Pain-in-the-ass

Morning everyone! Sorry that I seemed to disappear for a bit, but I had a little something come up (and out), which has been a colossal pain in my ass. Figuratively AND literally.

Last week I FINALLY had some much needed surgery; a coccygectomy. I just spent the past 2 years taking medical courses, so I'm using the 'technical' term here - does it make me sound smart?! Coccygectomy. It does, doesn't it?! Except 99% of you probably don't know what that means, so I'll just tell you. Coccygectomy = HELLISH PAIN taibone removal. Regardless of the name you call it, the one thing that stands out is that it is excruciatingly painful and I feel as though I'm going to die from pain it doesn't feel particularly good. Any surgery that involves bone is not fun or pain-free, and I can assure you, that messing with the bone right at the tail end of your spine, where you sit, and put much pressure, is NOT pain-free.

So now that most of you are sitting there clenching your butt cheeks together trying to figure out how this surgery was executed, how the need came around to have it removed, and possibly wondering how I'm even sitting to write this, and for those DEEP thinkers, you might even be wondering the logistics of certain body functions. I'll enlighten you...

Once upon a time a Queen and her King decided that they wanted to complete their family with one more darling prince or princess. After much vomiting, horrendous gallbladder issues, many stretch marks, many sleepless nights from heartburn and an active baby dancing on the Queen's bladder a delightful pregnancy that included much frolicking and dancing in a field of daisies while wearing a white flowing dress and a crown of flowers, the Queen had to hand down an eviction notice to that stubborn baby which included use of the dreaded and deplorable hell drug - oxytocin, which made for a horrendous and hard labour had a pleasant, easy labour. And because everything was always so much sunshine and rainbows, baby girl decided to have the final screw you moment - and shot out of the Queen's uterus like a bat out of hell, facing upwards so she could SEE the expressions as she ripped the Queen from stem to stern, and as one final thought busted up the tailbone on the way through decided to come up sunnyside up which resulted in a breaking the Queen's tailbone (and a whole lot of other damage that I'll spare you from).

So there you have it. One could argue that I had a pain in the ass, and it had a name (actually, I have a pain in my ass and my neck - and on any given day, they may bear the name of one of my kids or my other half, but this particular pain was ALWAYS associated with a particular childs birth. Almost 8.5 years later, after years of suffering, pain, and failed attempts to fix it (physio, chiropractor, exercise, weight loss), they FINALLY placed the ball in my court and said it was up to me about removing it. Unfortunately, this is a relatively rare procedure. Why you ask? Because of the intense pain associated with the surgery and the follow up. And the risks. What risks? Well, remember how you were wondering how this surgery was executed and how I may be performing certain bodily functions?! Those risks.

The tailbone is located at the very tailend of the spinal column, right at the top of the crack of your ass. And that my friends, is how they got in there to remove that sucker: Through the upper portion of the crack of my ass. And since the crack of the ass houses a certain opening for certain bodily functions, well, I think you can figure out the risks. Worst case scenario was that DURING surgery they might nick the rectum which would equate to automatic colostomy bag. THAT upset me and freaked me out - I mean come on, the idea of toting my little bag of shit along with me everywhere I went?! No thanks! I prefer to make a deposit, and flush that little disaster away. BUT, as I got closer to the date, I realized with much horror that if they DIDN'T nick the rectum that I'd be required to make that said deposit - with STITCHES in my ass. And that caused greater anxiety. Uh, OUCH! And of course wiping?! Double OUCH! And then when the weather gets hot, whether we like to admit it or not, our asses sweat. A LOT! certain body parts sweat. And sweat creates bacteria. And bacteria causes infection. And I have a fresh 4 inch incision extending upwards from the middle of my ass crack. OUCH again!! You see?! The risk for infection is significant. It was then that I started second guessing the badness of the colostomy and started thinking that it would actually be a WELCOME thing - I mean come on, we're talking pooping with virtually NO effort. I could just go wherever and whenever I choose - no sitting and sweating it out, no concerns about what I'm eating - it would just happily drain itself into a fancy little bag. Is that really so bad?! I mean considering the other options and all. In general, I know it's not a great scenario, but for this one, it likely was a GREAT option. One I probably should have tabled, you know, "Hey doc, would you mind nicking my rectum so I'll end up with a colostomy bag for a few weeks?". Yeah, I thought it might sound a little too forward to ask for that. Not to mention they'd have to reverse that colostomy at some point and I'm sure that's no walk in the park either. They also warned me that the pain post-operative would be intense, and I heard the expression, "For the first 2 weeks (post-operative), you'll wish you were dead." many times. YIKES!

