jakorte's blog

(Disclaimer: Fair Warning! Not for The Faint of Heart!)

Courtesy of IKEA, I have become much too familiar with the above statement tattooed on the side of my bathroom scale – the side which faces the commode.

You see, I’ve spent a lot of time on that particular piece of furniture today. Day four following surgery, and no complications, until now. Or this morning to be more precise, although I feared I was headed this way yesterday. I also didn’t realize until about noon today, what exactly the medication was that was missing when I went to the pharmacy to pick it up. I vaguely remembered the doctor saying there would be two prescriptions.

But, when I went to pick them up, sixteen hours later, and in the possession of two new prescriptions, there was only one. No trace of the other mystery med or Rx behind the counter. Since I was still a bit loopy, and the med that was waiting was the exact same one as the new prescription, I just blinked and said, “Ok.” The second Rx I turned in before discharge was for an anti-nausea medication. They for sure did not want me to vomit and rip open my super-glued incisions.

Anyway, no nausea, no pain; until today. My lower belly started to hurt, and I started to strain, and quickly tried to determine if the plethora of blue spots on my belly were left over bruising coming to the surface or new bruises because I tore something. Due to the vaguely yellowish tinge of the area, I decided it was old bruising.

Still… ouch. Ok. Childhood advice to a young me with belly issues was to always “Lay on your stomach.” That did not work. The non-sutured super-glue crusted bulge of angry skin that used to be a cute belly button cursed aloud when I tried that. Ok. Next attempt: legs up, feet on the arm of the sofa, forming a 90 degree angle to the belly. Thankfully, some gaseous matter escaped, alas nothing else moved along. Not after coffee. Not after milk, not after Raisin Bran.

Pushing fluids ensured my kidneys were functioning fine and my bladder was working, often. However, about 1:00 pm, it occurred to me what the missing link was: stool softener. I think I remember that the pharmacy would not fill the RX because I did not need one for it. I wish I had remembered that then. Homebound, unsure if it would be proper protocol to ask a friend to stop by somewhere and get me some of the embarrassing stuff, I was saved by a lovely lady who asked if she could come by with lunch.

I responded honestly, “Oh, hello. Have no idea what time you really sent this message because it says 3:39 PM but it's only 1:51 PM. Been lying down. Although today is not a good day for solid food, if you're not opposed to it, I could probably use some sort of intervention for constipation in the form of softener pills. Or maybe a Frosty. One of course is more appealing than the other.”

Because she is a marvelous friend, she agreed. It’s now 2:45 and I’ve skipped a dose of pain meds because that is most likely causing the issue. I’ve taken Motrin and now I’m at the dull-roar stage on the pain scale. I’ve convinced myself to attempt to nap until salvation arrives.

However, as luck would have it there is another nasty residual effect to prolonged pain medication. My previously aloof, non-demanding cat has turned into an attention grabbing monster. Each trip to the lavatory became an adventure as I belatedly realized that the vanity bulb lights reflect through my glasses projecting nice little dots of attack worthy amusement on the shower curtain. If I perchance removed my spectacles before using the facilities, I received an incredulous look accompanied by a harsh where the hell is my game meow. Every time I stood up, I was the victim of Miss Fred’s intentional herding. To the kitchen – I want milk! To the porch – I want Oat Grass. To blazes with you for unseating me – I was cat napping there!

It’s 4:00 pm and I believe I am in danger of morphing into my cat as my efforts have resulted in little more than cat-litter size droppings. (Please don’t forget, I warned you! You’re too far in now, might as well continue.)

So, the Motrin resembling little innocuous bottle arrived at 5:00 PM. Much joyous noise was made. Bifocals on – where are the directions? Thank goodness for non-medicated friends. Apparently, you are supposed self-deduce that you should peel back the label for directions. In my state, I never would have figured that out. Further vague directions – take 1-4 tablets? Works in – what??? 6 to 12 hours? Are they kidding?

“No,” my perpetually calm friend announced. “There were bottles that said worked within 12 – 72 hours. And bottles that said ‘super fast, super strength.” She went with the medium road, and I decided it was a good path to take. I took two.

So, 7:30 PM: I hear thunder, though the summer storm has already passed through an hour ago. My innards are telecasting the soundtrack from Jurasic park. The reaction of the raisin bran, the carriage of the coffee, the milk becoming magnesia, the power of panic, the frigidity of the frosty, the purposefulness of the pills? 6-12 hours my pupik! I’ve only recently learned that this is a technical Yiddish term for a chicken’s butt. So, I guess the whole chicken thing started way back with my grandparents.

In the midst of my unexpected but delightfully speedy relief, miss fred treated me to a kitty face I’ve seen before. Talli short for Tallica short for Metallica was another rescue. He and I were a pair long before I met my husband. As a forn of self-introduction Talli stuck his nose into one of Jeff's shoes and came out with a possessed feral look that telegraphed his extreme displeasure in my choice and gave us both the creeps. Only Miss Thing went a bit further and snuck her nose between my knees and the seat. And there it was – the universal cat "holy cow you’re kidding right" look of disgust. She shook her head as she backed away curling her lip up to cover her nose and baring fangs in the process. I laughed because I felt the same way.

Now, I’m kinda wondering if I’m going to swing completely the other way. Oh, I sure hope not. Non legal pour commerce – Not intended for trade!