This is going to be a bit rambly and quite possibly filled with gramatical errors and word substitutions. And feel free to read the paragraphs in any order you feel like. It's all the same.
So one of the other guys in the ward with me was a thirty-year old homeless guy that had his leg put through a bicycle post (the round ones) and shattered in front of the shelter he was staying at… So not only was his leg a serious mess, but the shelter had thrown out his possessions while he was in the hospital, and the hospital had cut off his pants in the process of dealing with his injuries… Talk about having a bad Saturday night.
When I was having my IV put in, the anesthesiologist is like, “I'm going to apply numbing now”. And I look over and she's got the syringe ready, and she sticks me, and I feel the (now so familiar) sensation of lidocaine tearing and spreading under the skin. I asked her why she was numbing it since the IV needle would have hurt less than the local — maybe I had a student anesthesiologist or something, because when she put the full size IV needle in, blood started spraying everywhere and a second later my hand was covered in blood and it was running up my arm.
I just got flowers, which was very nice. When the doorbell was ringing I thought it might have been the property manager for this house, because there was a vague plan for her to come and check out the damage today (the gap between the wall and the staircase is definitely growing with every day past warranty). I'm definitely not up for giving a tour of the house today though so I'm definitely glad it was flowers!
I warned a couple of the people involved with the procedure that I had explicit tattoos that I didn't want to surprise anyone. They told me, “oh, trust me, we've seen everything” — which I'm sure is true, but still, I have no doubt they had a chuckle about it while I was under. In the recovery room, one of the nurses (super friendly) was checking it out and commenting what nice work it was… I dozed a little and opened my eyes and noticed a doctor looking at my sleeve. He told me it was really nice and the nurse asked if she could show him my chestpiece — I told her, “sure, as long as you don't think it will offend him.” With a sly grin, she says something along the lines of, “oh, I'm sure this tattoo won't offend Dr. [Can't remember]“. So I don't know if he's got a reputation as a perv or as a prude, but it was funny either way.
The first thing I remember when I woke up in the recovery room was asking what time it was — 1:30PM. Later I asked them about the rest of my schedule. At 12:30 I went under the general, and my procedure ended at 1:20. I am amazed at how fast you recover from a general these days — I haven't had surgery under a general since I was a teenager and a rural hospital decided to explore my nuts, and I guess things have changed a lot since then (and I suppose outside of the obvious, these days I'd have had my balls ultrasounded or something instead of cut open). But anyway, it's pretty cool that you can knock someone totally out and bring them back.
The girl who did my admission at the hospital was really funny (I love it when normal looking people confess to me that they're “freaks” too). Anyway, it was a cool crossed-paths, because she'd been tattooed by my old friend Thor ages ago — she said she'd be covered in tattoos, but that if she was, her boyfriend would never marry her. It was hilarious because she was really manic… I can see her going out one day and getting just covered. Maybe you'll see her on ModBlog.
The day of the procedure I was given some morphine right after I came out from the general (1:30PM) and never got any painkillers other than that. There was literally no pain whatsoever while I was lying in the bed, it was wild. But at the same time, it made it really boring, especially because I was released so much later than expected (thankfully Saira and Michael hung out). Anyway, they gave me a prescription for low-level painkillers (Tylenol with Codeine), but I didn't bother filling it because I wasn't sore or forgot in the rush to get home. After hanging out with Saira and Jon, I went up to bed (a four story climb), and couldn't sleep due to the pain.
In the morning Jon picked up my painkillers (and a cane), but I was pretty worried because I had initially been told I'd be walking out of the hospital the same day and that the biopsy's healing would be a non-issue. The thing is, while the joint and tumor area was really sore, the main pain I felt was in my calf muscle, and the entire left half of the lower leg had no sensation… I noticed that the bandages around my inicision were tight, probably denting the skin in about an inch. I loosened it, which reduced the pain a great deal (and I'm sure the painkillers helped too!). I was worried that a potential eighteen hours of having my leg tourniquetted, so I called up my surgeon (who didn't know I'd been discharged — he thought he'd be seeing me in person) and he let me know that to get to the tumor to take the saple they had to cut through the muscle (if they'd gone a more direct path, they'd have to deal with a lot of nerves and blood vessels). So I guess the severed muscle is spasming or something and it's supposed to hurt. I'd rather it didn't hurt, but it's good to know it's not a complication. I actually just changed the dressing and everything looks very healthy.
I was supposed to get tattooed tomorrow but because of the cut through the calf I'm not back in my feet yet or really feeling very well, so I had to cancel that appointment. So another day of Star Trek and a little typing. The only thing that sucks is that the closest bathroom is two stories away, ha…
