Every time I’ve gone under anesthesia has been a different experience, but I’m usually completely out of it for the rest of the day. My first experience left me really nauseated, so as a precaution they gave me a nausea patch behind my ear and put some anti-nausea meds in my IV before I woke up. This time, however, I was surprisingly coherent and not at all queasy. I knew exactly what had happened, where I was, and what time it was (thanks to a massive digital clock across from my hospital bed), but I didn’t want to open my eyes because my vision was so blurry and I was pretty groggy. My throat was raw from the breathing tube they’d placed during surgery, and I could feel the sharp pain of my surgical site.
As I was coming to I quickly realized my best method of pain management was to just not breathe. Breathing pushed my diaphragm down into my surgical site (ouch), irritated my already-sore throat (ouch), and some reaction to something in my IV was causing me to have a minor asthma attack. After being reminded by my nurses repeatedly that I needed to take slow, deep breaths, one of them clued in and asked about my pain level. Two shots of morphine later my pain was down from a 5 to a 3 (which was much more manageable), and a few puffs of albuterol from my inhaler cleared my airways right up.
When I was a little more alert they wheeled me to my room—a hole in the wall with a curtain, a recliner, and two chairs—and helped me into the recliner. Shortly after, my husband and mom joined me and gave me the report from my surgeon—I definitely had endometriosis. Once I was settled in and had been drinking water (and successfully keeping it down) my nurse came in and asked if I wanted any crackers, applesauce—she named off a few simple food items. Cue the nausea. None of those sounded good. “Any juice?” I could taste the stomach acid flowing into my mouth. I said one more mention of food was going to make me throw up, so she hurried off to get a prescription for another type of anti-nausea medication. In the meantime I continually sipped my ice water to stave off the nausea, and kept sending someone to the ice machine for refills.
Apparently gynecological surgery is notorious for causing bad nausea. After a patch behind my ear and intravenous and oral anti-nausea medication, I’d reached the limit of what they could give me, so I sat still for another three hours, concentrating on not throwing up, before I thought I could survive a 2 hour car ride home. At that point I felt awake enough to stand up with assistance and I realized all the water I’d been drinking was taking a toll on my bladder. My husband helped me across the hall to the bathroom which was where I made three discoveries—1) I had a bag attached to me via a tube surgically placed in my pubic area, 2) peeing after a cystoscopy with hydrodistention requires some effort and BURNS like none other, and 3) most unsettling of all, I was wearing fancy hospital underwear I didn’t put on myself. (In hindsight I know now to ask for multiple pairs of these before leaving the hospital. Soo comfortable right after surgery!)
After shuffling back to my recliner I received my discharge instructions and restrictions. No twisting, housework, lifting more than 10 pounds, sex, tampons, douching, etc. for at least 2 weeks. In addition I was instructed to take it easy, take a laxative/stool softener, make sure to wash the incisions with my hands in the shower (not a cloth or shower scrub) and pat dry with a towel, go slowly and take breaks on the stairs, get up and walk around as often as possible, stay hydrated, no driving (until I was off narcotics), and eat lots of fruits and vegetables. I learned that my bag and tube was called a pain pump. A dial inside would allow me to control the amount of numbing medication flowing directly to my surgical site.
Once my prescription was filled by the hospital pharmacy (I had lots of Zofran for nausea!!), I got my all my wires and tubes unhooked, changed back in my clothes (i.e., pajamas), and was ready to go. The nurse said I could walk to the car if I wanted to, but standing unassisted was impossible and difficult, so they wheeled me down and I got into the car. I was homeward bound!
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