NOTE: this blog is posted in reverse chronological order. The first entry is from Dec 2019.
The stubborn pulmonary doc who almost scotched the whole deal weeks prior, might now enjoy some sour milk and Special K while he eats his words about my having surgery-denying apnea.
In the post-op room, I nearly screwed things up when, jelly-legged from the anesthesia, I fell off the gurney trying to retrieve something. They had already dressed me and set me up for release, but then hesitated, surprised to see me on the floor. I impressed them by getting up on my own. Not that I could feel my legs. It was arm strength that got me up. Soon I was getting a wheelchair ride out to the curb, and man was I happy to get in the car and get out of there.
In normal times maybe they would have kept me over for falling on my can. But during COVID days in South FL bed space is a very big deal.
It took about six or seven weeks for the vicious sciatica to let up completely. I admit, there were times as late as week 5 when I wondered if the surgery had been a failure. Back pain is diabolical. The nerves were angry from an intruding surgeon. It took weeks for them to settle down. Thank you, my friend and fellow back surgery veteran, Louie J, for sharing your experience so I could have the patience to understand this fact.
I had a deep purple bruise from the gurney fall the diameter of a tortilla. It eventually faded away.
The cane and the walker are deep in a closet. The geriatric shower chair (acquired from a dead neighbor, thus the name we gave it, "Ralph's Ghost's Chair) is a donation now to the Viet Vets.
Mercy came from somewhere.
Rock N roll.
