I Think I’m Going to Live

I wouldn’t have given you much for my chances twenty-four hours ago, but at the moment I not only think I’m going to live, but I may actually enjoy it.

This morning, I dragged my aching body into the shower and washed my hair. I can’t bend too far in any direction, so getting the shampoo out of my hair was tricky, and I couldn’t call The Squire, but I managed. Worse things have happened.

Yesterday, my throat was so sore from being intubated, and stuff being pushed out of the way so the surgeon could work, that if I hadn’t known better I’d have sworn I had strep. I can talk again today, but my voice is soft and squeaky, and I am trying not to speak more than necessary. The Squire says I am not snoring any more, but I do float to the surface fairly often making noises as if I am having bad dreams, which I don’t remember.  Possibly some residual memories of having the oxygen mask over my face when they put me under for the surgery. Other than the surgeon, every member of my “team” was female, and once I explained my problem with having stuff over my face, they all understood instantly, which is something male doctors don’t seem to grasp. I had to do some wiggling around to get my head where it needed to be, and I made some crack about “going to the GYN”.  One of the women chuckled and said they wanted me to skooch up this time, not down.

Both of my wrists are sore, bruised, and weak, as they had a neurologist running a continuous EMG while the surgeon was working, to avoid the danger of getting too close to my spinal cord.  I also have some sore places on my lower legs, but they are not uncomfortable or painful. They did make walking a bit tricky Monday evening and yesterday morning, but my hands being weak is obviously much more of a nuisance.  I can’t even lift the milk jug.

We had a time getting sleeping arrangements sorted out. We have a queen-sized bed, but it is upstairs, and The Squire was worried about me falling on the steps, so he insisted we use the sleeper in the living room, which is a standard double bed. It’s amazing how much difference that little bit of extra width makes! About halfway through the night I went upstairs, so we could both get some sleep (I was up about every two hours), but bless him, The Squire insisted upon following me up there. Apparently, not being able to hear me breathe worries him.  I think when we finally get the guestroom fixed up, we’ll look into a queen-sized bed for there, too.

I had written a few days ago that we couldn’t start the repairs to the TV/guest room until it rained hard enough to see if the work done outside was going to hold. Well, we had a real log lifter of a storm last night, and no leaks, so The Squire will call the construction company tomorrow to see when they can get started. And another fine mess that will be, Ollie.