I can't sleep.
It's 340am on a sunday, I am supposed to wake up at 0630hrs to get ready for church, and I'm still up.
I tried to sleep, but you know what happens when you overthink it - in this case, thinking hard about sleeping - you can't do it, especially when it comes to slumber!
I've been in bed since midnight and here I am, still awake. I never had this problem until I was hospitalized about two weeks ago. I guess, now that I'm getting enough rest, there's been no lack of sleep, as is usually the case when I'm working 5 days a week.
I'm going to shut down my laptop now, say my prayers, and drift off, without thinking about it.
Otherwise, I'll just join my mother in the living room, and watch Germany fight for third place in the World Cup. GO GERMANY!!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Of Screws and Stitches and Everything in Between...
A week ago, I went under the knife.
In my previous entry, I mentioned a plate and four screws that were discovered in my left leg when the doctor had x-rays done on both my legs. He scheduled my surgery for June 29 to remove the "implants" as they're referred to by the hospital people, as one of the screws looked to be impinging on a nerve.
The day came, and I had to admit myself at 8am. Half an hour later, I was shown to my bed in the women's ward. My folks, who were with me through the admission process, left half an hour later to return in the evening.
I was nervous about the operation. I knew it was a simple procedure, but being cut open at 5 years of age is different when one is 30-something years old. You become more aware of what's about to take place, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous.
For one thing, I was alone when they prepared me just before the surgery. A couple of nurses came in to see me every ten minutes - to collect my blood, run blood pressure tests and also had me pee in a cup! I was then presented with the dreaded hospital gown, with instructions to remove all my underwear plus any jewelry I had on me. Believe me when I say there is no dignity in donning a hospital gown! My doctor then paid me a visit and briefed me on what would be done while in the OR. By this time it was 1030am, and my surgery wasn't until 2pm, so I tried to relax my thoughts by reading and listening to some music.
But fifteen minutes later, two nurses wheel in a bed and ask me to jump onto it, as they were taking me to the operating room. Needless to say, I was nervous. Removing the sarong I was wearing to conceal myself from the waist down, I propped onto the bed, and received an injection in the bum.
That trip to the operating room felt like the longest of my life! Here, I was "parked" just outside the OR while one of the doctors asked me some procedural questions. Then the anesthesiologist asked me if I was allergic to any medication and explained what would be given to me post-op, for any pain I may experience.
I was then left alone to panic for a few minutes! What was wrong with me? It wasn't like I was going for open heart surgery, for goodness' sake! I wished I hadn't sent my mum home so soon! By the time I pulled myself together, the doors of the operating room opened and I was wheeled into it, then was asked to move myself on to the operating 'table'. The last things I remembered were an IV being placed through my left hand and a wire with a clip placed on my right index finger to monitor my heart rate. And just like it was in the movies, an oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth to breathe. I was out by my third breath.
Before I knew it, I woke up drowsy, but aware that the surgery was over... and had drifted in and out of consciousness as I waited to be transported back into my bed and wheeled into my room. But I wasn't allowed to drift off into sleep yet as the anesthesiologist paid me a visit to check my pain levels.
It was another hour before my doctor paid me a visit after the surgery to tell me that he couldn't remove fhe screws! Well duh, doc! It's been more than 20 years that those babies have been in there, they're very much a part of my tibia! Fearing he had cracked the tibia, he put my leg in a cast and I was taken the next day to the Xray department to check out the extent of any damage he was concerned he had caused from trying to dislodge the screws. That meant I had to stay one more night.
It was a nightmare staying in the hospital, mainly because I refused to use a bedpan and had the nurses' help to get me to the toilet in a wheelchair because of the cast. Still I'd much rather clean up after my self than get those poor nurses to do it for me. I was adamant about being as independent as possible. I also slept a lot and didn't have much of an appetite, until my family had visited me.
The following day, I was taken to get X-rays done, and an hour later, the doc returned with the results. There were no cracks, thank goodness, so I could go home without the cast and be on crutches for a couple of weeks. On the day I was to be discharged, I was taken to the physiotherapy room to learn how to use the crutches.
It's been a week since my surgery. I've got one more week before I start walking normally again. I feel so much better now than I was a week ago. My family's been taking care of me since I got home. But the last two days, I've been getting my own glass of water and moving as much as I can so I don't lose the strength in my left leg.
