jenny_wren

I'm glad to be back home. I'm a bit sore but not in any real pain. The mind fog from the morphine they gave me has finally worn off. I do not like morphine. Contrary to what my husband posted, I am at least 70% sure that I was not singing merrily while I was recovering. I will own up to having several conversations with people who were not really there. I hate having my mind clouded like that. By the second day, I realized that the drug didn't really do anything for pain; it just made me not care about it. However, the anti-imflamatory shot they gave me rocked. I stopped pushing the pain button only to realize that the morphine pump was still giving me a dose anyway. So I spent most of my time dozing and having phantom conversations. 

<lj-cut text="Cut for squick factor."> The surgery went well and I didn't need a hystorectomy.  The cat scan showed that the fibroid tumor was at the top of my uterus and it was about the size of a tennis ball.  In reality, the tumor only had it's start at the top.  The tumor extended along the back of my uterus and wrapped around the right of it.  The tumor had outgrown it's blood supply, was inflamed and, this next really makes me shudder, starting to turn necrotic.  My doctor pronouced the whole thing "really wierd".  It also explained the sharp increase of pain that I got during certain times of the month that would keep me awake at night.

Frank is upset that I never spoke up about the pain that I was in.  He's right but I didn't want to worry him.  I kept trying to convince myself that I was just being a baby and if othr people could deal with worse things in their lives, then I could deal with this.  My doctor said that the pain would have just gotten worse until I'd be in agony.  The thought of something rotting inside of me makes me cringe.

I've got a nice, six inch long scar on my lower abdomen.  I'm grateful that my doctor decided to stich the muscles internally and put these adhesive strips over the incision instead of just stapling it shut.  I wasn't looking forward to staples that catch on everything.  I'm hoping I won't have too bad of a scar.  I'm thinking of putting vitamin E oil on the place once it's healed.  I've also got this wierd dent where this painful buldge used to be.  It looks rather funny.

So now I'm at home for at least two weeks and I'm grateful that my work makes actually using your sick time near impossible unless you're really sick.  I have almost five years of sick time that I've never been able to use until now.  I'm thinking of it as a nice, long rest.  Frank says that he noticed my pulse rate on the monitor they had me hooked up to shoot up when a Wal-mart ad came on tv.  I think I need the break.  I will try not to think about the possible promotion waiting for me when I get back.  I will take it for the money but I won't caper about with joy.  The assistant manager over me really wants me to have it.  He told me about the opening before it was posted and nagged me into applying for the spot.  The day before I went into the hosiptal, I went to work to turn in my leave of abscense paperwork and he took me to one side for an on the spot interview.  I have no idea how it went though, my mind was in a million other places at the time.