I have already received four angry calls about my Facebook post last night and today. As it turns out Hockey is not allowed five weeks out of surgery. Of course I blame my doctors for the oversight. I specifically looked at my restrictions....no lifting, no driving, no pushing a grocery cart, and the list goes on. But, "No Hockey" is mentioned anywhere. Either way, most restrictions are lifted at 5 weeks.
I brought my son to the outdoor ice skating park and in the warming house he asked if I wanted to skate with him. I just happened to have my ice skates in the back of the car and as a hockey mom, there are always sticks and pucks back there as well. So off we went and it was glorious.
Let me just say I can skate. Where I am from, everyone can skate. I grew up in those cute little skating outfits and my dad even flooded our backyard and made a rink every year.
My son and I were skating on the area that has no walls, just a mound of snow surrounding the ice. We were passing the puck back and forth and I missed it. I went to grab it out of the snow and got too close. I tripped on the snow and went down face first. I was unable to get my hand in front of me to soften the blow and landed on my chest...hard. It knocked the wind out of me. If I am to be completely honest I would tell you that I saw Mr. Eckhoff pull up and I was trying to show off a bit. I was looking his way and wasn't watching how close I was to the side. (Does that possibly make it HIS fault?)
So, we loaded me up in the car and I refused to let my fall ruin a perfect night of family fun. We headed to Zorbaz for pizza, which is conveniently located less than a block from the park. After all, doesn't a Zorbaz margarita typically make all things better?
I called my doctor this morning and I am sternly told I need to go in for scans on my chest. I am told I should have went into the ER last night. I'm just a little annoyed by this all. And I am reminded by my wonderful sister Kim and and again by my equally wonderful friend Lisa that I am a dumb ass. My mother didn't come right out and call me names, but lovingly (and loudly) called me by my full given name....LAJEANNA RAE! I may have once again proven that I am possibly the worst patient ever.
However, in between these loving and encouraging calls I will be once again checking my discharge papers. Because I am positively sure there was absolutely no mention of hockey restrictions. I am sticking with the fact that had I been told that hockey was a big No No, I would certainly not be in this predicament! I mean that graceful swan dive couldn't have possibly been MY fault!!
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
DID I MENTION...I'M A BAD PATIENT?
Did I mention I'm not a very good patient? Poor Mr. Eckhoff. I almost sent him over the edge once again. First, let me plead my case before you judge.
I find that worse than the actual surgery is the drains that are put in. This was the third time and for some reason when I woke up from surgery I was shocked to see them again. Correct that, I was pissed to see them again.
Now, comes the sympathy part of my case... Anyone who has ever had drains will fully sympathize with me immediately. For the rest of you, I feel I must give this graphic account to garner as much sympathy as I possibly can so you can understand why I did what I did to my husband.
The 2 feet of tubing you can see outside of my body is sewn into my skin with stitches about six inches below my armpits on each side. At the end of the tubes are round suction parts that must be drained and the fluid amounts documented. They are torture and I struggle to find the right words to properly convey that. Basically every time you move the tubing tugs on the stitches. It's not a blood curdling pain (unless you accidentally pull on the tubing when adjusting your compression garment or you drop a drain when hooking it to your clothing). No, it's just a constant, annoying pain tugging on each side of you. And I also have to plead lack of sleep due to the fact every time I would move it would wake me.
I monitored the fluid like a hawk because after two 24 hour periods of less than 30 ml outake on each side you can have the drains removed. I reached this milestone on a Wednesday night, two nights prior to my follow up appointment at Mayo, where they were to remove my drains. Two more nights and 5 hours of riding in a car with drains was just not going to happen when medically it was ok for them to be removed.
So, I tricked Mr. Eckhoff. I had him help me tie my drains up to a gauze around my neck so I could shower. I grabbed a packet of antiseptic soap and told him I needed the medical scissors to open the packet. In the shower, away from Mr. Eckhoff's watchful eye, I proceeded to wash then cut out the stitches holding the tubes in place. I was able to get all the stitches out of my left side and started pulling on the drain. I pulled and pulled and it wouldn't budge. I almost passed out. Chris wrapped me in my robe and laid me on the bed, where I had to come clean.
