Some of the things my husband and I did to prep for surgery and my inevitable changes in my body were to try and force my reliance on my left hand. I was incredibly nervous to know if I would ever write the same or not. Additionally, I was freaked out because I am a musician. I've been a musician since I was very little. My condition had weakened and deteriorated my musical abilities for years. I was once concert pianist material. That dream had long left, but I still wanted to teach. My college education had suffered massively because I was always in pain, I could never play the material, and I was always gone at doctor appointments.
In a frantic rush, my husband and I used the excuse that my mother had been asking for a CD of my original compositions. Since we didn't know if I'd ever be able to play the piano again (and I currently couldn't play the flute so that was out of the question), we videotaped my music. Some of it is kind of funny as I had a lot of screw ups and when I get irritated ... I tend to pound on the keys like a two-year-old and mutter obscenities.
Lying in the hospital for three days was a lot harder than I thought it would be. The doctor didn't know if I could play again. I was struggling with the pain and discomfort of not being able to feel anything in that arm, I felt miserable and nauseous all the time, and my husband went AWOL. I'm really not sure what the hardest part was. I always want to say the music was the hardest part.
Dr. P. came by the first morning. I had slept really really well surprisingly. He told me the second night is the worst. He didn't take off my wrap yet, and my arm was still three times its normal size. He asked me if I could feel anything. I told him all I could feel was pain; I couldn't actually feel my hand or fingers. He didn't know what to make of this, but said he'd talk to the anesthesiologist. Then, he gave me instructions. I was to lift my arm over my head ever hour (extremely difficult since my arm wanted to do that swinging door trick) and make a fist repeatedly for a whole minute. Additionally, he had charged the nurses to bring me ice packs to keep under or over my bandage for the next three days.
This was not an easy task my any means. First of all, I forgot. I tried to remember to do my exercise, but my fingers wouldn't cooperate, and I was completely exhausted from lifting my arm in the air for more than 10 seconds and trying to focus my brain on moving fingers that barely twitched. Secondly, no one reminded me. The nurses went about their work, and of course my neighbor didn't speak English well enough to understand more than the basics. Besides, she had her own problems. Lastly, the icing was awful. It was so painful, but it did stop certain feelings like the burning sensation. It also deadened the brash aching I knew was from the sawed bone and metal settling. Don't get me wrong, the pain was excruciating. We're talking I could have screamed and cried the entire time I was there if I didn't know how to breathe, compartmentalize, and focus.
Breakfast that morning was wonderful. Breakfast every morning there was wonderful. German food is just plain wonderful. I ordered a broetchen with cheese, an egg, and some orange juice. Every morning the nurses would bring me vitamins and an ibuprofen - which did absolutely nothing. I especially liked taking my zinc. I used to do this when I stayed at my exchange partner's house and I had the worst UTI in the world. Zinc goes in a glass of flat water, and fizzes until it dissolves. It tastes like lemon lime when you drink it.
It was around lunch time for Americans when a nurse came in to our room and said we needed to shower. This is unusual for two reasons. One, being that Germans are not that big on hygiene like Americans. They don't shower everyday and they often wear the same clothes 3 or 4 times in a row. Body odor isn't considered a bad thing, but I suppose we were in a hospital and I was sweating as the heater in the room had been turned way up since it was November and about 30 degrees outside. The second thing that was unusual about this was that they literally meant shower, and they weren't allowed to take off my bandages.
Now, I've never been completely naked in front of another woman who wasn't my own mother or sister, or my doctor - modesty wasn't big in our house and that's fine. Bodies are bodies, it doesn't really matter anyway. And, this was a hospital. There is no real modesty in a hospital. I had already seen my roommate topless anyway. Every morning, a special kind of therapist would come in and manipulate the soft tissue and muscles around her right breast and arm where she had obviously had surgery. But, the nurse took my roommate into the bathroom, and the entire time I heard screaming and crying. I knew this wasn't because the nurse was an evil minion of Satan who enjoyed sadism. That woman was in so much pain from her arm being moved so they could shower around it.
Well, needless to say I did need a shower and a change of clothes. I had no problem calling the nurse to get me out of bed to go to the bathroom, but they didn't stand in the bathroom with me. So, when the nurse came out and asked if I was ready, I told her my husband would be here soon, and I'm sure he could do the job. She didn't seem fazed by this at all, she just said that when I was ready to come and ask for a plastic bag to wrap around my arm.
So, I stayed put in my rather comfortable bed. I had my Curious George that my mother had sent me for Christmas the year before, and my lucky pig, and my portable DVD player with all my Friends discs, my school books, and my Nintendo DS - which I could actually play on with my left hand if I was only playing Peggle.
My husband worked night shift. In fact, in the 7 years we spent in the military, he spent approximately 5 years on night shift. Seriously. They are incredibly bad at rotating the shifts as they're supposed to do so 4 times a year. But no, everywhere he's worked my husband has been on indefinite night shift. So, I wasn't surprised when my husband didn't show up at the hospital until after lunch. But when he did, I told him we needed to get me in the shower so the nurse wouldn't come back and drag me in there. I heard the screaming. I knew my husband would be better suited to wash and manipulate me than a nurse who I didn't know from Adam.
He goes and gets me a change of clothes out of my locker, grabs my bathroom kit (I didn't know what to expect in a German hospital so I brought everything. Come to find out, you're supposed to bring everything. Lucky me!) and then hunts down a nurse for a plastic bag. She comes in, secures it to me and puts rubber bands around it, tucks it into the soft bandages, and I'm set.
Bathing for almost 6 months after the surgery was an awful experience. This first shower was killer. I cried, my husband washed. I cried, my husband washed. I think my husband wanted to cry too. He's really sensitive. Anyway, the good thing about showering was that it is standard for Europeans to have walk-in showers, and it is also standard that the shower is one of those hand-held nozzles. My husband watered me down While I stood there holding onto a wall. Then he lathered up my hair, and then soaped me all over. Then we rinsed. I didn't know how bad the rest of my body ached until he was rubbing soap all over me. I think that the pain just entirely wasted my body of all normalcies.
After the shower, I felt much better. My husband stayed for a few hours. We played Skip-Bo (holding cards was impossible so he had to see everything I had), we talked, and we watched a movie on my little DVD player. Well, he fell asleep to it part of the way through. When dinner came, he left to go get his own dinner and said he'd be back to say goodbye before he went to work.
It was during dinner that a group of doctors wandered in. My husband had just returned and was sitting with me when they kicked him out. They wanted to discuss the roommate's condition and do "rounds." Fine, okay. But, we don't speak German well enough to understand all the medical jargon so what the hell was the point of kicking my husband out? AND, even if I did understand them, he is my husband. I could relay the information to him if I wanted to. This was just weird.
I didn't eat much in the hospital. The most I ate was in the mornings. I remember this dinner had this huge salad with beans and lentils. There was also custard pudding. When my husband came back in the room he noticed I had only eaten a few bites. I wasn't hungry. I also didn't want to push it because I was already feeling nauseated all the time. It was really gourmet food though. When my husband came back he ate a few bites to see if it tasted good. I think he was just hungry still. He had gone home and changed for work, had picked up the dog, and ate a small dinner then packed his "lunch" for work. Then he kissed me good night and left for work.
I had a hard time falling asleep that night because my roommate had guests. One was her husband, and then a couple of friends. They were all loud and annoying. The friends brought a big pot of flowers and a bottle of wine. I tried to fall asleep to MTV again.
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