Out of Commission

No, Not Art Commissions…

I have been out of commission over the past few weeks. It was all in preparation for a hand surgery I was scheduled to have last Thursday, which also happened to be my birthday. Not my idea of a fun birthday weekend, that’s for sure. But it was the only availability for the surgeon that worked with my work schedule. The surgery was an outpatient procedure that took a couple hours to repair the arthritis in my left thumb. Oddly the arthritis is in my non-dominant hand, but you won’t hear me complaining.

I was so busy trying to do all my heavy duty chores before my surgery date. Wash the car, thorough house cleaning, trim the palm trees, cut the grass…you get the picture. I bought a back scrubber for the shower, strapless bras, floss picks for my teeth, and plastic bags to wrap my arm in when I shower. I also made sure to color my hair. Anything and everything I could think of, I tried to get out of the way before I’d have to navigate the world with one hand and potentially a lot of pain.

Cutting through bone just sounds excruciating, doesn’t it?

At this point there was no feeling due to the nerve block.

Surgery day. Out of commission, day 1.

At any rate, my surgery date came and went without incident and the doc sent me home with instructions for keeping it clean, not driving with the pain meds, and what to do in case of infection. Having anticipated a lot of pain, they offered and I accepted a nerve block. The anesthesiologist warned me that it would feel like absolutely dead weight for up to ten hours. As usual for me, it lasted about fourteen hours before I was able to move my fingers at all. During that time, I realized the my hand did not feel like it belonged to me. When I touched my numb hand, it felt like I was holding someone else’s hand. I also realized I could literally crank my fingers back and dislocate them all and wouldn’t feel a thing. It was very creepy.

When I started waking up in recovery, the nurse waned me that my throat would likely be sore from being intubated. It wasn’t at the time but I kept floating in and out of sleep. Then she offered to have my pain meds filled in the hospital so that I wouldn’t have to deal with going to my own pharmacy. I agreed and a few minutes later a white prescription bag showed up near my belongings. They helped me get redressed, put my bandaged numb arm in a sling, and before you know it, they were wheeling me out to where my sister was waiting to take me home. Well, actually, we stopped for simian first because I hadn’t eaten since the night before.

Once home, I slept mostly. Just like the nerve block, any type of anesthesia lingers a lot longer in my body than most people. By the time it had worn off, it was time for dinner. My arm was still completely numb and I was approaching my guesstimation for the ten hour mark when it should start wearing off. I took my first pain pill so that it would have time to take effect before the nerve block wore off.

That was an adventure in itself. I opened the prescription bag to see what they gave me and just stared at it. Because how the heck am I supposed to open it with one hand? Had I been conscious enough, I would have requested the easy-open bottle, but you’d think the nurse would have had the sense to request it for me.

Had to figure out how to do this with one hand.

I fixed a light dinner. Basically nuked some leftovers and called it a day. But in order to sleep, I had to strap my arm up somehow so that it would remain elevated. So, I Ace bandaged it to the body pillow that normally stays on my chest when I sleep. I’m weird. Don’t even ask.

Done deal and I’m asleep in less than five minutes.

Out of commission, day 2.

The next day of being out of commission consisted of me puttering around the house, checking emails, and binging true crime shows. I did take a second pain pill that morning even though I really didn’t need it. By the time dinner rolled around I noticed some scratchiness in my throat and figured it was from the intubation. I was also clearing my throat with mild phlegm. I figured also due to the irritation from being intubated. As I was eating, I noticed that I was clearing my throat more and more. I also noticed that my skin was starting to feel sensitive to the touch.

Weird. But I finished eating and washed my dishes. As I’m walking back to my room, I notice my joints are a tiny bit achy.

Great. I take my temperature. 99.5. A teeny bit high from my usual 98.6.

I navigate the shower for the first time and forget about the slight temperature. The shower was an adventure. How do you shave the armpit of the same arm that is holding the razor? And washing hair as long as mine? Forget about it!

So I crawl back into bed and fall asleep watching more true crime.

Seriously out of commission, day 3.

The following day I woke up at 4:30pm. PM!! Talk about out of commission! I had horrible body aches. My chest felt like someone had it in a vice. I had a deep mucousy cough and a 101 temp. I managed to do a home Covid test. It showed positive for Covid almost immediately. I practically crawled to the kitchen to get Tylenol and extra strength Mucinex and crawled back into bed where I stayed for the next day and a half.

I only ever got up to pee and take more Mucinex and Tylenol and that was it. It was painful to move. My lungs felt like they were wrapped up with mucous. Each cough was deep and painful. I still had a 101 temp so my body ached, my skin hurt, my eyeballs hurt, my hair hurt. It was just awful. I was grateful that I could at least sleep pretty soundly.

Back amongst the living, day 5.

My fever finally broke Sunday evening. The congestion was pretty much gone. It was so strange. Like all of that never really happened. It knocked me down hard for two days and then was just…gone. During those days, I never took any pain meds because my body aches were far worse than anything I felt from my surgery. Maybe I should have taken it for that! Oh well.

My first PT appointment was supposed to be this Thursday, but got pushed back due to the Covid. I’m actually anxious to go because they’re supposed to take off this giant, clunky bandaged brace and replace it with a smaller one. But now I have to wait until next Wednesday. Until then I continue trying to live a one-handed life. No upper body workouts. I’m technically not even supposed to drive like this. I’m writing this post one-handed. Everything takes longer. Recovery to full use of my hand can take anywhere from 3 months to a year.

I’m hoping since my pain is at a minimum now, that I’ll be one of the 3 month people.

Fingers crossed.

.

.

.