If you back peddle to the beginning of last week, it was Mother's Day. Normally Mother's Day is just another day around here. And it did indeed start off that way. I'd just arrived home from a cheer competition with Banshee (I could write a post about that alone), and as I passed Imp's room, I heard the sound of wretching, and as I looked up at him, the vomit spewed over the edge of his bed and splashed me. ICK! I don't "DO" vomit (if you search far enough back, you'll find a post about my feelings towards vomit), so aside from adding some soap and hitting go on the washing machine, starting the shower for the puker, and getting a mop and bucket for the vomit-cleaner (my iron-gutted other half), I didn't do a whole lot with dealing with it. However, within a few hours, I had my ass parked on the toilet, and within a few hours more, I had my head stuck in the garbage pail spilling my guts. Isn't that a visual you wish I hadn't just created?! Happy Mother's Day to me!! This continued until early Wednesday morning. After that, I was just exhausted. During that time from Sunday to Wednesday evening, at which point I was required to 'fast', I'd managed to eat 1/2 a sleeve of soda crackers and 1/2 a can of gingerale. Suffice it to say, I was feeling pretty darn good about the state of my system pre-surgery. In fact, I was feeling rather smug about it, because if there was nothing in there, then theroretically, I'd have nothing to evacuate POST-surgery, right?! Yeah, I was feeling pretty smart about it all and was thinking that the tummy bug had actually been a godsend.

Until they tried to put the IV in. Yeah, dehydration and IV's aren't something that really go well together. After using warm blankets, hanging my arms downwards, and cutting off all circulation in my arm with the armband; and then shoving that GINORMOUS needle into my body, and wiggling it around looking for ANY sort of bloodletting device in my body 2 nurses, and 4 failed attempts at getting an IV in, they left it to the dr. He too dug, but finally found a vein and got that sucker in - only to have it go 'positional' the second I was wheeled into the OR - but he fixed it once I was out. Once they got the IV in, I was wheeled to the OR - where I had a panic attack an "Oh Shit" moment. Seeing the lights, the equipment, the nurses, the doctor, and the inversion board (GULP!); it was at that moment that I realized that I was going to perched on that board with my ass hanging out as the highlight of the room. They also were liberally talking about the pain I would experience post-operatively, so that definitely didn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy either. Sensing my panic, some trickster nurse put some 'oxygen' on my face - to which I swatted away and told her colourfully that it wasn't oxygen and that I didn't appreciate being condescended - to which the entire room erupted into laughter. Well played, me, well played. Creating a 'fun zone' in the midst of your anguish. At least they were at ease, right?! and kindly informed her she was wrong, it was NOT oxygen, and next thing you know, I'm in the recovery room, comfortably numb.