"Cheese and Rice LJ!" Was what he yelled, or at least kind of what it sounded like he yelled. I told him he needed to help me because the drains were coming out, with or without his help. As he went into the next room to call someone for help I realized the reason the drain wouldn't come out was because I hadn't opened the drain releasing the suction to pull out the fluid. Once I did that I was able to pull the left drain out. And yes, it hurt and I was spent.
He came back in the bedroom and told me we were definitely waiting till morning so we could go to a doctor. Too late, as I showed him the one drain out. Many profanities were spewn from my husbands mouth, in which sent me into tears, in which Mr. Eckhoff can't handle. So, he reluctantly agreed to help me. He was able to cut the stitches I missed and pull the right drain out. He was pale and told me he needed a good, stiff drink. I guess seeing another two feet of tubing coming out of your wife is a bit tough on a man.
So, before you start sending me your scolding posts let me just say that I slept so good that night. Plus, I had drains two or three times before and knew that the doctor just pulled them out, just like we did. Saved us money I say. Still not good enough?? Then let me assure you that Mr. Eckhoff did in fact tattle on me to my surgeon.
I find that worse than the actual surgery is the drains that are put in. This was the third time and for some reason when I woke up from surgery I was shocked to see them again. Correct that, I was pissed to see them again.
Now, comes the sympathy part of my case... Anyone who has ever had drains will fully sympathize with me immediately. For the rest of you, I feel I must give this graphic account to garner as much sympathy as I possibly can so you can understand why I did what I did to my husband.
The 2 feet of tubing you can see outside of my body is sewn into my skin with stitches about six inches below my armpits on each side. At the end of the tubes are round suction parts that must be drained and the fluid amounts documented. They are torture and I struggle to find the right words to properly convey that. Basically every time you move the tubing tugs on the stitches. It's not a blood curdling pain (unless you accidentally pull on the tubing when adjusting your compression garment or you drop a drain when hooking it to your clothing). No, it's just a constant, annoying pain tugging on each side of you. And I also have to plead lack of sleep due to the fact every time I would move it would wake me.
I monitored the fluid like a hawk because after two 24 hour periods of less than 30 ml outake on each side you can have the drains removed. I reached this milestone on a Wednesday night, two nights prior to my follow up appointment at Mayo, where they were to remove my drains. Two more nights and 5 hours of riding in a car with drains was just not going to happen when medically it was ok for them to be removed.
So, I tricked Mr. Eckhoff. I had him help me tie my drains up to a gauze around my neck so I could shower. I grabbed a packet of antiseptic soap and told him I needed the medical scissors to open the packet. In the shower, away from Mr. Eckhoff's watchful eye, I proceeded to wash then cut out the stitches holding the tubes in place. I was able to get all the stitches out of my left side and started pulling on the drain. I pulled and pulled and it wouldn't budge. I almost passed out. Chris wrapped me in my robe and laid me on the bed, where I had to come clean.
"Cheese and Rice LJ!" Was what he yelled, or at least kind of what it sounded like he yelled. I told him he needed to help me because the drains were coming out, with or without his help. As he went into the next room to call someone for help I realized the reason the drain wouldn't come out was because I hadn't opened the drain releasing the suction to pull out the fluid. Once I did that I was able to pull the left drain out. And yes, it hurt and I was spent.
He came back in the bedroom and told me we were definitely waiting till morning so we could go to a doctor. Too late, as I showed him the one drain out. Many profanities were spewn from my husbands mouth, in which sent me into tears, in which Mr. Eckhoff can't handle. So, he reluctantly agreed to help me. He was able to cut the stitches I missed and pull the right drain out. He was pale and told me he needed a good, stiff drink. I guess seeing another two feet of tubing coming out of your wife is a bit tough on a man.
So, before you start sending me your scolding posts let me just say that I slept so good that night. Plus, I had drains two or three times before and knew that the doctor just pulled them out, just like we did. Saved us money I say. Still not good enough?? Then let me assure you that Mr. Eckhoff did in fact tattle on me to my surgeon.
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