Push the Button, Honey

About 6 years ago, I had a major abdominal surgery. This surgery had me out of work for about 8 weeks and had me in excruciating pain for...well, I'll let you guys know when the pain is completely done. One of the incisions for this surgery was inside my belly button. That incision was hurting pretty badly last night, so I grabbed a cotton swab and some antibiotic cream and applied it to that incision. When I removed the cotton swab from my navel, I saw it was covered in blood. So, yeah. 6 years and that sumbitch is still bleeding. And people wonder why I'm so very terrified of having another surgery in less than a week.

All of the conversations about my concerns about having this surgery (to repair a torn tendon in my ankle) have had me remembering the major abdominal surgery from 6 years ago. In particular, one story stands out as being quite amusing.

I was 22 years old and working overnights at a convenience store. My boyfriend at the time, Nerfherder, was still in university and living almost an hour away from me. I call him Nerfherder because even though he could be quite shitty to me, he was mostly pretty good and a part of me will always love him. So he gets a nickname that is simultaneously endearing and insulting. There have been a lot of negative stories about him shared in this blog, but tonight's story is a positive story. Now, back to that story!

My mother took me to the hospital at five a.m. for preparation for surgery. Around 6 a.m., as they were putting my IV in to sedate me, I started panicking and grabbing my mom's hand and crying and begging for Nerfherder. I then lost consciousness and was wheeled into surgery. My mom, being the most fantastic person in the world and always willing to do anything for me, went back to the waiting room and called Nerfherder. When I came to following surgery, Nerfherder and my mom were both sitting next to me. That made me happy, and I fell right back to sleep. The doctor came to talk to my visitors. He told them that I was hooked up to a morphine pump, and that I could push the button for a dose every ten minutes. My mom went to the hospital cafeteria, since she had not eaten since about 4 a.m. and it was probably noon at this point. So it was just me, heavily medicated, and Nerfherder, well-meaning but apparently having had misunderstood the doctor's instructions.

Ten minutes passed, and Nerfherder shook me awake. "Honey," he said softly. "Honey, you need to push that button."

I trusted Nerfherder implicitly and was too heavily medicated to think for myself, so sure. I'll push any button you tell me to, Babe.

I fell back to sleep right away. Another ten minutes passed, and Nerfherder gently shook me awake again. "Honey, you need to push the button."

Press. Sleep. Ten minutes later: "Honey? Honey? Roz? You need to push the button."

This continued on and on. My mom returned after about an hour, surprised by how soundly I was still sleeping. Then, Nerfherder told her, "I've been waking her up to push the button every ten minutes. She's really out. I had to help her push the button a couple of times. Last time, I just pushed it for her."

My mother, a nurse, panicked. "NERFHERDER! No!"

"What?!" Nerfherder replied, matching her level of panic. "The doctor said she needed to push the button every ten minutes!"

"Oh, Nerfherder. He said she could have it every ten minutes. Not that she had to have it that often."

I don't think I felt anything that entire day.

I'm thinking about calling Nerfherder to control my pain medication following this surgery...