In recovery, there was much talk about the severe dehydration I'd had - and how many bags of fluid they had to squeeze through, and they chastised me for not having had that dealt with when I was sick (apparently there is a time during vomiting and pooping that one must pull themselves away from the safetey of the toilet and the garbage pail to receive IV fluids). I very quickly became aware of the other people on the recovery room and their moans and declarations of pain, yet here I was, post-operative from a surgery that was supposed to create excruciating pain, completely pain free, save for the tingles in my toes. Turns out they gave me something called a "caudal block". It's like an epidural, but typically only numbs the midsection. Which I needed in order to be transported that 1 hour+ drive home. Except remember that dehydration? It kinda-sorta played havoc on my system, and made the caudal block work REALLY well. Maybe even TOO well. I couldn't move my legs. Not even one little bit. And that meant that I couldn't go home; not until I could stand and take a few steps. Needless to say, I stayed parked on my ass in recovery for HOURS. It was probably a good thing - because my blood pressure kept bottoming out (dehydration related), and at one point I had a bleed out - honest to God, I thought the nurse must have shanked me - because there was SO MUCH BLOOD flowing to the ground. Nope - turns out it was just my ass. Phew?! I was the second person brought in for surgery that day, and was the LAST one to go home. Oh yeah - when I do things, I do them right! Honestly, I think I probably could get a job in that room now. The nurses and drs were FANTASTIC - they truly were, and they all cheered joyfully when I took those steps and finally got wheeled to the front doors. I get that it might have been more about the fact that they could go home at that point, but I'm choosing to believe it was because they were genuinely happy for me.

The bottom line is that things went well. The surgery was a great success, my bowels were totally in tact, and I was comfortably numb. Until I got home. About an hour after I arrived home, the caudal block wore off, and the pain set in. I couldn't get comfortable; I was afraid to eat anything; and the concept of expelling ANYTHING from my body was terrifying (I had a VERY strategically placed bandaid type thing attached to my back end, and well, it interfered with pretty much every bodily function I might need to pursue.

And here we are 6 days later. During those 6 days I have realized a few things. First and foremost - I have the BEST husband EVER! He stayed at the hospital all day when I had my surgery, and he has been the most attentive spouse ever (I even am willing to forget the minor detail about how he left me stranded on the toilet for 45 mins on the weekend). How many people would willing "go in" and change the dressing? Or to clean the incision? Or to help you pull up your pants after every washroom trip? Or would stand outside the bathroom door trying to distract your mind as you performed the first post-surgery dump? Or get up in the night to get pain meds? Or rubs your back and gives you a hug, just knowing that you've reached the limit and is trying to make it better? He's still not particularly domestically inclined (the state of my house is making me twitch), but he's doing his best, and I am VERY grateful for that.

Secondly, Banshee is destined to work in the medical field. She begged me to see my incision and the horrific bruising/hematoma's that have resulted (have I mentioned just how ugly that is?! Because it is! The crack of my ass looks like it's been to battle). She is so sympathetic and genuinely interested in all the gory details of it all. She's constantly asking for graphic details about how it was done, what it entailed, how much it hurts, and is truly pissed at me because I can't show her the bones they removed). It's crazy! And not to be outdone by his little siste, Imp finally asked to see the incision and bruising as well. I showed him, and he is likely traumatized for life and will need excessive counselling down the road while he blanched, he seems to have gained a little more appreciation for what I'm going through. Teen? It's business as usual for her. I admit, I'm a little disappointed and hurt that she hasn't stepped up a little more and helped out, but, I guess that's just her way of coping with things.

Thirdly, I have a WHOLE new appreciation for the expression, "Pain in the Ass".

Fourth; I survived the post-apocolyptic poop (god bless the inventor of stool softener and dried apricots. And for my mother-in-law's bran muffins).

Fifth; pain sucks. But the side effects of Percocet are even worse, so I choose to deal with the pain (using advil only when it's totally intolerable - and I've got the cold, clammy sweats).

Sixth, I am NOT designed for this. I'm already going stir-crazy!! The good news, is that I nap. A lot. BUT, I feel so incredibly useless - so I nap as an outlet. I can't bend over to pick anything up - including my pants when I sit on the toilet and they fall to my ankles. I can't sit upright to eat or anything - although I sit pretty straight on the toilet, but it makes my feet go numb after any amount of time (believe me, I know - I was left stranded on the toilet on the weekend for over 45 mins).

