Please forgive the shit formatting as I’m blogging from the telefonino.
This pic is the first thing I saw when they rolled me into the OR. Yes, that’s me bean. No, I don’t know how I acquired a beard in the snap at the far left. Just FYI I am NOT a bearded lady.
How did I take a pic in the OR? Who’s gonna stop me? I was the star of the day!
Here in ICU Land my two absofave nurses are Sandy, my night nurse (who Jen told you about) Alyssa (yesterday’s day nurse). They’re BRILLIANTLY awesome! The absolute best. Why? Caring and careful to avoid pain, responsive, good communicators and they laugh. Laughing is good.
I don’t know why but Sandy and my pre op nurse (whose name, in all the stress, escaped me) both said I was their favorite and wished all patients were like me. I’m astoundingly flattered but I don’t get it really. All I do is joke obnoxiously, tell them what ancient tunes they SHOULD be putting on their playlists and proclaim that I deserve ice cream for every last little thing which may have inconvenienced me.
Speaking of obnoxious, post op one of the residents came up to me and asked how I was feeling. Fer fuck’s sake, I replied, I just got out of 11 hours of brain surgery, how do you think I feel?
I realized that this was quite rude of me. After all, he was there too and HE was working! I apologized but think he’d already walked off.
N.b:, immediately after brain slice and dice is probably not the best time to ask me this question.
Yesterday I met with the PT lady and, while I didn’t perform fabulously there was slight progress and hope!
I’ll see her again at nine this morning for a try out with a walker. Now, I have soaring hope and know I’ll be disappointed when I’m not zooming the ICU halls. But still, slow and steady—I’ll win this race. Realistically, I’m just hoping I can at least stand up.
The nurses got me up outta bed yesterday to sit in a chair which felt good AND counts as exercise! They used a magic lift thingie. It was scary but worked. I didn’t fall. They also bathed me which always feels weird—being cleaned up by a stranger. A lovely, kind one but still...
The team of residents just stopped by to see how I was doing. They’re a reality based crowd, not a bunch of cheerleaders. I gotta do my own Rah, Rah, Go Donna Go shit.
What’d they say? If I’m remembering accurately, yes, I’ll walk again but how soon depends on how things go over the next week.
Patience—NOT one of my more strongly developed talents
