Whose mom is not normal. Part 1.

So, surgery day!  YAY!  Ten days of no painkillers but Tylenol prior to surgery had been a REALLY bad, really long week.  I'd been almost totally dependent on muscle relaxers the entire time, since my bicep and tricep were spasming like mad and making me want to cut the whole arm off.

We had the day scheduled perfectly.  We could get the kids off to school, and then leave, since I didn't have to check in until 10:15.  We got there about 45 minutes early.  Whatever, it'll be smoother, right?  Surgery was supposed to be 90 minutes and was scheduled for 11:45am, with a recovery window of up to 2 hours.  It was entirely likely that we'd be home within about 15 minutes of Nate walking in the door (Maddie would have been home close to an hour at that point).

Best laid plans, right?  Most everything is fine, except the nurses can't find a vein in my inner elbow for the IV.  They're deep AND they roll, plus I've put padding on top of the whole mess. So they put it (very painfully) into the back of my hand.  This is normal for me, I'm told it's not normal for most people.  Everything is fine, all of the doctors involved come by and introduce themselves and tell me what's going to happen.  I go in for the nerve block which, given where I felt them going in, seems to have been an interscalene block.  They'd given me IV Versed to calm me, and they started doing the block.  So, I'm all calm and relaxed, yeah okay the injection burns a little, I'm fine, I'm good, I'm...having massive trouble pulling in breath.  The best I can do feels like how Miles Dyson was breathing before he blew up Cyberdyne Systems, only slower.  I try to tell them that, "I can't breathe," and it comes out in a whisper.  They tell me to just relax, my lungs are getting enough air.  What feels like forever passes, and nothing gets better, so I tell them again that, "I can't breathe."  Again, I'm told to relax and that my lungs are getting enough air.  The whole feeling is a LOT like how I felt when I had an epidural with Maddie's birth and I'd slid too far down on the bed, allowing the epidural to travel too far up my body and deaden my diaphragm.  I didn't get much farther than thinking that.  Things got really fuzzy and disjointed at that point.  I recall someone questioning HOW I'd, "...gotten through with a bra on" (I had a bandeau on) and questions about whether they should cut it off.  There was a question as to whether they should intubate me, and I recall SOMETHING going down my throat, because it was damn uncomfortable and I have a feeling I fought it to some extent.  Then, nothing.

I was out in recovery.  "AMANDA, CAN YOU HEAR ME?  OPEN YOUR EYES."  I opened my eyes and let them know I could hear them.  I don't know If I said something, made a face or what.  I just wanted to sleep.  I knew they hadn't done the surgery.   "AMANDA, CAN YOU HEAR ME?  OPEN YOUR EYES."   God Damn, you just asked me that!  I wondered if they were going to make me pay for all of this crap if they surgery didn't get done today.   "AMANDA, CAN YOU HEAR ME?  OPEN YOUR EYES."  Jeezus!  YES I'M AWAKE, we've established this!  Can I wiggle my toes?  Yup.  Fingers?  Yup.

Matt comes in and they start explaining things.   "AMANDA, CAN YOU HEAR ME?  OPEN YOUR EYES."   REALLY!?  I started glaring at them at this point.  Matt said later that I was looking REALLY annoyed at that point.  "She doesn't know she hasn't had the surgery yet."  At which point I chimed in, "Yes she does."  There seems like there was a bit of surprise at that.  They explain that somehow, possibly through an anomaly in my anatomy, the Narcaine in the block "backflowed into the epidural space" and caused problems.

"How are you feeling now, Amanda?"  I was turned toward Matt and away from the person who'd asked that, "Like shit,"  I mumbled - I still wasn't really clear at this point.  They asked Matt what I'd said and he blanked his faced and said, rather diplomatically, "She feels...bad."