Going Under The Knife

People say all time that if you don't have your health you don't have anything.  After the most painful, scary, and traumatic two weeks of my life, I know this to be true. I have learned so much about myself and I am forever changed.
 On Tuesday September, 27th I went under the knife to fix what my amazing surgeon, Dr. Huntsman, said was one of the worst ruptured/herniated disks he has seen.  Which would probably explain why I was numb from the waist down. 
Ordinarily a Micro Discectomy is scheduled weeks or Months in advance.  I saw Dr Huntsman Monday  and Tuesday I was being wheeled into the operating room.
In pre-op, one by one, each of the surgeons stopped by to comment on the whopper of a disk they were about to remove.  They made jokes such as " Looks like we are about to deliver a 10 LBS baby," and "You are going to feel so much better once we remove that small house settled on your nerve."  While in recovery, Dr Huntsman said to my Mother and Gabrielle, that it was more of a Condo Community that they removed than a house.  The bits and fluid from my ruptured disk had spread and were effecting the surrounding disks and even my spinal cords.  My nerves were very traumatized and while they try to salvage part of the disk, there was very little of mine to salvage.  Ill use one of my favorite words and say they left a "smidge" of my disk behind in hopes it will grow back. 

The week before the surgery I can say with certainty that I had never felt so much pain in my life x 100.  I stopped eating, drinking, my bowels and blatter stopped functioning.  I missed almost the entire week of work because I couldn't move an inch from the floor.  I suffered for several days by myself because I was prideful and hate for people to see my weakness.  But then my mom called and "I made the mistake" of mentioning that I was in too much pain to eat or drink. My mother came right away.  She helped with the paperwork the U of U's Neurosurgical center needed just to schedule me an appointment.  But unfortunately, it can takes days or weeks to get an initial appointment, so the secretary said she would call me the  next week with an appointment.  My mother slept right next to me on the floor in case I needed anything for several days.  She tried to feed me.  But more than anything she kept me from suffering alone.  By Saturday night, I was in worse shape.  I tried to get to my bathroom but collapsed in my hallway.  My mother said she was going to call an ambulance and I had no fight in me to say no. I couldn't go on like that.
Someday I may write about the horror of that ambulance ride, about the agony, and the furry I feel just thinking about the way they handled  the situation and my body, but for today I cant.  I'm not ready to revisit it.

By the time I reached the Emergency room I was numb from the waist down and had the highest blood pressure I have ever had,  It was dangerously high. I spent the next 6 hours there and while mostly bad I will never forget the kindness of one very special EMT.  I hope that he goes far in his medical career because his compassion somehow made the Urine Debacle of 2011(again something I'm not ready to write about) just a little bit more manageable.  They didn't do an xray, they didn't do a ct scan, they didn't do an MRI, they just pumped me full of morphine, Valium, and toroidal. and sent me home the next morning to wait for a surgeon appointment that could take days. IDIOTS!
On Sunday, as I laid back on my living room floor feeling hopeless and desperate, I kept having a flashback of a person's scar on their back.  Someone I knew had had back surgery and shown me their scar, but I couldn't remember who.  I kept trying to focus on the memory until it hit me, it was my good friend Trenton a year and a half earlier. He actually scrubs in on surgeries as the rep for the company that provides the hardware for orthopedic surgeries.  I texted him about my situation.  He texted the doctor that day and the next morning I got a call from Dr Huntsman's assistant.  She got me in within an hour, she found an MRI clinic appointment right then, we took the images back to the office, and within 20 minutes one of the surgeons came out and said "We are getting you on tomorrows schedule!"


Truth be told, I didn't know even the name of the surgery.  I just knew that I needed the pain to stop. I was tired of crying every moment, even in public.  And I wanted the feeling in my lower half to come back.


When I woke up from surgery, the pain was gone.  But do to the severity of the case, they didn't try to get me up and moving so I could go home. I barely moved for the next 24 hours.  It was the first night I had ever been admitted to the hospital. I spent a total of three days in there.  It was more time than I ever hope to spend again.  Once I was up and moving the reality of my situation hit me.  I was out of pain which I am so thankful for, but unfortunately The bottom of my feet, the back of my legs, and my buttocks were still numb.  I have the ability to walk, but cant feel my feet.  It is bizzareIm pretty sure I now look like Frankenstein when walking.

I keep telling people that a good ass smack is lost on me these days, and anyone who knows me, knows how much I LOVE a good ass smack. Its a small tragedy.
I cant bend, twist,  and I cant sit for longer than 20 minutes.  I have to wear an brace that looks somewhat like a medieval chest plate, but with Velcro.  I have to walk with a walker.  I cant maneuver stairs, I just cant make the muscles and pressure work right.
As much as I wanted out of the hospital, I had no idea how hard the first few days at home would be.  My dear friend Amy brought me dinner that Thursday night and I cried for hours with her.  I couldnt stop.  I was angry, exhausted, and finally realizing what my new life would be like.
I was going from being a woman who worked her ass off between her day job, her cakeball business, doing the farmers market,flirting, dating, going out with friends on weekends, dancing, hanging at the pool every Sunday.  Having every night of my schedule full of friends, family, laughter, adventure, and movement.  To 20 hours a day in bed with three walks mixed in.  The only thing that helped me to stop crying that first night was my dad.   I cant even remember what he said in detail.  But he promised me it would get better, that it would be ok.
The next day I had to fight off tears every moment, but awesome visitors,  countless phone calls, and a plethora of text messages let me know just how loved I was and helped to keep the abyss of self pity just far enough away, that only a few tears slipped through. 
Each day has gotten better. I walk further, spend less time in bed, and can even shower myself now although it takes me 2 hours to do what I used to do in 30 minutes.

After this type of surgery, people can go back to work within 1-3 weeks.  I went back to work on the one week anniversary. I have only worked a few hours a day but it has made all the difference in my depression.  It has given me hope each day as I find myself able to do just a little bit more.  I walk around in circles a lot to keep moving since I cant sit for too long. Everyone at work was shocked that I was back, but I couldn't handle one more day of doing nothing.  I couldn't handle one more day of not being optimistic. I couldn't handle one more day of not being me. 
Putting on my own shoes and socks, being able to bend, twist, climb stairs, and dance, and most importantly, enjoy a good ass smack, will all just have to wait for another day.