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Yep, you read that right.

Technically, I was “fixed” when I had my tubes tied many years ago, but now I’m 100% unable to do the deed.  Which is fine by me, because at my age I’m not interested in any more kids – and as for enjoyment, there are other ways ….

I know, that’s way too much information.

Surgery for the prolapsed bladder (colpocleisis) went well, and I’m back home.  No surgical pain, just a little muscle soreness; and, of course, my nether region feels like I just spent a very fun weekend with a romantic partner.  I can handle that.

The surgeon and the hospital staff were awesome.  Every single person – the doctors, nurses, aides, food service personnel, cleaning people, etc. – were compassionate,  caring, and non-judgmental.  I haven’t felt so pampered in a very long time.

It was a little unnerving when the surgeon came in and informed me that my blood clotting test was abnormal and it might not be safe to do the surgery, but they would redraw the blood and redo the test.  Fortunately, the second time it came back ok.  Whew!  I was already prepped and hooked up to an IV.

For the surgery, I remember being rolled into the operating room and everyone moving around and moving me onto the table and positioning my arms.  At one point, someone complained that something in the room wasn’t working properly.  So, the very last thing I remember is asking a nurse if I would be put under soon because I was getting nervous.

The next thing I recall is waking up in the recovery room, although I didn’t really know where I was.  I thought I was at home, having a dream about being in a hospital – or maybe a dream about being on a spaceship because the room was kind of long and narrow.  Once I woke up a bit more, I realized where I was and that a nurse was stationed right next to my bed.  There could have been a recovering patient on the other side of her, but in any event, it seemed she was caring for only one or two people.  I’m not used to being watched over so carefully.  It was very comforting.

Recovery took a little longer than usual because I was vomiting, even though I had been given anti-nausea medication.  But eventually that stopped, and eventually I became fairly oriented, at which point my bed was rolled upstairs to a patient room.

Before going to the hospital, I had privately been concerned that I would wind up on the maternity ward since this was technically an OB/GYN case.  That happened to me years ago after a miscarriage, and I recall how upsetting it was to hear newborn babies when I had just lost my own.

But for this current admission, I was in a room on the surgical wing.  It was a double room, and luckily I had the bed near the window instead of the one near the door.  Somehow the window side of the room just seems a little more private.  My roommate was a lady about my age and was very quiet.  There was a curtain between us so I couldn’t even see her until I was able to get up and walk around.

So, I should have slept well, right?  That would have been nice.  Unfortunately, my IV had been placed into my arm in such a way that every time I moved, the stupid machine began beeping.  I felt bad that the noise would bother my roommate so I spent most of the night trying to lie still with my arm extended.  And no, I didn’t ask for the needle to be moved because I’m what’s known as a “hard stick” and didn’t want to be poked over and over again while someone looked for a “good vein.”

Nonetheless, I did konk out periodically, and with some very nice drugs in my system, I felt pretty rested the next morning.

Then it was breakfast time.

Most people are of the opinion that hospital food sucks, but that was not the case at my hospital.  They have an actual printed menu just like a restaurant, amd whoever’s cooking the food knows what they’re doing.

For breakfast I received scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, oatmeal, coffee and juice.  Much more than I would ever eat at home.  And as much as I love bacon, I never have it at home because I can’t afford it any more.  Yum, yum!

I was still there for lunch, which was meatloaf, mashed potatoes (real, not instant), and fresh steamed broccoli (I can’t eat green beans, and they allowed substitutions!).  Dessert was lemon ice.  Again, I asked for coffee because I thought it might get my digestive system moving.  I drink it black and I ordered decaf, not that you need to know that.  Even the coffee tasted better than what I normally had at home, and I don’t think it was because I was on drugs.

I would definitely recommend Millard Fillmore Suburban Hospital in Amherst, New York to anyone who needs their services.  Which, hopefully, will not apply to anyone I know.

But even though the hospital experience was as pleasant as it could possibly be, I’m glad to be home.  The only drawback is the damn Foley catheter I had to come home with.  It’s not painful, nor even uncomfortable.  It’s just annoying.  I can’t find any good place to hang the bag, and while I can lay it on the floor on top of a sterile pad, that’s not ideal, either, because Puppy Cody shows way too much interest in it.  Sigh. But I will meet with the surgeon tomorrow and hopefully come home without that stupid bag.

This has been a long post, but I have one final thing to say:

I am truly overwhelmed by the amount of emotional support I’ve received from family and friends, both offline and online, in this country and elsewhere in the world.  This surgery was fairly routine – not brain surgery, not heart surgery, not cancer.  Yet so many people reached out with their thoughts and prayers, even though many of them are caring for their own family members with health issues.  I’m humbled.  And grateful.  And feeling so undeserving.  But also feeling renewed hope for us all – somehow we manage to come together to support each other despite distance, differing lifestyles and cultures, and our own busy lives.  I hope that never, ever changes.

Hugs, all.

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I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com
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Images by Cordelia’s Mom/TeddyRosalieStudio