Back to work today.
In true form, last night I developed (or just noticed) a new "symptom" ready for my first day back: I have a 3" x 1.5" bulge on my right thigh, located laterally across from one of my holes.
It's fairly defined in that you can run your hand up my thigh (oooo laa laa) and you can feel the beginning and end of it, and it's not squishy like normal swelling, it's quite firm. There's no discoloration - it's not red and it's not blue/black like a bruise. Therefore, we (Hubby and I) diagnosed swelling and last night Hubby suggested I ice it to see if we could get it down. But this morning it was no better. It's slightly sore but not excrutiatingly so (at least not with the narcotics flowing through my veins.)
Today I called the surgeon to see if I should be worried and he told me (in that glib, casual tone he has) that I probably have a cup of blood sitting under there, waiting for my body to flush it out. He said it like I had a cup of tea sitting on my coffee table, waiting for me to drink it. But cups of tea don't make me feel woosey... this DID.
So, I have internal bleeding!? Well, yes, and no. It's blood from the surgery trapped internally between layers of flesh, so strictly speaking yes but in the way that we normally think about internal bleeding no. (Yeah, semantics makes it feel all better.) He said that the hole it's closest to is the one that they spent the most time 'in', 'jabbing around'. OMG, how I didn't just collapse right there I don't know. Hubby said thatw this made sense since he could 'tell' that this hole had been worked on more. I don't even want to know what it is about that hole that gives off that impression, I still haven't even looked at my holes and have absolutely no plan or desire to until at least the stitches come out.
Anyway, now I'm freaking that I've been icing this 'blood' under my thigh tissue. My skin was cool to the touch and I pictured there being a blood-flavored popsicle sitting under the flesh on my right thigh. So, now i'm warming it up a bit, to see if that helps redistribute it. God, I feel nauseous.
Hubby also suggested lightly combing it tonight, to encourage it to make it's way through my system. This is a technique he learned in his baseball days and I have no idea if it will work on my blood popsicle but I'm willing to try it.
So, tonight, we'll add yet another first to our marriage: we'll comb my thigh.
Also during my conversation with my surgeon, I mentioned my stitches (because nobody else at the hospital ever thought to mention them to me.) I asked if I would be getting them out at our post-op appointment next week and he said I would be. Yay. NOT. When I told him that I was not looking forward to that and asked him if he would be gentle with me, you know what he said? "No, I want to draw tears."
He thinks he's funny, I'm not getting the humor. So, I told him my husband would be with me and he would beat him up if he made me cry. (Hey, I never had a brother and so this was my first opportunity to use the trusty ole 'be nice to me or some man who loves me will kick your ass'). You know what he said to THAT!? "Is that the same guy I met after your surgery? I think I could take him. I could kick his ass."
What, now he's slighting my husband's masculinity? He who impersonates the slightly-schitzophrenic-Vincent-D'Onofrio? He does not know who he's messin' with. I'll beat him around the head with my blood popsicle!