I know that my knees will need to be replaced eventually, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let that happen. It's up to me to lose the weight so my knees don't suffer.
My doctor has been good to me, and I'm glad I chose him to tell me what's wrong with me and what needs to be done. I'm looking forward to September... I can go back to my workouts and being serious about losing weight.
For now, I'm just preparing to walk without the aid of the crutches. And living a better life.
In my previous entry, I mentioned a plate and four screws that were discovered in my left leg when the doctor had x-rays done on both my legs. He scheduled my surgery for June 29 to remove the "implants" as they're referred to by the hospital people, as one of the screws looked to be impinging on a nerve.
The day came, and I had to admit myself at 8am. Half an hour later, I was shown to my bed in the women's ward. My folks, who were with me through the admission process, left half an hour later to return in the evening.
I was nervous about the operation. I knew it was a simple procedure, but being cut open at 5 years of age is different when one is 30-something years old. You become more aware of what's about to take place, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous.
For one thing, I was alone when they prepared me just before the surgery. A couple of nurses came in to see me every ten minutes - to collect my blood, run blood pressure tests and also had me pee in a cup! I was then presented with the dreaded hospital gown, with instructions to remove all my underwear plus any jewelry I had on me. Believe me when I say there is no dignity in donning a hospital gown! My doctor then paid me a visit and briefed me on what would be done while in the OR. By this time it was 1030am, and my surgery wasn't until 2pm, so I tried to relax my thoughts by reading and listening to some music.
But fifteen minutes later, two nurses wheel in a bed and ask me to jump onto it, as they were taking me to the operating room. Needless to say, I was nervous. Removing the sarong I was wearing to conceal myself from the waist down, I propped onto the bed, and received an injection in the bum.
That trip to the operating room felt like the longest of my life! Here, I was "parked" just outside the OR while one of the doctors asked me some procedural questions. Then the anesthesiologist asked me if I was allergic to any medication and explained what would be given to me post-op, for any pain I may experience.
I was then left alone to panic for a few minutes! What was wrong with me? It wasn't like I was going for open heart surgery, for goodness' sake! I wished I hadn't sent my mum home so soon! By the time I pulled myself together, the doors of the operating room opened and I was wheeled into it, then was asked to move myself on to the operating 'table'. The last things I remembered were an IV being placed through my left hand and a wire with a clip placed on my right index finger to monitor my heart rate. And just like it was in the movies, an oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth to breathe. I was out by my third breath.
Before I knew it, I woke up drowsy, but aware that the surgery was over... and had drifted in and out of consciousness as I waited to be transported back into my bed and wheeled into my room. But I wasn't allowed to drift off into sleep yet as the anesthesiologist paid me a visit to check my pain levels.
It was another hour before my doctor paid me a visit after the surgery to tell me that he couldn't remove fhe screws! Well duh, doc! It's been more than 20 years that those babies have been in there, they're very much a part of my tibia! Fearing he had cracked the tibia, he put my leg in a cast and I was taken the next day to the Xray department to check out the extent of any damage he was concerned he had caused from trying to dislodge the screws. That meant I had to stay one more night.
It was a nightmare staying in the hospital, mainly because I refused to use a bedpan and had the nurses' help to get me to the toilet in a wheelchair because of the cast. Still I'd much rather clean up after my self than get those poor nurses to do it for me. I was adamant about being as independent as possible. I also slept a lot and didn't have much of an appetite, until my family had visited me.
The following day, I was taken to get X-rays done, and an hour later, the doc returned with the results. There were no cracks, thank goodness, so I could go home without the cast and be on crutches for a couple of weeks. On the day I was to be discharged, I was taken to the physiotherapy room to learn how to use the crutches.
It's been a week since my surgery. I've got one more week before I start walking normally again. I feel so much better now than I was a week ago. My family's been taking care of me since I got home. But the last two days, I've been getting my own glass of water and moving as much as I can so I don't lose the strength in my left leg.
I know that my knees will need to be replaced eventually, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let that happen. It's up to me to lose the weight so my knees don't suffer.
My doctor has been good to me, and I'm glad I chose him to tell me what's wrong with me and what needs to be done. I'm looking forward to September... I can go back to my workouts and being serious about losing weight.
For now, I'm just preparing to walk without the aid of the crutches. And living a better life.
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