me to stop the antibiotics I'd been given to prevent infection at the site. I've done that, but I'm still covered in two rashes. My arms have small bumpy pink rashes, and my legs have huge white hives I've never seen before. I'm living on Benadryl and some Gold Bond powder I found that has menthol in it that helps some. Then today I tweaked my back big time and am stuck in bed, which is where I'm supposed to be anyway but it's better when I can cruise to the bathroom or limp downstairs when needed without my nerves screeching at me.

So, looking forward: I really don't want to. Dr. B (the well dressed one I called Dr. Armani) thinks I'm going to need spinal fusion. This is a pretty big deal- so big in fact, that I've decided to ignore it until we have our official, morphine-free post-op consult on Thursday. Perhaps the Universe sent the allergy as a distraction, because it makes it rather hard to concentrate. On ANYTHING. Except the itch.

I'm still struggling with resigning myself to all this interminable rest, but more everyday it sinks in that it's all beyond my control. My job is to surrender, and to be still, and to learn patience. If you believe in astrology, let me amuse you by telling you I'm an Aries. Patience? What now?

With lovely timing, my brimming-with-Up-Mojo friend, Jo Anna is hosting a teleconference about falling in love with your life this afternoon. (Here's the link if she has room.) While I realize it's hard to swoon with infatuation for a life lived mostly in pain and on one's ass, I think a jolt of positivity can only help. So I'm going to attempt a bath, get Molly settled after school, and learn to fall in love with my life via my laptop. LOVE, damnit.

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