It got worse, before it got better.
Once home, I claimed a corner of our sectional and would remain there. I wouldn’t be among the living for six or so more weeks.
In 2004, after the first surgery, I bounced back quickly. The third surgery in 2016, was more invasive, I was older and the damage caused by the blockage was more extensive. Recovery was not pleasant and it was slow going at best.
The Norco prescribed caused problems but was an absolute necessity. I had an incision that was longer than a dollar bill and full of staples.
Hallucinations became an everyday occurance. I truly think that my family thought I was going to “see things” for the rest of my life. That this was our “new norm.” None of us knew what to expect or what my new normal would be. I don’t remember many of the hallucinations or the stories that accompany them.
Apparently, there were lions, hired by Corey, to eat the pet zebras that I had in the backyard. There were a few phone calls made to my father in law, complaining about the transgressions of the lions, with much anger directed towards Corey for hiring them.
Apparently, there was a minor freak out, origin, the hands of Corey and his girlfriend at the time. Let me just say, when you are on enough pain killers to subdue an elephant, watching a Sci-Fi movie, the main characters being giant spiders, does not make for a good time. Well, at least not for the “subdued.” They had me convinced the movie was the evening news and the spiders were attacking Willis. Funny, not funny.
Then, there was the night that my, now son-in-law, thought I was possessed. Apparently, I got up off the couch and walked out the front door. Casey and Blake followed me not knowing what I was doing. The story goes, I turned towards him with crazy eyes, making a crunching noise. He thought I was possessed and ready to drop me if need be. The crunching noise was a cinnamon candy.
The only hallucinations I remember are the ones that include the “shadow people.” I spent many nights, laying in my spot on the couch, peeping out from under my blanket, watching the “shadow people.” They would walk from the back of the house only to disappear into the floor in the living room, waiting to make an appearance the very next night.
I didn’t sleep at all for two or three solid weeks. I ate only cinnamon disks and drank Icee’s. Nothing taste right. The part of my brain that was manipulated had everything to do with my appetite and my sleep patterns or lack thereof. I stayed nauseous for weeks. Again, due to the “brain manipulation.”
The pain was dulled to doable, thanks to the narcotics. I tried not to cry. Crying made the pressure worse. But I did cry and I cried a lot. Thank God for my family. They were patient but I know they were terrified.
I made myself start walking around the block around week five, maybe six. It was hot outside but I didn’t care. Nana, the faithful Yorkie, was with me every step of the way. She traveled on my hip in a doggie purse. She begged to go and then tolerated the bouncing. The summernats became my cheerleaders, bugging me every step of the way. The lake, my sanctuary, my happy place. I could be there in less than a five minute walk. I needed the water view to keep me motivated.
Each time one of my feet hit the ground, the back of my head felt like it was going to explode. I remember thinking, is this what I have to look forward to? I wasn’t stuttering and my eyes weren’t twitching. I hadn’t had a drop attack or passed out since the morning of the the surgery. I was still experiencing numbness and tingling in my right arm and leg. My balance was still wonky. My headaches, worse than before the surgery.
My mood was deteriorating. I felt hopeful and hopeless at the same time. I was starting to regret the decision to have the brain lift. I didn’t know how I was going to handle the increased pain.
I think God was trying to teach my to chill out. Pretty sure, He is still working on me in that regard. Strike that, I know He is still working on me in that regard. I guess I’m a slower learner.