It's a Stitch In Time

Last Edit November 25, 1998

It has been almost two weeks since I nearly bought the farm, so to speak.
The bruises on the back of my left hand have faded and are almost gone. The bruise covered the back of the hand.
The left wrist is damaged. My doctor says it will heal. It will form a blot clot and then punch through. In the meantime, don't touch it.
The right wrist had a small bruise. The right forearm bruise ran 4-5 inches.
My son used his expensive camera and photographed them.
My doctor, whom I saw last week, said I was over-treated. But that the Xanax I took saved my life. My sons did too.
He said my intestines were fine at the moment (or I would be very, very sick) but that I had to get this fixed. He had just had a woman in who lost 6 inches of intestine from atrophy (when it is stuck too long).
My brother, also a doctor, has said the same thing. Do it.
I said after my date with Fabio.
They said OK.
I was sent to see a surgeon.
He described what he will do like this:
DON'T READ IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH.
They will open me up, probably by recutting the happy face smile that is the 5 year old tummy tuck - lower hernia repair line. Yes, they did this once before.
They will peel me like a banana.
The intestines will freeze - actually become paralyzed when exposed to air.
I didn't know that. Should have. They teach you to keep them covered and wet during trauma classes.
They will reopen the lower repair - because if they sew up the top, the bottom could pop open. They suspect the top popped open when they sewed up the bottom.
They will fold the edges of the abdominal wall over and overlap them in a seam they will permanently suture.
A reinforced dress seam.
They will then cover this with a webbing material. Remind me to ask what. Something like interfacing.
They will suture this in place. Permanent sutures.
They will staple this.
I keep seeing my staple gun in my mind.
Then they will pull the skin back down and restich the happy face. They will remove fat and tighten the skin. They might relocate my navel. What's left of it. 40 years ago I had a hernia repair. I was born with this thing. I was born in a black-out in Hartford Connecticut on Jan 11th, a month after Pearl Harbor. Pratt&Whitney aircraft is located there. My mother always told me they couldn't find me so I screamed myself sick.
Well, turns out they can't peel me like a banana. Another surgeon (plastic) said I don't have any excess skin.
Good thing and bad thing.
And I don't need liposuction - if I lose the rest of the weight there won't be anything there to suction.
I was repoked and prodded today. That's three days of men poking my insides around.
I may end up with a long vertical scar. I am waiting to hear.
I said I don't need to wear a bikini. My sons complained the last time I got into one. And that's been awhile.
56 year old women do not need to strut on the beach. We need to stay in the shade.
And who else would see me?
Because of the paralyzed intestines, I need to stay in the hospital until my system recommences operation.
I will have IVs. (Please, please find the veins this time!) And my brother says, they will ask you every few hours if you have farted yet.
I asked him how many PhD and MD degrees he has. I haven't heard a doctor use that term.
Turns out, my mother is having this done the week before me. Hernia in a different spot.
And my full-blooded sister (I have/had 4 parents, 4 brothers and 4 sisters) also has the same problem or one similar. She is 18 months younger than I am and newly married.
Interesting.
Actually, any older woman who had children, especially big ones, and is walking around with a protruding belly, probably has a hernia.
Doctor's don't tell us.
State secret.
My brother says beyond the normal risk of surgery, that this is one doctors love to do. And they don't allow leakages or nicks or all those things your mind can dredge up that might go wrong. They are pretty careful.
I was comforted.
Until the hospital asked my about power of attorney - who gets to turn off the respirator.
That's calming.
My life will be in the hands of my 22 year-old.
Glad he knows I love him.
Remind me to hide his Christmas present!