Expect The Unexpected

You know how there is a book called, "What To Expect When You Are Expecting"? There needs to be a book called "What To Expect When You have Spinal Cord Stimulator Surgery." Amazing the things they just FORGOT to tell us.

I guess if we should have learned anything by now in life, it would be to expect the unexpected. And so it is with this surgery. I didn't expect so much pain, or bruising. I did expect to be bedridden longer and I'm not (get too stiff if I lay very long). I expected smaller incisions-surprise! I didn't expect to sleep well, but I have been sleeping great (probably thanks to the Percocet). I didn't realize just how dependent I would be on someone for the basic things like dressing or scratching the top of my head. I didn't expect the restrictions to, well, RESTRICT me so much. Cramps my style! For example, I wanted to make potato soup for lunch. Russ had to fetch the potato for me, and the pan. And I had to add water to the pan a little at a time while it sat on the burner, rather than holding it under the faucet, due to the weight. Everything I take for granted must be reevaluated these 8 weeks of recovery. I'll learn to appreciate my independence more when I get it back. One sign that I will have "arrived" is when I'm allowed to drive-in 6-8 weeks time.

Good news: fever is reduced and the redness connecting the two incisions is from bruising rather than infection. How did I know? It started turning orange/yellow.

Speaking of colors-I truly believe I've got my own rainbow or coat-of-many-colors going on with this bruise. How can one bruise embrace my belly and wrap underneath my arm and land somewhere on my back? ONE bruise! Perhaps my skin and soft tissue is revolting from the surgical attack, or maybe the fat cells are wondering why they weren't siphoned off and deemed medically unnecessary.

And my hair...boy is it a sight! Right now, I really don't care. Before surgery, I thought I would care what I looked like (making sure I had enough clothes that would work, and people to do my hair). But now, if I get a shower every other day and clean clothes on, I really don't care if I'm ready for the red carpet. But my hair...it really IS awful. How in the world can I develop bed-head from hair that was combed straight down like a Peter Pan cut, when I don't toss and turn in bed? However Russ positions me for my sleep position is how I wake up in the morning. Stiff as a board. Sometime in the night, the hair fairies came out to play in my tresses to distress them beyond repair. How important is a hairstyle in the full scheme of things anyway?

Yes, the surgeon left my sense-of-humor gene intact. Laughter really is a merry medicine to the deepest of the deepest hurts-even to the bones.

Thanks for praying-please keep it up!