The next few days & weeks are extremely foggy. Back to back surgeries. Lots of visitors; visiting I don't recall. Crying in between surgeries, 1st thing when I wake up, & in the middle of the night. It physically hurt to cry, I asked why, "u have several broken ribs". The pain & levels of discomfort were literally unbearable. And it wasn't safe to give me any more pain medicine than I was being given. My legs felt like painful dead weights attached to a pile of broken bones. I would page nurses & aids to please just lift up my legs & put them back down, it would give a moment of relief. One nurse (whom is one of my favorites, love u megan) suggested I use a machine that people use when they get a knee replacement. It would constantly bend & straighten my leg & the answer to all my prayers. Better than the best massage. I quickly burned out 2 motors of those magical machines.
I had an incision going from the bottom of my chest to the top of my c-section scar, sealed with metal staples. I'd had surgery(s) on every limb. The Dr's thought they were done with me. Every time the transporter would come & get me for an x-ray, CT scan or surgery I would cringe. You don't realize all the bumps & rivets on the ground until you have to brace your broken body while being wheeled over them, pain shooting in every direction. People that know me well, know that I'm very in tune with my body. My left arm & right hand were still broken. I knew it. Each time I would get an x-ray on various body parts I'd beg the technician to please x-ray my hand & arm, "we can't without a Dr's order", they'd always say. My first physical therapy session is when I proved I was right, nearly a week after I'd had surgery on my other bones. He was moving 'the left arm', oh so gently. Then a pop. "you feel that?" I asked. He put his fingers near the popping, & continued to pop my broken bone. "okay, I hate that... Please stop now". Hours later, I was sent downstairs to finally get my last broken bones x-rayed. Both needed surgery & rods, screws, & plates were put in.
Somewhere along the way it was decided that a PICC line was needed. A PICC line is an IV that starts near your arm & runs along near your heart. The veins are bigger near your heart. You can draw blood quickly & give IV meds easily & it's a lot more convenient. Most of my veins were covered in casts & splints, & the veins that were accessible were shot. Putting in a PICC is an intense procedure that takes 2 people & an ultrasound machine. They have to carefully measure the distance from insertion to the heart & the main risk of a PICC is infection. After they put in a PICC they do chest x-rays to make sure it's in the right place.
Putting in my PICC went smoothly. For a moment I felt light-headed & the PICC team adjusted it & I felt better. They packed up their things & left. About 10 minutes later I was talking to my mother in law & stopped mid-sentence because I realized my heart was racing, I was light headed, & I hadn't had my chest X-rays regarding the PICC. My nurse was called in & I was hooked up to a heart monitor. Her face turned white. Moments later a swarm of people arrived & a crash cart was ordered. I felt like I was dying, "I'm not gonna die now after all I've survived", I thought. The PICC team moved the line a few centimeters & the problem subsided. The reason my body reacted the way it did was due to my bruised heart I'd gotten during the accident (something I had no idea about)... My heart rate was 196, normal is 90.
The first 2.5 weeks in the hospital I'd learn of new injuries I've had surgeries on at least daily. Its taken a long time for my foggy brain to sort through them & know which leg had which bones broken etc. But nothing compares to the ultimate pain I feel in the depths of my soul. The pain that my arms long to hold again. The pain my ears long to hear again, lips to kiss again. I miss him every second of every day & it hurts beyond any pain I've endured or have yet to endure. I want him back.
To be continued....