Rock Bottom, Recovery

My spirits have been very low the past few days but I'm fighting to pull them back up again.  I had this post in my head since Friday but I mentally couldn't type and form the sentences until now.  I also had several alternate titles for this post.  Lines such as: "The Awful Truth About Surgery," "I've Been To Prison and Back,"  "Detox from Pain Meds," and the unforgettable one,"Did I Just Violate Myself?"

However, as the fog lifted and I threw out the prescription drugs, I changed it to "Rock Bottom, Recovery," because that is where I was and where I am today.  I hit rock bottom physically, mentally and spirtually for several days but now I'm focused on my recovery and feeling better again. 

I suppose it's safe to assume that I've lived a mostly charmed life until now.  I have never dealt with any medical issues.  I even had one of the easiest pregnancies and labor/deliveries that I know about.  So I never thought a simple outpatient procedure like my gallbladder removal would knock me off my feet like this.  I had no inclination that I'd be crying and doubling over in pain.  The surgery itself was fairly quick and I didn't feel a thing.  But going home and being on medicines afterwards is what inflicted me with trouble.

Pain medication and I don't mix.  We're like that awful oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico right now.  I feel as if I'm going through detox now.  My brain was so cloudy with thoughts for three days.  I had awful headaches and frightening dreams, including one where a snake bit me and another one where a swarm of bees were chasing after me, trying to sting me.  Oh no, I'm NOT kidding! 

I also found myself repeating things a lot.  Did I mention that I thought I sometimes heard a ringing in my ears too?  I felt drowsy and out of it for more than half the day.  I was cranky and emotional, more than usual anyway. 

But the absolute worst part of pain meds is the constipation!!!  You know how I love to poop and I have shared many poop stories and the potty training process with you on here.  I have no shame about it.  But when I can't poop and when I'm crying and praying in order to have a release, I've hit rock bottom.  When my dear, sweet mother-in-law has to suddenly drive to the drugstore to buy me laxatives, I've hit rock bottom.  When I'm giving myself an enema (aka the violating myself reference mentioned above) and thinking this isn't so bad, I've hit rock bottom. When I later exclaim that an enema must be one of the best inventions ever, I've HIT ROCK BOTTOM, FOLKS.

That is what I meant when I say "I've gone to prison" now and "I've taken one for the team". 

And those effects that come after the enema..... well, I promised Kirk that I wouldn't blog about that....  I mean, really?  NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT THAT!  Revealing those details would be a new low, even for me!   So, I'll just say this -- I now have an idea what it must be like to give birth through my bunghole.  And I'll leave it at that.


HELLO!  WELCOME TO ROCK BOTTOM.  WE HOPE YOU'LL STAY AWHILE! 

And I know that these awful moments of mine aren't as bad as what other folks have been through and are still going through with illnesses, diseases and such.  I know I shouldn't complain. 

But it was, by far, one of the worst days and moments of my life. Therefore, I want to remember it.  I want to talk about it.  I want to write about it.  I'll be happy to tell anyone about what I've experienced. 

Why?  Why the hell don't I just keep my mouth shut and forget this ever happened?  Umm....you don't know me very well or at all....do you? 

As crazy as it may sound, I think my life is worth sharing.  I want to remember it, even the awful times.  These crappy, literally crappy, moments humble me.  If I ever hit rock bottom again like this, then I can say.... "Well, I've been through this already, so I can manage it once again!"

 When Negative Nellie parks her bottom on my shoulder continually nagging me, I can slowly gain the strength to kick her off.  And believe me, she's not easy to get rid of!  She was just telling me yesterday how I'm weak.  How it's sad that I was completing Jillian Michaels workouts five days a week in March and now I am out of breath just going to the grocery store or talking on the phone. 

Negative Nellie was mocking my incisions and bruises, telling me what a ugly belly I now have.  Negative Nellie was saying how sickly I look when I seemed the portrait of health just months ago.  That witch Nellie was teasing me for having to lay down after reading and watching television for a half-hour because my brain couldn't take the strain for more than that.  Negative Nellie was throwing my monthly challenges back in my face telling me I won't be ready in June to start that up again either.  (and sadly, I think she's right!)

Meet the face of Negative Nellie

This is going to be an uphill battle. I know I have long days ahead of me.  Hours of arguing with Negative Nellie to see who will triumph.

I'm feeling better and a bit stronger each day.  But my weakened spirit is still amputated.  I'm working hard to free her legs again.  In the meantime, I'm channeling Al Pacino as Lt. Col Frank Slade and saying his "Hoo-hah!" speech to myself over and over again.  Nothing like a little Pacino to lift my amputated spirit, just as he did for young, budding and hunky actor Chris O'Donnell.

I'll be around though.  I'll just be clinging to my lifesaver when I need to.  Just like the images pasted across this blog show. 

That is how I felt when I started this blog -- a bit like I was grasping for air, about to drown most days.  I've come a long way since then though. 

I may be down but I'm not out.  So just bare with me, please.  I'm fighting my way back to an even better Mandy that I know I can be, once I get through all this crap first.  :-)