I am presently celebrating a milestone of sorts. Three weeks ago yesterday, I returned home from the hospital after undergoing spinal surgery. The day of surgery I entered the hospital with severe pain in my low back that radiated down my right leg and into my foot, causing numbness, tingling and an increasing lack of ability to function throughout the day. After having the worsening condition for nearing ten years, I was told by my surgeon that it was not a fatal disease and I could continue to go on as I was, adding the medical devices I would need to move (i.e., walker and electric scooter) as the condition continued to deteriorate; manage the condition by taking spinal injections (did that - didn't work) and physical therapy (did that - didn't work); or we could fix the problem by removing the excess growth of bone and arthritis compressing my spine to the point where it disappeared on an MRI, and then fuse the two vertebra together where the impingement had been to stabilize the spine. That definitely sounded like the plan, thus the entrance into the hospital.
The day of surgery was as uneventful as a day of surgery can be. We arrived way too early in the morning to prepare and within ninety minutes of my arrival, I was wheeled into the operating room. I was definitely relaxed, but not a little bit overwhelmed by the bed on which I would be placed (stomach down with arms over my head) for the operation. It had several sections, none of which appeared to be supported in any fashion. It was a very good time to go to sleep. The next thing I recall is being called from the netherworld by someone saying surgery was over and trying to determine what surgery was being discussed and who the person was calling. I recall the trip through the hallways to my room - or was I going toward the light as fluorescent bulbs lined the way.
My room was pleasant and very bright and I slowly rose to consciousness to see the beautiful faces of my fantastic husband and oldest son. The surgeon spoke with them and told them the surgery had gone well and he thought I would be very happy with the results. Now all I needed to do was heal, and three weeks ago I was discharged to home. At this point, I should stand and cheer - Ta-Da! It's over. I'm doing great! Yeah, right.
I was ready for the healing period before I entered the hospital. My employer was informed I would be on medical leave for approximately eight weeks, I knew I would be unable to lift more than five pounds, bend, twist, or do much travel. I had received excellent advice from my sister-in-law who had similar surgery and shared information that aided her. I was ready - or so I thought.
Those who have had surgery are aware of the "log-roll" used to get in and out of bed. That was my first problem. I am five foot, one inch in height. When I actually sit on the edge of our bed, my feet do not touch the floor. My "log-roll" became more of a beached whale flop as I was able to hoist the upper part of my body onto the bed while my legs crept up the side of the bed until I finally reached the top. My long-suffering husband helped by standing by and lifting as needed and providing a barrier to my simply flopping off the bed. Together we made it and I found myself in bed, the only place where I am allowed to be without a confining brace that reminds me of all the things I am unable to do. At this point I was taking narcotic pain medication that aided with sleep (and incredible dreams), and the ability to move gingerly from the bed, to the toilet, to the straight-backed chair, to the reclining sofa with shuffling walks between those trips.
My darling had to help me monitor the condition of my wound. I learned I have a nearly five-inch scar down the center of my back. At first it was bruised and angry red, amazing us with the fact it was held together with bits of tape - no stitches or staples. I also had a drain placed during surgery that involved a second wound, again covered with steri-strips. The wounds are healing well - the steri-strips are gone, although some adhesive remains in spots, and the bruising has begun to fade. I am well aware that bone was removed from my hip to help with the fusion in my spine, and the bones are knitting. I consider the brace to be my "cast" while my bones knit. Taking a shower is a challenge and I have found it amazing the uses there are for the rubber-coated tongs provided at the hospital as an extension of my arms. Why didn't I think of that? We could be millionaires! I am also the owner of a walker - never thought it would happen, but it has been a balance-saver
I am learning to walk again. Because of trauma the nerves in my back endured, they must now regenerate and every once in a while, I experience some strange sensations in my feet and legs. I am no longer taking narcotic pain relievers and rely on Tylenol to keep the pain at bay. I just keep telling myself it's proof that I'm healing and things are heading in the right direction. Praise God!
One interesting thing that has occurred is a change in my sleeping patterns. I have attempted to retire at the same time each night because I want to retain as much normalcy as possible. However, I have discovered that I am able easiest to fall asleep on my left side (after nearly perfecting my whale flop procedure). Peabody, our Pekingese/Poodle mix loves to sleep on my feet. I usually maneuver from beneath his body and end up with my feet next to him. Misty, our little Papillon/Bishon mix loves to place her back against mine and snuggle in for the duration. When it comes time for me to assume a new position (on my back), I am suddenly faced with one dog between my legs and another snuggled under my armpit as I also deal with the pillow that is supporting my knees. These position changes bring full awakening (at least to me) and an hour or two of prayer or rambling thoughts.
Last night, as I listened to my beloved's even breathing and felt the warmth of the pups, I found myself praying again for family and their safety and health, as well as their closeness to God. I also found myself reflecting on a post shared by our son from a friend who was rejoicing over three years of victory over addiction to methamphetamines. Our son had the privilege of praying with this friend at the time and I found myself in tears once again at the wondrous workings of our great God. These times of wakefulness have been times of blessing for me. When the pain is severe, or my legs feel weak and I wonder if I will ever feel "normal" again, I can count my many blessings. I am grateful I have an excellent surgeon and the care at the hospital was extraordinary. I rejoice that I have a family and friends I can be assured have kept me in their thoughts and prayers. I rejoice that, with each ache and pain, I am aware my body is knitting together as it did before I was born, although not as perfectly and much older. I have spent much time lately thanking God for who He is and the wonders He has wrought. Pain and weakness are my companions at this time; but I am upheld by the best husband in the world and we have enjoyed our slow walks. This time away from work and stress have allowed me to enjoy my husband and family and times alone with the Lord. What more could anyone ask?
