Me: I really don't want to die and my kids not know how important they are to me and how they have changed my life.
Fate: OK, this bitch has got all her ducks in a row...letters written and everything...wasn't going to take her, but what the hell...let's do this!
So instead of putting into written words the love I have for my children, I decided to get drunk the night before my surgery. Not shit hammered drunk, just tipsy enough to take the edge off.
For some reason, me seeing the inside of the OR meant I was for sure going to die. My nurse tried to soothe me by explaining exactly what would happen once they wheeled me to the OR and I promptly burst into tears. He did what most men do in these situations, he left the room. When he came back, thank God, he had a syringe full of something and he was my new best friend.
I vaguely remember the trip down the hall thanks to the shot I had talked him into giving me before we left for the operating room. "I need that fucking shot NOW, in THIS room, not the OR." There were about 10 people milling around and the robot that was going to be used during my surgery. "I do NOT want to see the inside of this room! You promised me I wouldn't remember, you promised me I wouldn't see..." are the last things I remember yelling at my nurse before waking up in recovery.
Well, that wasn't so bad after all. I feel great. Where is my family? Where is my phone? I need to take some pictures for my blog. When can I go to my room? When can I get rid of this catheter? I had all of these questions, but no words were coming out of my mouth...just noises. Kind of like Beaker from The Muppets. Which is why the recovery nurse rushed out to get my doctor. Apparently, I freaked her out by making beeping noises instead of talking.
Dr: B, are you OK?
Me: Meep, meeep, meeeppp, meep
Dr: I don't know what you are trying to say.
Me: words...there are so many words in my brain...but they won't come out....
After we got it straight that I was not brain damaged, I was taken to my room and reunited with...nobody. My family was eating lunch because they expected me to be in recovery longer. I think the nurse rushed me out of recovery because I wouldn't quit asking her to let me get out of bed and walk around. I knew they wouldn't take the catheter out until I could walk to the bathroom on my own. My main goal was to get the catheter out ASAP.
Little did I know, the doctor had nicked my bladder in the process of removing my uterus and the catheter had to stay for two weeks.
My friend M was my first visitor. I was so happy to see her beautiful face, until she dropped the catheter bomb on me.
"Umm, I thought they already told you about the hole in your bladder?"
"Well they probably fucking did, but I'm on drugs so I forgot."
I was still crying about the catheter when my kids walked in, but then the nurse brought me morphine and I was better.
Despite the fact that I ended up with a bonus surgery for bladder repair, my recovery has been relatively smooth.
My doctor used the Da Vinci method, which is basically a robot that does the surgery while she controls it's movements with joysticks...like a video game, so she didn't have to cut through my abdominal muscles. I can sit up on my own and it doesn't feel like my guts are falling out when I roll over. Those of you who have had C-sections know what I'm talking about. Those two things are definitely pluses. And I didn't die. That is the biggest plus of all!