So I recently tore my ACL (and MCL) skiing and I elected to have ACL reconstruction surgery because my knee was still wobbly after a couple of months of physical therapy and I wanted to be able to return to a normal level of activities: biking, running, skiing, etc. The surgery was last Friday, March 28, Day 0. So much has happened, I wanted to write about it.
DAY 0 (March 28, 2008)The day of the surgery. An hour before the surgery, I started freaking out. The depth of what is about to happen hit me. I was so focused on post-op recovery before this, that I never really thought about the surgery itself. And the thought of it is barbaric. Basically: they slice some of my patellar tendon, drill holes into my bones and sew and nail in the tendon. The anesthesiologists come by before surgery and explain how they'll be putting me under general anesthesia AND using nerve blocks to kill sensation in my leg. They explain to me that when they are inserting the block, my leg will start twitching and hitting the table (this is normal). Well, what they didn't tell me is my ass would start twitching. Violently. But after they insert the first block and turn me over to the do the second one, I was already passed out. My humiliation was short-lived.
My next memory is of waking up in the post-op recovery room being hounded by a nurse telling me that my doctor thinks I'm well enough to be discharged that day. I tell her my pain level and she shoves what I can only assume is an elephant tranquilizer in my mouth because I instantly pass out. Before I know it, I am being awaken by three nurses surrounding me, asking if I'm ready to be discharged. I can barely lift my eyelid and have no idea where my husband is. Turns out, they never notified him. So since I don't give them the all clear to discharge me, they finally decide to get him. He sees me and decides pretty quickly I'm in no shape to go home yet. But now they hound him instead. At some point, they decide I can't be there any more. S gets me up. I can't take the hospital gown off (can't lift my arms) so they tell me to keep the gown. S and a friend pull my clothes on over the gown. They ask for a wheelchair. The wheelchair the nurses bring don't have a leg extender (?). Keep in mind, I just had knee surgery. I can't move my leg. At all. When this is mentioned to them, they reply with "Well that's what we have". S and friend are in awe at this point. I am so angry, I am suddenly wide awake. The nurses start fighting and arguing amongst themselves about who will have to go fetch a wheelchair. S interrupts and tells them, he will get it if they let him know where. This prompts them to move and get it. Ok. Proper wheelchair got. Sumit asks where the crutches are (note: we weren't just assuming that we would be given crutches, the surgeon had assured us that the hospital provided them after surgery). They just look at us. And tell us they weren't told that I would need crutches and they won't give them to us. After knee surgery. At this point, we realize we need to leave at any cost. I have a set of crutches at home that I can use (from the original injury). As I'm being wheeled out, I realize my ivy needle is still in my arm (4 hours post-surgery) but I don't have the energy to voice this to anyone (I'm back to mostly catatonic at this point) so I grunt and raise my arm as high as I can. They are all shocked and quickly remove the needle as they're wheeling me out.
I get home and into my apartment as quickly as I can. I remember S and friend telling me to slow down on the crutches and take a break, but if I am still even a little bit, I almost throw up. So I get to the couch as quickly as I can and pass out.
I'm anxious about the amount of Vicodin I'm taking, and decide I want to start weaning myself off of it. I take a reduced dose at 2 am. At 6 am, I get up to throw up. This happens again for the next few hours. If I even lift my head, I immediately vomit. I haven't eaten anything for hours. I don't drink anything since that induces vomit as well. I start throwing up bright yellow bile. This continues until about 1 pm. At this point, I seriously think I am done for. I don't think I have ever felt this sick in my life. I am praying every conscious moment I have. S calls the hospital. And tries to page the surgeon. The doctor on call takes two hours to get back to us. He tells us to stop taking the Vicodin and to try to slowly get some liquid into me. And if I'm still unable to hold down liquid after a few hours, get to the hospital. He also says to switch to Tylenol for pain relief. I know my family and some friends want to visit. S tells them it is not a good day. One comes to help, but there is not much to be done for me. They help S though. He is able to shower and they get lunch for him. I am exhausted. I have no food or liquid in my body. I drink a sip of Gatorade every hour or so. I nibble on an edge of a cracker after a couple of hours with the Gatorade. My stomach is very sore from throwing up. I mostly sleep. At the end of the day, I'm able to have a cup of soup. But I'm effectively off of Vicodin. And I have a very disgusting taste in my mouth for the stuff.
