Zombie Report

I feel like a zombie.  Of course, I don't really know what a zombie feels like, but I assume grogginess, mindlessness, and exhaustion is about the extent of what they experience. Even with my brainlessness, however, I wanted to give everyone an update with how the surgery went.  Please excuse spelling and grammar errors, as well as any non-nonsensical parts - I'm still on Loratab.

Surgery went well, as far as I can tell.  My parents and I got to Mountain View Hospital in Payson (yes, PAYSON) on Tuesday around 11:00.  We waited in the tiny waiting room for about an hour, then I finally got to go back and pay my million dollars.  After the hospital safely collected my money, I was taken back to a curtained room where I traded my sweatpants for one of those super cool gowns that allows you to moon others with ease, and sandpaper-feeling slippers.  I waited for another hour or so, watching Frasier reruns while Dad talked on his cell phone and Mom dozed.  A nurse finally came back with a rolling bed for me to climb into, and after some hugs and reassurance (from me to Mom, mostly), I was taken back to yet another room to wait.  Here, the nurse, who I believe was named Rhett, asked me about student teaching while he put an IV in my hand and gathered all my hair into a net.  Rhett was extremely nice, and told me about his experience in junior high with a student teacher.  All good things, he assured me.  After the IV was taped to my hand and I had waited just long enough to start feeling anxious again, the anesthesiologist came back to tell me they were about ready to start.  Another nurse, Laura, told me they were going to start the drugs that would make me loopy.  I remember being wheeled into the surgery room, starting to feel goofy and happy about everything.  Pretty sure I would make a cheerful drunk. 

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a recovery room.  My throat hurt, my neck hurt, and I could hardly get my eyes to open.  I've never been very good with drugs.  Every time I've had to have anaesthsia, I have the hardest time waking up.  After my first thyroid surgery, in 2011, it took me a good week to be able to keep my eyes open for longer than 20 minutes.  This time has been much better, but I've still managed to sleep most of the day ever since the surgery.  It was difficult to get much quality sleep while in the hospital, as the nurse came in every half hour to take my temperature, check my vitals, etc. and the stupid blood pressure cuff kept waking me up in between her visits.  Though I do not like being in the hospital, I can't say enough nice things about the nurses there.  I've never met such kind, helpful people, and I'm so thankful for their good attitudes.  There's nothing so bad as a grumpy nurse, and nothing so wonderful as a happy one. 

My surgeon, Dr. Riddle, came by Wednesday morning to talk to me, and let me know I could go home.  He told me I had to keep my drain in (ugh) but there was no point in staying at the hospital with how well I was doing.  My dad quickly drove back down to the hospital to pick me up, though he had to wait about an hour while I had a calcium drip in my IV.  The parathyroids deal with the body's calcium, and since my thyroid bed had been messed with yet again, Dr. Riddle wanted to make sure my calcium levels stayed normal.  By the time the nurse shot some regular IV fluid into me to clear out any left over calcium, I was ready to punch him in the neck.  My IV hurt terribly, though not as bad as the last surgery.  Maybe I have wussy veins, but my hand STILL hurts from the stupid IV.  A heating pad wrapped around my hand and forearm has helped, but I still can't shake the feeling that I am being a baby about it. 

Today is Friday, which means I haven't showered in four days.  Yum.  I'm sure my hair looks like a greasy rat's nest, and though I've tried to do little sponge baths, who knows what I smell like.  I don't really see how I can shower or do anything with my hair while I have this drain in my chest.  It's just a small tube that runs from the right side of my chest into a plastic bulb I tuck in my shirt, but I grosses me out.  The fluid it collects is purplish and dark, which freaks me out.  I can't wait to get this thing out of my body, but I may have to wait until Monday. 

I'm not in much pain, and if my neck starts to hurt even a little, the Loratab takes care of it, no problem.  My body is sore, as though I've had the flu, and I wonder if it could be from sleeping all day.  The only movement I've had since climbing into my bed Wednesday afternoon is to go the bathroom.  My neck looks pretty good, all taped up and swollen, but not bloody or scary looking.  Dr. Riddle revised the entire scar so it will look thinner and lighter; I'm excited to see how it turns out. 

Well, I beginning to feel sleepy and lightheaded again, so I will close for now.  I can't even begin to thank all of you enough, for your prayers, well-wishes, texts, phone calls, and visits.  I feel incredibly spoiled - if every I feel lonely, that I don't have many friends, all I have to do is have cancer surgery and there you all are!!  I am one lucky girl, that is certain.