Pain

I write this at 3:30am.  Not because I could not sleep, but because I did and my current pain management scheme has me popping a few extra strength tylenol every 4-5 hours.  And you guessed it, that was last about 5 hours ago.  But as I lie in my hotel bed ruminating I am reminded of the Barenaked Ladies song "One Week" at the moment and so a post is in order.

You see it was was one week ago this morning that I stood waiting in the darkness in front of my hotel for the cab that never showed.  This taking me to the med center for surgery.  If you need a cab in Boston, at a certain time and place, forget it.  I did, and hoofed it to the hospital in time for the event.  The cab was just meerly a precaution on my part.  The environs here could be at best described as "industrial".  And a stroll in the darkness was not my idea of how to start a week off where I would be at the mercy of others. It is kind of funny how my perspective of my personal safety has changed in the last year.  Maybe it is the diminished bravado, a realization of mortality, my new role as "potential victim", maybe it is just hormones (which I had to stop two weeks before).  Regardless of my concern I arrived bipedally in a timely manner.

I am not going to cover the surgery.  You can get those kinds of details from lots of places.  The nice part for me was this was my first interaction with a quasi government institution where from the git-go, I was me, Sharon.  It said so on my wristband, complete with an "F".  I was mildly amused at that.  And the ease with which it had appeared, and the lack of concern on anybody's part.  Prep, questions, checks, the usual litany and I was off.  And now we come to the part of the story which is identified by the title of the post.  Pain.

It should probably be pain and discomfort.  But hey, that is not as catchy now is it.  Before my surgery I had been telling folks do not worry about me.  I will be fine, after all in 2004 I had heart surgery and that by comparison this should be a "cake walk".  I told them I had a good friend, who had walked this road ahead of me, who was a former EMT, and that she would be there the day after the matter was complete for support.  That I had my contingencies in place.  All true.

And despite all my planning, and organization and rhetoric it was worse than I thought it would be.  [Whoa, Sharon, WTF, you are supposed to say it was easy, to reassure all the rest of us who want to walk the path too.]  Let me be clear.  The doctor, staff, hospital, hotel, drivers, hell everybody, have been spectacular.  Not once did something happen that was not what was explained or expected.  Everybody told the truth.  Everybody but me.

Now a week is not a lot of time on this road.  And I, by all accounts, am not a really patient sort.  So part of this angst is my own undoing.  That is to say if I was a much more happy-go-lucky sort with few concerns in my life I might have been content to lie here for a week in a codeine induced stupor.  I chose another path.  My nursemaid tolerated my resistance to taking things, and in the end she is probably wiser than me, but, as intense as she is (I am thinking a 9.5 out of 10 here) I am probably a fraction more "Type A" as she points out after watching an interchange with me and a waitress.  She is not fond of my feminine demeanor on some things (yet).

And so I did not take as many pain meds as were prescribed.  I went for the over the counter version as soon as possible.  Why you are probably asking?  Like with my heart surgery in 2004 there were a lot of things that needed doing now, as then.  I have to be back on my feet, and on my game as soon as possible.  Period.  And so let's talk about pain, and transition.

As I sat here around day 3-4 post surgery, kind of just bobbing in the chair as my friend paid her one of several daily visits. She says,  "Yeah, I know where you are at."  I looked up and managed a weak smile.  I said, "I suppose you do."  She had two surgeries to accomplish FFS.  That, is commitment.  She says "Transition is not for sissies".  A most humorous statement.  She is right.   If you are a sissy, then this is not for you.  I am not speaking in any terms of gender mind you.  I am talking about strength of character.  The ability to stand a trial of your person, physical, and mental.  Before you start, know this.  And this is me talking in the middle of the journey.  

The rest of my days are taken with getting used to the feeling of having your head swollen like a bag of jiffy pop and colored purple.  Like some horrific outcome of an old school diving helmet accident.  Getting comfortable, something I used to do easily, will now be weeks, probably months away from now.

The good news is my strategy is paying off.  I am alert.  Body functions returning to normal, if you take my meaning.  The swelling went down enough to see again (yep, add that in for a few days).  And even though I have one more day before the Frankenstein-like sutures and staples are removed I can start to see new me.  At day 6 I went to dinner, battered as I am, in a real restaurant, with real people and my good friend.  Land ho!  I am not displeased.

[Gee Sharon, this post is a downer.]  Hardly!  I live yet another day.  Each day will be better than the next.  I have to believe this, so should all of you.  The question to ask is, would you do it all again?  The answer is yes.  And probably the same way.  Ask me in six months if I feel differently.  I suspect the answer will be the same, just more so.  

The post is a caution, like those old precolumbian maps of the Atlantic Ocean which warned, beyond here lie dragons, or seamonsters.  A wary warning for my sisters traveling in my path.  Be ready, this is not easy.  Be prepared, and even when you think you are, have some in reserve, it will be needed.  And like Columbus (oddly enough the same day as my surgery 10/12) I know there is a new world to discover and relish.

As to the pain, it is going away.  A little bit more each day.  I am getting used to this feeling like I am wearing a cap and an ace bandage around my chin like some image from a Dickens novel, even though I am not.  This is the new me, time to get moving.  Pain, that is just god's way of telling you you are not dead yet.  :)