Week Two (Part 1): “Please give me a pink one”

One week from the day of my injury- was the day of my surgery. (Pretty convenient for writing a blog with simplified timing, eh!?). The days leading up to the surgery, I went about my usual pre-surgery ritual: I watched every ankle ORIF surgery video I could find on Youtube. It's hard to explain, but I find it comforting- it's nice to know what exactly they are going to do when they slice me open. The night before, and the morning of surgery- I was instructed to shower using antibacterial soap. These were my first two showers since the accident. Yes, I had been marinating in “bog juice”: various types of moss, miscellaneous dead insects, and dreadlocks made of mud and assorted plant material. And what’s better yet, I truly didn’t care. Pulling out pieces of moss and stringy weeds from my hair was my primary source of amusement for the days leading up to the surgery…but I will admit- that shower was nice. And brown. And mossy. But mostly nice.

Pre-surgery ritual of watching graphic surgical videos...

The check-in and surgery prep was fairly quick and simple. I chatted with the nurses, had to continue to explain and re-explain what a bog was, and enjoyed explaining my insect tattoos. Now I don’t really remember this part at all, but I was assured by the doctors, my nurses, the anesthesiologist, and my husband: that as they were taking me to surgery, pumped full of all kinds of ‘good stuff’ that I was repeatedly asking for a “pink one (pink cast)”.  I am glad I had my priorities straight as I was wheeled in to the OR…

The next thing I remember: a very sore throat, an inability to speak properly, and an unquenchable thirst (as the nurses around me kept saying “look- you got your pink cast”!). The sore throat and associated discomfort was something that I was definitely not prepared for, nor had ever experienced. Despite being intubated for my previous surgeries, I had never had such discomfort, dryness, and irritation within my throat. But this was a different hospital, possibly different practices and equipment/sizes. Between the very high level of throat discomfort, and the burning and throbbing sensations in my ankle from the incision and swelling, I was in a significant amount of pain. My previous orthopedic surgeries involved a nerve block- where they freeze the nerve at the level of your groin so that you do not feel anything in your leg for 24 to 48 hours. This was not a luxury that was bestowed on me this time- as I could feel every little sensation around my ankle. It was not pleasant at all. The reasoning that my Dr. gave me for not administering a nerve block (which I requested prior to surgery) was due to the fact that I would be placed in a hard cast immediately after surgery. That meant that I would be unable feel and monitor the swelling resulting from the surgery, and if the cast became too constricting across the joint.

Piling ice packs on top of the cast
-for some reason...?

And boy were they right- I felt every bit of swelling and sensation immediately after the procedure. It was so swollen that my ‘adorable pink cast’ felt like it was digging in to the opening of my toes. They told me to ice and elevate when I got home. They even handed me 5 ice packs. The concept of being able to ice my ankle in any way (through the bulky, padded, and impermeable hard cast) was beyond me. The icing never quite panned out as an effective strategy- but I religiously elevated my ankle for the entire week, on a nifty wedge pillow, except for the few minutes each day I had the appetite to eat or any contents in my stomach to excrete…

Doctor-recommended cuddles.

The first 3 days (including the day of the surgery) were the worst. The pain was not managed by my medication, the swelling was very uncomfortable, my appetite was non-existent, I was in a haze of dizziness and sleeplessness, and I was simply exhausted. I probably slept a cumulative 4-5 hours for the first 3 days. The hour of sleep in between the long periods of intense discomfort was a very welcome distraction- however fleeting it may have been. The worst part was my complete apathy- I could not find anything engaging enough to distract me for long enough to have a moment or two of comfort which might have allowed me to doze off. I whimpered, I moaned, I whined, and I howled. I did this for 2 days. I wanted to externalize my pain, I wanted the world to know that I was extremely uncomfortable, I did not want to be trapped in agony alone. Vocalizing my discomfort helped me feel connected to the world outside my own shell of pity and frustration. Plus, it felt f*cking amazing to bitch, and moan, and whine, and swear, and howl, and cry for hours and hours- without an ounce of remorse. I deserved this luxury. I earned it.

On day 4, I closed my eyes. I opened them 6 hours later.