I got back home perhaps half an hour ago. Didn't intend to be away from the house this long, but - in my haste to get inside the hospital where my daughter would shortly be undergoing surgery - I parked in a restricted zone and got towed. "Oh, no!" you cry. "Oh, yes," I embarrassingly admit.
So anyway, my son-in-law will be picking me up again tomorrow morning and taking me over to where I can retrieve my car ($191 for the privilege). Then, he will head back over to the hospital where my daughter, hopefully, will almost have finished her breakfast - having left just enough for him to scarf up in an instant - and be ready to go back home out to Katy, only this time she might be able to actually sit up in his vehicle instead of having to lie down while traveling in it.
She's doing well. No, she's not been up and walking around yet. That first big adventure will be later this evening when she has to get up to go to the bathroom. (Her IV apparatus and pole will have to go with her, so she'll have a nurse's assistance.) But, she's moving all of her toes and everything seems to be OK in that department, which is wonderfully welcome news.
She didn't go into surgery until 2:30. My son-in-law and I were with her for about 45 minutes beforehand, reassuring, talking, telling jokes and laughing, holding hands ... you know, all that kind of stuff that goes on when people who really care about each other are nervous. It was an anxious time.
Then she went into surgery and I went outside to have half a cancer stick. That's when I discovered my car had been towed. I had left my cell phone in the car (Of course!), so my son-in-law got on his to find out all the poop on where it had been taken, etc. and blah. Oh, my!
While he was doing that, I found my way to the cafeteria. Their offerings included shrimp scampi, which I ordered. I thought, "What's done is done, Goldenrod. Besides, you're hungry, so let's eat." I found a table and ate while playing some solitaire. (It had been years since I'd played solitaire. I can't believe I remembered how!)
And that's where he found me a few minutes later. After giving me the info about my towed car, he asked what I was eating. When I told him, he said, "Hmm!" And then he went to get the same thing. It wasn't bad. It was while we were still there in the cafeteria - I wasn't finished eating yet, but he was! - that his pager thingee went off.
Someone wanted to see us. We were a little nervous about the quickness of the page. After all, it hadn't been 45 minutes yet! What might have gone wrong? We quickly packed up "our" (mostly "my") stuff and went to the second floor, where Dr. Kushwaha was waiting.
He appeared calm, which was immediately reassuring. His first words were, "The surgery is over. Everything went as expected. We removed the .. ... .... and she'll be in recovery shortly." He answered a couple of questions that each of us had, and then gave us an important piece of information that we hadn't known before.
All three of us ... my daughter, my son-in-law and myself ... had heard, over and over again that day, how important it was that she restrict her physical activity for 'x' amount of time after the surgery. We all thought that it was to prevent any more extrusions from the damaged disc.
That's partly it, of course, but the surgeon told both my son-in-law and myself - we were standing there together - that the disc would, if given the uninfringed-upon space and time it needed, repair and seal itself. That sounded almost miraculous to me. I repeated this to my daughter, in my son-in-law's hearing, and he confirmed what I said. My daughter cried out in joy when she heard that. "There could be no better incentive," she said, "to do exactly what the doctor orders."
I had only a couple of bad moments today when, shortly after going into post-op to see my daughter, I thought I was going to pass out. I had to sit down quickly, a couple of different times. Very strange. This happened only once before that I can recall, in 1986, but that's a whole other story for another day.
When we first went in to see her in post-op, she looked exhausted to me ... absolutely exhausted! She was crying. She'd been so afraid she wouldn't wake up. The stress she must have been under the past couple or so weeks cannot really be understood or even imagined by you or me, I dare say.
She kept telling me how glad she was that I was there. I was glad to be there, but I know (for sure!) that I didn't add anything to the mix, except - perhaps - a mother's unequivocal love for her daughter, which she's always had.
I just finished sending her an e-mail. She has her laptop with her. I don't expect her to respond. I hope that she's in neverneversleepytimeland. I'd call my son-in-law, but my phone is in my towed car. Oh, the frustration of it all!
I'll know more tomorrow morning, of course, after he picks me up. Meanwhile, keep your fingers crossed that things are progressing as smoothly as anticipated, and I thank you all - once again - for your positive thoughts and supportive comments.
[9:05pm ... PS ... heard back from my daughter via e-mail ... she was still awake ... said she's "fixin' to" (that's a Texas expression) take another 'walk' and then go to sleep.]