Knee surgery was Wednesday. I remember very little of the day, except for the anesthesiologist asking me what my hobbies were, at which point I told her I was a horror writer. She asked me if I have ever met Stephen King (the answer: yes), at which point (I thought) I passed out. When I woke up, my knee was bandaged up and the anesthesiologist was thanking me for keeping them all laughing with my stories. As God is my witness, I have no idea what stories I told. It's nice to know, however, that even when I am unconscious, I can still be entertaining.
I spent the night on the couch, as I can't do stairs, and Jason spent the night on the air mattress next to me, which I found very romantic. He dropped me off at my parents' house the next day, so they could watch me while he went to work.
Dad and I spent the day watching crappy television. The pain was pretty bad, so I took my Vicodin regularly, but I was really starting to feel sick. I was dizzy, I threw up a little bit, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just due to the "When Good Animals Go Bad" documentary on TV. Over dinner, my mother became alarmed when my face broke out in hives, and she made me call the doctor. Turns out that I'm allergic to Vicodin!
The doctor called in a new painkiller, and I've been much happier ever since. My knee is puffier than Lindsay Lohan's eyes after a hard night of drinking, and I'm back to the point where I can't sit up by myself. But between my husband, who surprised me with a Holstein-themed gift basket, my parents, who have been waiting on me hand and foot, and my sister, sister-in-law, and mother-in-law, who are all aware of Jason's culinary limitations and are making sure we don't starve to death, I have a really great support network. I have received phone calls, tweets, emails, and facebook comments wishing me well, and my aunt is on 24-hour emergency call should I need a pint of Ben & Jerry's.
So I can't walk. Luckily, I have lots of people to lean on!
I spent the night on the couch, as I can't do stairs, and Jason spent the night on the air mattress next to me, which I found very romantic. He dropped me off at my parents' house the next day, so they could watch me while he went to work.
Dad and I spent the day watching crappy television. The pain was pretty bad, so I took my Vicodin regularly, but I was really starting to feel sick. I was dizzy, I threw up a little bit, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just due to the "When Good Animals Go Bad" documentary on TV. Over dinner, my mother became alarmed when my face broke out in hives, and she made me call the doctor. Turns out that I'm allergic to Vicodin!
The doctor called in a new painkiller, and I've been much happier ever since. My knee is puffier than Lindsay Lohan's eyes after a hard night of drinking, and I'm back to the point where I can't sit up by myself. But between my husband, who surprised me with a Holstein-themed gift basket, my parents, who have been waiting on me hand and foot, and my sister, sister-in-law, and mother-in-law, who are all aware of Jason's culinary limitations and are making sure we don't starve to death, I have a really great support network. I have received phone calls, tweets, emails, and facebook comments wishing me well, and my aunt is on 24-hour emergency call should I need a pint of Ben & Jerry's.
So I can't walk. Luckily, I have lots of people to lean on!
RSS Feed