And lastly, any dignity I may have had (although, after having children, I can assure you, there wasn't much left), has TOTALLY disappeared. I had surgery where my ass my was the main attraction in the OR. There I was, front and centre with my ass-end proudly displayed while they operated. Then, during the recovery time, it was exposed to many different people as they checked stitches, changed dressings, and eventually dealt with a bleed. My husband, and at a check up yesterday, a nurse and the surgeon poked and prodded in there checking and cleaning the incision). When I left the hospital, they set me up with some of those peri-pads and those fantastic mesh panties to go along with them. You know what I'm talking about - those GINORMOUS feminine protection pads that were designed for dinosaurs and elephants, that women use after having babies. While they were VERY effective at collecting and containing the blood and other yummy goodness that leaked from my incision, it was also very degrading. It's one thing to explain what regular pads and 'toopons' are used for to your kids, but imagine explaining the enormity of those peri-pads!! They are massive - like the size of 25 regular pads all connected together. My children are likely traumatized thinking that some people have scooches THAT big!! Actually...they probably do, but I'm choosing to repress that thought tangent, thanks-so-much.

Yesterday, I went for my first post-operative appt. It was for a 'dressing change', and for him to permit me to take a shower. Uh news flash - not only had we changed the dressings numerous times after surgery, I've been going 'commando' (in respect to the dressing - I definitely wear my under-roos) since Sunday, and I had a shower yesterday morning. The stench and the greasy hair was overwhelming use of sponge bathing can only take you so far, and besides, the shower was TAUNTING me as I longingly looked at it while taking care of business. I needed a shower, and finally did so. And it felt SO good. Like so good, I used ALL the hot water. SO, they redressed my butt (of which I removed the dressings shortly after I arrived home - although I did leave on for a bit - they caused a bleed while checking out my 'business' at my appointment - OUCH!). The surgeon said that things looked well, and that he anticipates this to all heal up and be a resounding success (but that it will take much time). My mother-in-law graciously drove me there and back (because frustratingly so, I can't drive yet - because driving requires sitting and sitting isn't my strong-suit right now), and we had a really nice visit (thanks Mom-in-law - I truly appreciate all your help and generosity!). The ride was hard on me - because I can't sit, and the hospital is over an hour away, and I had to perch myself in the car, so last night was tough with respect to pain. In fact, I think I even asked my other half to put me out of my misery at one point, but at 3:00 am, he diligently went to the kitchen and forced me to take a dose of Percocet - which got me through the rest of the night.

Bottom line? I'm surviving. Today is rough again, much pain, but I think this is to be expected and is related to the driving and fussing over my incision yesterday. I go late next week for my stitches to be removed. Believe it or not I'm having a stroke about it, that is causing me GREAT anxiety just thinking about it. I mean, they're going to dig into the crack of my ass while I am NOT sedated, pick up the stitches and cut them out. Did I mention that I wouldn't be sedated?! HOLY HELL! I also strategically choose what I eat each day based on how it may come out the other end. It's a fine art of balance between figuring out what is going to rip the holy hell out of my butt-holio and what is going to come spewing out in a soggy, disatrous liquid mess which requires much wiping and cleaning.

So, as I try not to hyperventilate and panic dwell on the unsedated stitch removal from my ass next week, I am plugging along. I am sure that I've become the "butt" of many peoples jokes now, but I totally can laugh along with them. What I do know for sure, is that one truly doesn't understand the expression "pain in the ass" until one has had their tailbone removed. And, I will NEVER take the act of sitting for granted again. Because it is something I long to do right now. Well, that and pooping freely. And sleeping. And bending over. Yeah, I still have a ways to go in terms of recovery. And just when I am finally getting to a happy point, we'll be addressing another serious issue that I'm facing in terms of health, but until we have the CT scan and know exactly what we're dealing with, I am choosing not to fret over it.

For real. Because right now? It's ALL about the unsedated ass-stithces removal. And pooping.

That my friends, is my existance right now. Now go on, and unclench your butt cheeks and have a poop for me.