Every time I wake up in pain from surgery I still manage to behave like a greedy kid in a candy store. Pushing the PCA button is the only thing that I can focus on. A PCA is basically morphine that is electronically controlled via an infusion pump intravenously. The dose is predetermined by the doctor so the patient can not overdose, I figured I’d be in safe hands. I’ve had a few surgeries now so waking up in recovery with that little hand held button is my version of a security blanket. There is something to be said for the self administration of drugs although some things are best left unsaid. By pushing the PCA you are immediately fast tracked out of the pain queue, bypass the call bell and do not have to wait for a nurse to turn up while your waiting in post surgery hellish pain. Apparently Im quite amusing post surgery, or so my husband reminds me. I’m reduced to a mess of high pitched sing song sentences interspersed with a few painful yelps.
When the PCA is ready to administer another dose a little green light illuminates and its a race for me to press it. I hate pain and I mean hate it, I think I have extra sensitive nerve endings because I don’t seem to tolerate physical pain very well at all. When it comes to emotional pain I’ve done a few rounds and have taken a few emotional beatings without so much as flinching.
I was all over that PCA button, I was at it for days. The nurses would check in on me every few hours and ask if I had, wait for it… ‘opened my bowels’. I wasn’t eating anything so this probably explained why my colon was sheepish.
My gorgeous nutritionist friend came to visit me armed with a jar of 48 hour bone broth infused with various bones and of course chicken feet, a organic kale green juice with ginger and turmeric and some other super duper foods. I was high as a kite on my PCA and so happy to have a visitor that would listen to my dribble. I started on the green juice and shortly after backed it up with the intense bone broth. One thing is for sure morphine can make you nauseous and thats just what happened, I heaved violently and creatively redecorated room 803. I was a mess, although not my first experience with messy.
I do remember a pre-cancer debaucherous night out when I somehow managed to spill red wine up my skirt and ended up with wine soaked knickers. This was the same night that I was at an uber cool bar in Paddington, wearing a simple cotton dress with a long slit down the middle of the back. In a moment of inebriated genius I snatched a black magic marker from the bar tenders hand, spun my dress around and drew on my rather relaxed stomach a very nice set of abs. I now had a rockin’ six pack.
The next morning I woke up with a throbbing head ache, no PCA and killer abs.
Note to self: Don’t drink and draw. It took several showers to scrub that off.