It's been a week now.
I'm doing well, but it's been somewhat dramatic. I have no feeling or sensation in my ear and most of the left side of my face. Extremely odd to touch my ear - feel like a piece of rubber attached to my head... Gives me the creeps a bit... I'm extremely grateful that I did not really have any facial paralysis though, as that was a very real possibility as it's a potential side effect of messing with the facial nerves. Disfigurement, scarring, numbness - these are all quite insignificant, in my mind, but not having the ability to smile, or create facial expression would have a big impact on quality of life, I think. Because in essence, my ability to communicate would be compromised. Also, I'm a rather dramatic, facially expressive person. Aka: being a cornball is pretty fundamental to my person. I'm not sure how it would be, if that physical ability was compromised.
Stayed overnight in the hospital. And to be honest, I enjoyed it. I loved the camaraderie of my 71 year old roommate and her extended family visits. (She was 1 of 15 siblings, and the are all very close, she told me). I also loved the visits from the nurses, and the aids, and the breakfast in bed, and the beautiful view from the window. I could honestly stay there forever. Well, maybe not forever, but I sure didn't mind it.
Also, there's something about sickness that made me feel safe and loved. By contrast, sickness can also evoke loneliness and fear. So, actually, I'm feeling shocked that I just wrote that. Now that I think about it, loneliness was a huge issue right before the surgery. ...Maybe a truer statement, is that sickness is emotional and real. I felt so vulnerable. But also alive, and connected. Maybe I felt safety in that vulnerability. No not safety, comfort. Maybe I'm trying to say that the vulnerability (or lack of safety).... WHAT THE FUCK AM I SAYING>>>>>>>!>!!>?!>! ok ignore this whole paragraph?!!?!? ....
Thinking....
When I was wheeled away to surgery, I felt fear. When I found myself surrounded by nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists, and they were preparing to administer anesthesia, I suddenly felt sensory overload and cried. I was scared I would have a panic attack. I was so embarrassed. Then insisted to everyone that I was ok, and don't worry, don't worry, I'm ok, it's just physical. Mortified.
That was before.
But when I was waking up, and their was darkness, and just a voice, "How are you feeling Indigo?" The fear had left. I answered, eyes still closed, "Nauseous and thirsty." And had full confidence that the voices heard, and would help. I had surrendered. I felt surrendered. Maybe that's the "safety", that I felt? Like a child, no responsibility, no expectations, barely conscious. Before long an ice chip appeared in my mouth. I don't know how it got there, I don't know where I was, I don't know who was with me, but I said I was thirsty, and the ice chip appeared to quench my thirst. And it was heavenly, that ice chip. Truly incredible. .....Just like my first meal of mush after the surgery when I had been wheeled back to my room. "THIS IS BEST SOUP I HAVE EVER TASTED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE", I explained to my brother who was sitting in my room. He laughed, but I didn't know why, because I was not kidding. It was truly divine.
Why?
What made that that mushy bland food, and simple soup so amazing? It could be related to the drugs, but I think it was more than that. There was something about the entire experience that felt... Almost spiritual....
What was it?
I'm doing well, but it's been somewhat dramatic. I have no feeling or sensation in my ear and most of the left side of my face. Extremely odd to touch my ear - feel like a piece of rubber attached to my head... Gives me the creeps a bit... I'm extremely grateful that I did not really have any facial paralysis though, as that was a very real possibility as it's a potential side effect of messing with the facial nerves. Disfigurement, scarring, numbness - these are all quite insignificant, in my mind, but not having the ability to smile, or create facial expression would have a big impact on quality of life, I think. Because in essence, my ability to communicate would be compromised. Also, I'm a rather dramatic, facially expressive person. Aka: being a cornball is pretty fundamental to my person. I'm not sure how it would be, if that physical ability was compromised.
Stayed overnight in the hospital. And to be honest, I enjoyed it. I loved the camaraderie of my 71 year old roommate and her extended family visits. (She was 1 of 15 siblings, and the are all very close, she told me). I also loved the visits from the nurses, and the aids, and the breakfast in bed, and the beautiful view from the window. I could honestly stay there forever. Well, maybe not forever, but I sure didn't mind it.
Also, there's something about sickness that made me feel safe and loved. By contrast, sickness can also evoke loneliness and fear. So, actually, I'm feeling shocked that I just wrote that. Now that I think about it, loneliness was a huge issue right before the surgery. ...Maybe a truer statement, is that sickness is emotional and real. I felt so vulnerable. But also alive, and connected. Maybe I felt safety in that vulnerability. No not safety, comfort. Maybe I'm trying to say that the vulnerability (or lack of safety).... WHAT THE FUCK AM I SAYING>>>>>>>!>!!>?!>! ok ignore this whole paragraph?!!?!? ....
Thinking....
When I was wheeled away to surgery, I felt fear. When I found myself surrounded by nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists, and they were preparing to administer anesthesia, I suddenly felt sensory overload and cried. I was scared I would have a panic attack. I was so embarrassed. Then insisted to everyone that I was ok, and don't worry, don't worry, I'm ok, it's just physical. Mortified.
That was before.
But when I was waking up, and their was darkness, and just a voice, "How are you feeling Indigo?" The fear had left. I answered, eyes still closed, "Nauseous and thirsty." And had full confidence that the voices heard, and would help. I had surrendered. I felt surrendered. Maybe that's the "safety", that I felt? Like a child, no responsibility, no expectations, barely conscious. Before long an ice chip appeared in my mouth. I don't know how it got there, I don't know where I was, I don't know who was with me, but I said I was thirsty, and the ice chip appeared to quench my thirst. And it was heavenly, that ice chip. Truly incredible. .....Just like my first meal of mush after the surgery when I had been wheeled back to my room. "THIS IS BEST SOUP I HAVE EVER TASTED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE", I explained to my brother who was sitting in my room. He laughed, but I didn't know why, because I was not kidding. It was truly divine.
Why?
What made that that mushy bland food, and simple soup so amazing? It could be related to the drugs, but I think it was more than that. There was something about the entire experience that felt... Almost spiritual....
What was it?
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