Umbilical Hernia, Ventral Hernia, Diastasis Recti and more.
I am now in recovery from abdominal surgery, and it was pretty bad in there, my friends.
The night before the surgery, I was afraid that something would go wrong. There was a lot of build up to this moment, which means I had a lot of time to think. (Not a good thing in my case.) When I tucked my son in the night before the surgery, I wondered if it would be for the last time. When I kissed my baby girl’s cheek, I savored her baby smell. As I gathered my belongings the morning of the surgery, I took a picture of my kids with me. As we drove away, I looked back at the house hoping I would see it again. My Mom, who was going to take care of the kiddos, gave me a hug and said that if I was uncomfortable, don’t do it, but I said in response, “I have to do this.”
Yet, I still had fears.
When I saw the doctor for the surgery preparations, he mumbled “Wow” about three times when he was marking me up for the surgery. I remember, jokingly, telling to the nurse that it is never a good sign when the doctor is shocked. He hadn’t seen me in a couple of months, so he was stunned again. I have to say, it was at that very moment, that the fears went away and a feeling of confidence over came me, and I knew I was definitely doing the right thing.
The surgery took 6 hours. The doctor and operating nurse informed my family that it was worse than they had expected. The umbilical hernia and a ventral hernia were bigger and the abdominal separation was greater. They reconstructed my abdomen and, after being extended for so long, they removed the excess skin once my torso was back together again. I did manage to get a belly button back (yay!), but my tattoo is gone (sniff). I won’t go into to many more details, but I am not joking when I say they pulled off a miracle and I am so grateful. Not only to be ‘put back’ together, but to be alive and well, to spend another day hugging my kids and giving them kisses.
As a result of the severity, my recovery is going to be a bit longer than expected, and the pain is going to be greater. But you know what? I don’t care. I am fixed. I am alive. I am going to feel better in a matter of weeks. There is a sense of hope and a renewal that I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
It was a tough decision, even though it was the right one for me, because as soon as I walked into the surgery, I knew that it meant we would not be having any more children. It is hard to make such a definitive decision just seven months after having Baby G. I would have preferred the option of choice, of flexibility, of the right to change my mind a year from now or three years from now. But I knew that my condition was such that I might not be able to have a safe pregnancy, and that sometimes, life makes the decisions for you. I could curse the world, be angry, be resentful, but I have two beautiful children. I need to be grateful for what I have and enjoy the children I do have. While the face of a future baby fades from my head, and my heart, it allows for more love and devotion to the children that I have now.
Here I am, 24 hours later, feet up and trying to avoid the vicodin. Despite the fact I am only Tylenol, I learned that sending an email, when still under the after affects of the anesthesia, like the one I sent to Kelly at Tiny Sophisticate, is not the best idea. Between the drugs and the iPhone auto correct, it was a…ummm…an interesting email. Probably like this blog post.
So what will my next blog post be about? Relinquishing control and asking for help; two areas that are not my forte at all…