Thursday, May 16, 2013

Recovery and CO2

Angus greets the irises.
     Surgery was fascinating. Well, not the surgery since I wasn't "there" when it happened in an awareness sense but oh my! The part where you go under is seriously so final and sudden, without warning or memory!  The last words I remember saying were "In the moment," then it was <LIGHTS OUT> until the superfantastic-percoset-ride upon waking. WOW. That was weird. The nurse called me "a real trooper." Just for sitting up and putting my clothes on! My mother was never that complimentary.
Minimalism, flesh as canvas.
     The whole non-awareness part and how drugs can induce that has me fascinated about states of awareness and neurology. Just what is memory? What is awareness? If you can turn it off so definitively and quickly, without any memory whatsoever, what is going on when we think, or when we think we're thinking? Awareness, self-awareness is truly an amazing thing. At any given moment, just be amazed that you can contemplate at all.
SPRING HAS ARRIVED. Including the lovely poison ivy bordering the irises.
     As for the surgery, the CO2 part is the biggest pain, literally. Well, I'm not sure I'd call it pain as much as discomfort that moves around your body. In laproscopic surgery, they poke holes in you and blow your belly up with CO2 so they can move around under the skin. When they're done, they remove the surgical tools and push the air out of your belly, as much as they can. (I had comical visions of me flying around the OR erratically like a balloon when it was described to me prior to my surgery. When they actually strapped my legs down on the table in the OR, I couldn't help giggling.) However, they can't get all the CO2 out and so it has to dissipate through your diaphragm and throughout your abdominal cavity. It tends to settle in your upper chest and shoulders (and neck) causing some feelings like you're having a heart attack except that it's just pressure from the gas. The remedy is to move, to walk, in order to help the body move the CO2 out of your system. And that's where I am now, balancing moving, working and walking without over-exerting myself. Other than that, so far, so good. I'm even back at glazing the pots I bisqued the day after surgery (thanks to my husband and mother-in-law for helping me fire the kiln and unload!). I have other trays, mugs and slab bowls to carve for additional bisque firings. I'm a bit behind where I'd like to be but really, pretty pleased with where I am, considering this unexpected health adventure. And all my irises are blooming! What a bonus!
Some new ideas...
Blue Horse Bowls.
     A grateful thank you to the surgical people, naturally (with a shout out to the anesthesia team! -Go Fentanyl! Go Percoset! Go anti-nausea drugs!) and thank you's to every one who has wished me well, including people who have contacted me here on the blog, Twitter and on Facebook. I still cannot reply to comments on my blog for some unknown reason but just know that I love you all :)

1 comment:

  1. You are so right. That moment just before you go out is the most wonderful feeling ever. Not a pain or a care in the world. I was thinking, hmmmm they strapped my arms down and if I wasn't on this medication I would be freaking out, but I love this. I don't remember talking but I think I was smiling ever so sweetly. hee hee I hope you are able to load and unload your kiln all by yourself very soon. Feel better love!