I'm back in the bosom of my house if not my family. My mother, wisely, decided to keep the boyoz for another night. More than likely a good thing. I have discovered I suck at being a patient. I wasn't a complete hag. In fact, I was very polite and nice. My goal is not to let everyone know I'm a nurse, despite having a friend pick out who was taking care of me. And picking out my anesthesiologist. Okay, so, I could have tried harder to hide it. Seriously, though, being wheeled to an OR on a stretcher, when you are the one usually doing the wheeling, is a hives inducing anxiety fest. It's probably a sign that I'm a control freak. I had to keep telling myself the same thing I tell my patients, "Keep your hands inside the ride until it comes to a complete stop." Luckily, there was some Versed handy, and my Dr. Good Drugs was no slacker on giving it. The last thing I remember was getting my ECG leads placed and that is okay with me! As it turns out, my Dr. Good Drugs was not one of the ones I requested, but still one of the good ones. My only request was "don't let me puke." And what a fine job he did of fulfilling my request.
Rolling into the recovery room is where things got interesting. The CO2 caused an uncomfortable feeling of *ahem* fullness. In my stupor, I was trying my best to get away from the sensation when I heard the nurse tell Dr. Good Drugs that I was agitated. I opened my eyes, he looked at me and said, "I can give you some more Versed to make you comfortable." Yeah, boy! After he left the nurse said, "Wow. He took care of you." That's right. It's not what you know, but who you know! And apparently we were both on the same wavelength of "better living through pharmacology."
Knowing what is going on can be troublesome when under the effect of narcotics. Drifting in and out of sleep, I could hear the pulse oximetery alarm going off. I would take several deep breaths and the damn thing would continue to ring. What the hell? I'm on O2 for crying out loud! I realized it the was the guy next to me after the 3rd time. They then wheeled in a lady who had just had her tubes tied. This gal was babbling like I always fear I will do coming out of anesthesia. (Not a good idea when you have surgery in your place of employment. Who knows what blackmail could arise?) She was loudly exclaiming how she loved her anesthesiologist, how she loved her doctor and how she would never get pregnant again. Did you know drugs destroy your filters? I started laughing and blurted, rather loudly, what I'm sure her nurse was thinking, "Oh shit." I then clapped my hand over my mouth, prayed that no one heard me and decided going back to sleep was the best for all.
Apparently I have become so chemically naive, that one Percocet will put me on my lips. When did that happen? Although, in my defense, I hadn't eaten anything since last night. Which then had me searching for saltines about a half hour after I popped said Perc. Mmmmmm. Percoceeeet. (Insert Homer gargling noise here.)
Once at home I slept through three On Demand movies. Luckily, the were the free ones and I'd seen them before. Today I didn't see Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, Earth Girls Are Easy, and Groundhog Day. Now that I am conscious, I'm enjoying The Holy Grail.
"Go away or I shall taunt you a second time!"
Thanks to all my friends and their well wishes. I look like someone took a mini-bat from the Mariners "Bat Night" and beat me repeatedly in a very specific location. Either that particular instrument was a bitch to wield, or I have piss poor protoplasm.