I survived! It's not as though that was really something to worry about, but from my point of view here in the recliner, it's worth stating for the record none-the-less.
First the little factoids:
- The doctors were great. The pre-surgery discussion was mostly the surgeon musing to De that he thought it was generally a good thing when the patient and surgeon had more-or-less the same surgery in mind and at least similar expectations for the outcome.
- The reconstruction took about 2 hours, and I spent another 2-1/2 hours lounging about the recovery room where the nurses, on the phone with one of the docs, somewhat irritably worked to get my consciousness up and my blood pressure down. I was apparently an unrepentant slacker on both counts. "Senator, I have no recollection ..." I do recall they were more-or-less polite, but it was clear I was holding up the pre-holiday preparations or something.
- "More-or-less" was clearly the operative concept this time around.
- I was thinking 3 or maybe 4 incisions would be fine for this job; 6 is apparently more-or-less the same. (With 6 incisions and 4 bruises my mom, of all people, told me I look like a connect-the-dots puzzle. For just a moment I was tempted to provide a pic as proof but I have nightmares of reoccurring shaved belly images with who-knows-what superimposed on and showing up at odd times for years.)
- I was thinking a little bit of "belly inflation" so he could see what he was doing would work great; turning my midsection into a street carnival moon walk is apparently more-or-less just that.
- I was thinking a few stitches in my diaphragm to keep my stomach where it belongs would be dandy; a circus tarp of medical mesh lashed into place is apparently more-or-less the same thing.
- The nurses were great and it was clear some of them must have had an agricultural background since they knew just what is done for a mildly bloated cow and assumed that same technique would be fine for me.
- I spent one rather undignified night in the hospital getting everything ‘restarted’ (I'll spare you all the details on that one) all the while waiting for my next round of pain meds to show up.
- They yanked out my tubes (and more than a little arm hair) and De took me home to my recliner after noon on Saturday.
There is a bit of good news. The going-in plan was an all-liquid diet for two weeks. It turns out a few things like yogurt, pudding, soft ice cream and thinly mixed cream of wheat are on the menu right from the git-go as long as no bite is larger than an M&M. One M&M – and not the peanut kind. Still, that’s good news. Also, once I got the Moonwalk mostly deflated (Ah! No details!), I’m pretty comfortable and have backed off on the pain meds already. This is, of course, a two-edged sword and since I’m not supposed to be doing much of anything at all De has already had to wave said sword my direction more than once to keep my keester in the recliner.
I’ll call tomorrow and get my follow-up appointment in place for roughly two weeks in the future. All restrictions apply, to the letter, until he says otherwise.
So, once again, I'm in the recliner, the musings have begun, and I’ll be sharing them.