Everyone said the first week after surgery would be the hardest. I don't know yet if that is true, as I've only just crested the 1.5 week mark, but I wouldn't be mad about it if the hardest days were behind me! I'm happily through the part where around the clock pain management is necessary. I'm happy about that because days 2-3 I could hardly even keep my eyes open. Now there is pain, but it's different than I thought it would be. It's a deep uncomfortableness that, yes, still needs some pain management, but not like the first several days. The nights are definitely the toughest. It is so difficult to get comfortable, and my muscles aren't all firing up again, so I get easily tangled in sheets and pillows, and it's close to impossible to maneuver around. The hardest moments from surgery, and probably 90% of the tears, have been at night.
For the first week, my mom slept in my guest room, which you might also recognize as my living room couch, so she could help me in the middle of the night. She's an actual saint. I can get in and out of bed on my own, but getting the pillows just right, getting new ice packs, and getting the right meds was out of my wheelhouse a few days ago.
On one of these nights, I was endeavoring to get out of bed to use the bathroom on my own. Winnie and Lanny have approved "spots" on the bed. Winnie is allowed to sleep almost anywhere on the left side, because while she has a challenging personality, she is a good sleeper. Lanny can sleep on my right side near my shoulder, or not on the bed at all. He still doesn't understand feet. You're not a kitten dude! Pouncing on feet is NOT cool. I usually build a small pillow fence around my feet for reinforcement. Oh the joys of being owned by cats.
Back to the night in question. I sat up, and Winnie moved down to the end of the bed. Normally, that's no big deal, as one can bend your legs to get out of bed. But you know, that's not happening! I gave the obligatory "Here we go!" which is 99% effective in getting Winnie to move. She didn't budge an inch. I pulled the covers up, creating some tension under her, and gave a stern: "Winnie Foster!" Nothing. She has an iron will, that one. This went on for several minutes, this begging and pleading with Ms Foster. As I'd been sitting up with my legs pinned under the blankets Winnie was holding hostage, pressure began to build in places that was not cool on my leg. I desperately needed to move.
I grabbed Ivy, an adorable stuffed otter I got at the Monterey Aquarium last year, and start swinging her around like I was trying to get a bludger in a Quidditch match. I couldn't quite reach Winnie, but she saw what was happening as Ivy swung closer and closer to her. At this point I was crying, and yelling "Move!" as I was wielding the otter around. Winnie was definitely scared, but also starting to bob and weave and defend her spot on the bed.
Just before Sarah McLachlan and the ASPCA film crew showed up, my mom walked in, likely awakened by the ruckus. Winnie turned her attention from the feral otter to the new, approaching, adversary, and starting hissing and spitting. At that point Ivy the otter made contact with the back of Winnie Foster, and Winnie split for the kitchen. Mom unwound me from the covers, and then headed to the bathroom. Of course I felt terrible, and called Winnie, who came trotting and purring back in the room. She gave Ivy a wide berth, but hopped back on the bed. Oh to be loved by a cat. And then ice, drugs, some water, and I slept for another hour and a half.
At this writing, it's after 1am, and I'm thinking about wandering back into my room. I know sleep will come again soon, and Winnie, apparently is confident that I will not always be a raving lunatic in the middle of the night. And so, week one is done!
