Wow, what a really terrible night! I guess in the scheme of things, it could've been a lot more disastrous from the post-op perspective, but I think Dad would agree with my assessment that it's been a pretty rough ride so far.
Turns out that coming off of six hours of surgical anesthesia bears at least some resemblance to detox, just shorter (hopefully). He went through a good two hours of constant and violent chills, shuddering uncontrollably and pitifully pissed off about it. After the earthquakes slowed down, he started fretting about his legs and his back and his general bed position and that stupid Joy Behar on the tv screen over his bed.
Around 3 this morning, the nausea set in and he has been fighting it ever since. Phenergan helps intermittently, but it isn't lasting long enough between doses. He is so miserable and it's awful to not be able to do anything about it other than a cold wet cloth and holding the bucket.
Now I ask you - what is it about open hospital room doors that lends itself as an invitation to gawk? Some bozo kept wandering the halls a while ago, staring in here like we were an interesting documentary. Despite my overwhelming compulsion to yell, "take a picture, it will last longer!!", I just got up and politely closed the door in his face.
The doggone nurses keep coming in for this and that, and they leave the door open when they leave. So, along with puke-bucket holder and cold washcloth wiper, I'm also a proud door-closer. I've had worse jobs.
No comments:
Post a Comment