Part Two: Recovery

I'm moving down a corridor and someone is asking me if I want something to drink. I don't remember answering, but apparently when I'm not in my right mind, I still know I love Diet Dr. Pepper.

...everything's so fuzzy...I know I don't have the chronology right here...

The nurse helps me into the chair in the recovery room and asks me how I'm feeling. "A little nauseated." My Diet Dr. Pepper arrives, complete with bendy straw. I try to focus on the nurse's nametag, but it's half hidden behind her lapel. Wait. Do scrubs have lapels? Anyway, nurse Susan --Susie? Suzanne? I can't remember -- asks me what I want to eat. "We have all kinds of things. Do you want peanut butter crackers? I think we have Cheez-its..."

"Cheez-its!" I don't even let her finish. Cheez-its are delicious in any mental state. Somewhere in here she stands me up and takes my blood pressure. I only remember it was low and we kind of both looked at it and laughed.

I'm sitting back down again and Nurse Su--- is talking. A LOT. Definitely an SP personality type. Nurse S. gets me settled and brings the Silver Fox back. I'm enjoying my snack -- very slowly, the Silver Fox tells me later. He says I was grinning like a mule eating briars (actually, his verbiage was more colorful) and chewing in slow motion.

At some point my doctor passes by and makes a comment but I think I was focused too much on the Cheez-its to form a response.

Over the next several minutes, Nurse S. sits with me, talks to me, and periodically stands me up and takes my blood pressure. "Still nauseated?" "No." She and the Silver Fox are having a full-on dinner party conversation, about how long she's been nursing and where and who did the Silver Fox's neck surgery and where, and what the Silver Fox does for a living, and I'm participating by listening.

My surgeon passes through again and says, "She's awake!"

Eventually I go through enough of the stand-up-take-the-blood-pressure-sit-back-down process to pass the test, and Nurse S. brings me my discharge papers: A pain diary, in which I am to document once an hour until bedtime, and then 3 times a day for the next week; a schedule of when I can return to taking my current meds; and the list of dos and don'ts.

She leaves to get a wheelchair, the Silver Fox leaves to get the car, and I am left behind the curtain to change. I'm wheeled to the car and we say our goodbyes. It's about 11:30 a.m.

Meanwhile, I'm so hungry I could eat a sow and ten pigs. I'd hoped I'd feel like going somewhere to eat, (I was actually craving Awful --I mean Waffle-- House) but it's looking like hitting a drive-through and going straight home to bed is going to be the best option. We've gone about 10 minutes down the road before I decide I want to look at my discharge instructions.

"Hey, hon, what did you do with my papers?"
"I gave them to you."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I looked at them and gave them back to you."
"Well, why did you do that?"

Yes, friends, I left the papers in the chair under my gown. We turn around and head back to the surgery center.

...To Be Continued...