Alive and Kicking

Well, alive at least.

And kicking myself for not realizing how painful this little procedure would be.

Everything went well on Tuesday. I rather enjoy being put to sleep. It is an interesting process. I have flashes of memory after being given the first type of anesthesia: the nurses asking me to move to another bed, having my arms strapped down, the mask over my face. And then nothing until I woke up in recovery. Kinda cool.

I was still pretty drugged up when Glenn came in, but I fulfilled my responsibilities of eating, drinking, and going to the bathroom, so after a two second visit from the surgeon (I still am not sure what all they did), I was sent home. I went straight to bed. And then the big drugs began to wear off.

So I am left here with a 3-4 inch abdominal incision, feeling like my guts are going to fall out everytime I stand up. I've been through this before, having had two C-sections, but I did not think I would be revisiting those memories this time.

I think we may have turned a corner this afternoon, though. It was my third nap (of three) and I was able to sleep on my side. Being bed (or couch) ridden is much more enjoyable if there is more than one comfortable position to lay in.

And the pain has been tempered by helpful children, a willing husband, thoughtful friends, and loving family. Phone calls, visits, food, a trip to the store, and occupying Andrew have all been such blessings. And oh yeah--the Percocet too. Can't forget the Percocet.