Take, for instance, the IV. The nurse asks me, "Have you ever had an IV before, and have you ever had trouble with one?" I tell her yes, I've had several, and they've all been troublesome, because my veins are very small, and sometimes they've even had to use infant-sized needles. The nurse frowns a bit, looks at my wrists and hands, and comments on how prominent my veins are. "Yes, they look that way," I say, "but they're deceptive."
The nurse rolls her eyes at me, pulls out the IV kit, and proceeds to try to insert the IV into the back of my hand. No dice. She gets it about half way in, meets resistance, starts pushing and wiggling and smacking my hand, bites her bottom lip, tries to get it all the way in, and it blows. So blood is spurting and my hand is bruising and the nurse is vexed and calls over the other nurse to try. "Don't take it personally." I tell her. "I don't know that I've ever had an IV inserted successfully on the first try."
The second nurse comes over and I tell her my veins are very small. The first nurse mumbles something about "having to go in deeper". The second nurse thankfully gives me a smidge of lidocaine to numb my hand, then proceeds to try to insert the needle. No dice. She goes in deep (which hurts despite the painkiller) but before she can get the cath set the kit falls apart. Repeat blood spurting and hand bruising. Second nurse grudgingly asks for a smaller needle. I try not to look smug.
Back to original hand, which is a nice shade of purple. Little lidocaine, tiny needle, and this time it goes in, though reluctantly.
I don't remember the surgery at all. I remember coming out of the ansesthetic, because I was dreaming, and heard the nurse telling me to wake up, and was surprized that I was dreaming because I didn't think you had dreams under anesthesia. The second thing I felt was relief that it was over, and I was awake. I hate general anesthesia, and am always overwhelmed when I live through it.
I spent the rest of Friday and all day yesterday and half the day today at my parent's house, being waited on hand and foot and watching cable television, which we don't have at home. I figured it would be easier on Husband to have me somewhere else than try to take care of the kids, pick up Oldest Daughter from the airport, and have me to worry about as well. And, I have to confess, it wasn't a bad deal for me, either.
The Boy wouldn't even stay in the same room with me Friday. Yesterday he stood by the chair, but wouldn't look at me. Today he wanted me to cuddle on the bed with him, so that's a good thing. I still look horrible, but the swelling has gone way down and the doctor took out the packing yesterday and replaced it with the kind that dissolves, so I look and feel a little more human.
Here was the part that surprized me - the doctor said I had the worse nose he had ever seen. Apparently that incident back in college when I thought I broke my nose really resulted in a very badly broken nose. I won't go into the details because frankly what he described was a bit on the horrific side, and probably doesn't make for polite conversation. But on the plus side, he said he was able to correct everything and I should notice a huge difference once everything heals.
So, all I have to do is take my meds and not look down for seven days. Which has been a bit of a challenge so far, but I suppose I'll get better at it over the next few days.