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.