To be back to normal again. To be able to take a hot bath instead of a shower. Hell, to be able to take a bath without assistance. To be able to use my lotions and potions. To be able to do for myself instead of depending on everyone around me. To be able to walk with out looking like I’m feeling myself up. To be able to go more than five minutes, unmedicated, without pain.
The list could go on.
Honestly, I wasn’t prepared for all this… the pulmonary embolism, the open-heart surgery, the aftermath. But then again, is anyone ever prepared for that sort of thing? It’s been… a journey.
For one thing, my only personal frame of reference for heart surgery was my grandfather. He had a triple bypass when I was eight. Which was 47 years ago. So between my young age and the advancement of medicine, not much help. So when my surgeries first happened at the beginning of October, I truly thought Thanksgiving was a reasonable goal date for healing. It was the date I assigned to the light at the end of the tunnel, the time when my incision would be neatly knitted back together. Nope. Not even close. The disappointment and discouragement were real AF. As it turns out, having larger chest melons can make the healing process exponentially longer, even with compression. So that coupled with the fact that I spent a few weeks fighting an infection in the incision, means I’m looking at mid-January… at least. So yeah.
Another fun fact… the pain gets worse as it heals. At least in my experience. At first, it was the dull ache of bones healing that was my constant companion. Along with super sensitive skin along its edges. Pain from the incision mostly only happened when I moved more than a little. The dull ache is still constant, no better, no worse. But the two-inch-wide bands of skin that run along the sides of the incision? They’re so hypersensitive that everything that touches me hurts. It’s awful. Let me give you an equation…
(the worst sunburn you’ve ever had – minus the heat) x 10 = my skin pain
That’s an accurate representation of the surrounding skin. But let’s move to the incision itself. That is a fucking nightmare. It’s no longer just when I move but all the damn time. How about another equation?
(raw, tender flesh + coarse nail brush rubbed briskly and roughly against it + the sensations of fire + the sensations of needles poking) x multiple waves of pain that double or triple the pain = my incision pain
I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. What I also didn’t expect were the too frequent moments of sadness. Sometimes it hits and it hits hard. I think it’s a combination of the loss of autonomy, the fear, the pain, the feeling of being out of control. It sucks.
But one fun thing it’s unlocked… the realization that some past trauma isn’t quite so released. There was a family member in my past that had an addiction issue. It’s started with pills, moved to booze. They’ve given me oxy for the pain, and it is so damn hard for me to take it. I’ve refused to take it more than once a day, despite being allowed it 4 times a day, and despite the very real pain. Even with that limit, every time I take one, I beat myself up for it. Even more so if I take it more than one day in a row.
I’ve spent a lifetime ensuring I never go down that path, although the truth is… it’s never been even a little bit of a struggle, which makes my hang-up that much more unreasonable. In truth, I’m putting myself through so much pain for no logical reason. But logic has fuck all to do with trauma, I guess. So fun.
So here I am, doing my best to keep on keeping on.
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