Healing continues

 

I was warned prior to this latest surgery that I'd take longer to "bounce back" from it than I had from earlier operations, simply because I'm now in my late 60's and my body doesn't have the resilience and reserves of energy that it had when I was younger.  That said, I was prepared to put up with less rapid healing, but I hadn't thought it would be this much slower than before.  In particular, with 33 surgical steel staples holding closed one major and six minor incisions, any sudden movement is a non-starter.  I have to take it very carefully, one step at a time, and let things fall where they may (you should pardon the expression).  I'm told it'll take several weeks, perhaps two to three months, before I can move as freely as I used to.

That must be a major imposition on my dear wife, who's more than two decades younger than I.  She instinctively moves and does things at her normal pace, but I'm now at half that speed or less, and I can tell she gets frustrated when I can't quite keep up.  I tease her that she can practice growing older on me, because I won't complain at her!

I have to watch my breathing, too.  After about 4 hours under general anesthetic last Friday, my lungs weren't at their brightest and best, and I now have to contend with crackles (what used to be called rales) in both of them.  When any cough pulls at the surgical staples, that can be painful.  I'm told this will ease off over the next couple of months, but I'll need to do breathing exercises to restore my lungs to full function.

Most frustrating of all (and this may fall under the heading of Too Much Information, but I'd like to help others who may find themselves in my situation, so I think it's worth mentioning) is that one's internal garbage disposal systems sure take their time about getting back into working order.  Urination isn't much of an issue, but it's now been six days since anything more solid has moved, so I'm under orders to report to the ER today for an enema.  I'm not looking forward to it at all, but it's apparently a known hang-up (you should pardon the expression) after major surgery as one gets older, to the point that unless one takes steps to restore it, permanent damage can result.  (Yes, of course one can administer an enema to oneself, but with surgical staples scattered all around my abdomen, allow me to assure you that free and easy movement to reach the parts concerned is not, repeat, NOT all that readily achievable!  I'd rather pay a professional to work around that problem for me, and spare myself the pain [and the wriggling].)

Finally, there are the cats.  Ah, yes.  Dear, sweet, beloved cats . . . who regard my belly as their personal stomping-ground (literally) and see no reason why they shouldn't arrive on it at full speed, paws out, claws extended, whenever they feel like a little kneadin' and lovin'.  I've used a few less than charitable descriptions of felines over the past day or two, and I daresay that'll continue until the surgical staples are removed in a couple of weeks' time.

That's all for now.  I'll post more in due course as I feel more and more human.  Thanks again to everyone who's contributed to help me get to this point.  One major surgery down, at least one (probably two) to go.

Peter