November 16 Turns on Me

As you may or may not recall from blog entry from a few days ago, here's how I thought surgeon follow-up might go:  "I'm a little apprehensive about whether I'll be praised for my adherence to the whole undergarment endeavor, or lectured on why I should go out and buy tighter ones."

Hah.  From where I stood (completely exposed, most of the time, with a cast and crew of Rod, the doctor, his nurse Donna, and someone who I suspect is a trainee of some kind but whose demeanor and dress remind me of the era of Rosie the Riveter, not the kind and compassionate staff who have helped me in the past.

I have not yet realized that I have "overdone" it for the day (fresh off of Ari's Radio City performance, described in previous "happier" entry.) We start off okay; the doctor is very pleased with the upper level work, and says I'm healing ahead of schedule. 

Lulled into a feeling of ease, I show him the rest of the territory, and he immediately sees the fluid buildup in my lower abdomen (which I suspected was there but thought would absorb by itself over time.)  Here's where one of my wretched imaginary situations happens - he pulls out a needle and a tube and a bag or something and tells me not to look, and, well, he got a lot of fluid and it HURT.  But I've been through hurt and was glad to get rid of the fluid.

He takes a look at the ultra firm garment that I'm so proud of and notices we've slashed the top so it won't dig into my ribs.  Well, this will not do at all.  What if it rolls down?  So I change into another kind I've brought with me which seems to appease him..  Then, I start with my little notebook page of questions, which he is entirely used to, and I think, mildly amused by at this point.

Here is where I made my fatal error - I was told by the nurse I needed to sleep on my back, and it was getting a little tough, so I thought if I hauled out the ole' longline bras for more support at night I could wear them just to shore things up and allow me to sleep on my side.  He took one look at the LLB, his eyes lit up, and he decided  it would be the PERFECT thing to keep on over the waist high girdle, ALL THE TIME, to keep the waistband from rolling.

In an effort to explain that I was trying to make good progress, I told him I was getting along with pain control with just 2 Advil in the morning and then 3 at night - no other pain relief - so proud of myself for not using the Oxycodone.  And he said, basically, that's why I probably had this extra fluid problem, from the Advil.  I felt like I had been punched, not physically, but intellectually.  I have tried so hard to be informed about what could go wrong, how to work at avoiding it, and everything else; I was just furious and disappointed and beyond consoling.

 Then he tells me he wants to see me again on Monday (my longest work day) and, as it turns out, at 3 p.m., which is right around when I go to work.  So the realization that I would need to get coverage for myself yet again, pilot myself the half hour to 40 minute drive to (and then from) Englewood for an undetermined amount of time on Monday afternoon, potentially have more fluid drawn (painful but necessary, I know), and possibly (once again) not have anything positive said about my recovery, added to the lack of rest of the day so far - I just couldn't help it.

When poor Tania (the new nurse/receptionist who is lovely and even gave me her cell #) asked if I would sign a release to have photos of my work posted on the practice's website, I had enough control not to rip it up and throw it at her.  I simply asked her to put it back in my file and maybe I'd feel better about signing it on Monday. (I know I'll sign it eventually, since I've already let him "show me" at a big convention in Milwaukee:)  But I wasn't doing one more thing for that office yesterday beyond trying not to cry in front of the other waiting room occupants.  By the time Ari & Rod got me down in the elevator and Rod went to get the car from the torrential downpour to where we were waiting, I was sobbing pretty hysterically on poor Ari's shoulder.

Got home, crawled into bed completely dressed, and slept for almost 2 hours.  Rod very kindly brought me a chocolate milkshake for dinner, which I shared with Ari.  Figured things were going to be okay.

Right.  2 a.m. wake up, do the regular routine - get a drink, potty run, back in bed.  Then the waterworks, all over again.  Half an hour in I realize it's not stopping so I go sit in the family room, where Rod finds me (around 4, I think).  Half a box of tissues later, I still haven't figured out what's exactly wrong, but I'm cried out enough to go back to bed, take a couple of nerve-soothing (really low dose) Ativans, and finally fall back asleep. 

I don't know if I'm angry at the doctor's office for not giving me ANY post-op instructions on the liposuction part of my procedure, so I felt completely under-educated and unprepared for what happened, or if I'm angry at myself for not pushing harder to get the information, or for overdoing it so much in the past week as to maybe cause this sort of "breakdown", which is the only thing I can describe it as.  I know from past experience that you really can't dig yourself out of a funk by concentrating on it, so today, I'm going to concentrate on doing some fun stuff (Hebrew grammar exercises & Food Network programming), some work stuff (remotely from home) and as much rest and fluids as I can legitimately handle.

Tonight is the synagogue's Eternal Lights dinner, and it's a great evening - not stuffy or anything but a lot of laughs with really nice people and good food.  I was really looking forward to it, but now I'm not so sure.Gosh, I hate this feeling.............................

  Maybe I'm just going to have to go and get it to work its own magic once I get there.  A little makeup, a little jewelry, perhaps just one little Cosmopolitan?