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Post-Surgery: I’m Still Here!

Hi guys! I’m not dead! Yay!

My insides sort of wish I was, but that’s another issue entirely…

The surgery seems to have gone well, on a technical level anyways. The doctor didn’t have anything abnormal to report and was able to successfully remove the piece we intended in one whole chunk (which is much better for testing purposes but incredibly hard to do). I was in surgery for a smidgen less than an hour. Thanks to the magic of medicine (and anesthesia that feels like general but somehow actually isn’t) I was in the car to head home about 40 minutes after being rolled out of the OR.

Minus a small freak out triggered once the IV went in (thank you massive irrational fear of needles), I did alright on a personal level. The nurse was super nice, and in an effort to help pull me back to more stable emotional state was super great about getting the IV port covered as much as possible so it didn’t continue to make me panic. Bonus: they were going to give me something to make me “not care” about what was going on about 10 minutes before going into the OR, sooo since I was starting to go “oh God there’s needles oh God I’m getting surgery fuck it’s cancer damn it damn it damn it” they sort of gave it to me early. So that helped!

Whatever it was they did with the anesthesia was crazy. I’m not usually a hold out as far as going under goes, but I have zero memory of the first few minutes before it was even administered. We got to the OR, they asked me to move to the table and make sure my butt was situated in this conveniently placed gap. I remember them saying “yeah right there is good” and then suddenly I was in the Phase 1 recovery area waving at the “nice nurse ladies”.

Waking up with an oxygen tube was super weird. I remember bits and pieces of the Phase 1 area. I asked if I could go to the bathroom, and the nurse asked me if I would like a bed pan. I said “if you think I need a bed pan instead of an actual bathroom I am willing to defer to your judgement and swallow my dignity”. She laughed and said “those are mighty fancy words for someone still on drugs.” I said “hey, I said from the start of this I was going to let this impact my life as little as possible, fancy words and all”.  She cracked up and high-fived me, and then let me use an actual bathroom.

I’m stubborn, and was convinced I didn’t need the pain meds that were prescribed since the doc said some people end up not needing it and I’m convinced I’m a special snowflake and would be in that group. Turns out I was wrong. I sat up once and went “NOPE, THIS IS NOT GOING TO WORK”. Geoff was awesome and ran out to get that filled so I could not be quite so aware of my insides. Sneezing is less than pleasant, and I have to be careful how I sit up/lean, but overall things aren’t awful. Not good, but not awful. I’m on an activity restriction until my check-up (can’t lift anything more than 10 pounds, no working out), and apparently I can expect active bleeding for the ridiculous time period of 6 whole freaking weeks.

Check-up is in 3 weeks, and at that point I should get the margin results so we can form a plan for the future, one way or another. In the mean time, I’m going to try to take it easy and just try to resume life as normal.  I have some painting projects lined up as a thank you to some people who have been extra supportive in the Rooster Teeth community, and I have another costume idea lined up that I’m working on getting planned out and started.  We’ll see how things go I guess!