…and it's surgery time, too.

I think it was around 11:30 or 11:45 at that point.  The anesthesiologist explained that he was going to give me a tranquilizer (or did he say sedative?  I can’t remember), then numb me from the waist down.  I swallowed and nodded, mostly thinking at that moment of long, long needles inserted into me in terrible places in order to numb me from the waist down.  I hoped the tranquilizer would be effective enough that I wouldn’t scream or anything.

He injected three hypodermics into the IV line.  Then there was a blue cloth of some kind in front of me, over my belly, like a small curtain blocking my view of the place where I was being cut, and a nurse looking down at me.  I said, “What’s going on?”  She said, “You’re done.”  I think I remember them starting to remove the blue cloth, but I fell asleep.

I woke up in the recovery room, unable to move my legs.  I knew it was the local causing it, and was never really worried, but nevertheless felt the need to fight it and to try to move my legs.  I tried very hard.  I failed utterly.  I fell asleep again.  When I woke up, I tried to move my feet, failed again, and slept more.  Then I woke up again, tried to move my feet, succeeded a little, and slept.

I was awake when  I was wheeled back into the room. A kiss and a smile from Reesa, and she spoke, I think, about blogging things, but I was a bit fuzzy.  I said, “I can move my feet!  See?”  Then I was in and out of sleep.  I think Sergio and Irene came back then (Irene is the brother of the guy who picked us up at the airport, and Sergio is her husband; they all work for Dr. Natera, the surgeon, and they’re both wonderful) and asked how I was, which was fine.

The local wore off and I hurt badly.  At various times, I was given a pain shot via the IV, a pain shot in my butt, and a pill the doctor described as a “narcotic.”  None of them appeared to do any good.  They all asked how I was, and I said, “There is pain.”  “Little pain?” they all asked.  “A lot of pain,” I said, permanently marking myself as a wimp.  Then I coughed.  That proved to be a terrible mistake.  Reesa gave me a pillow and advised me to clutch it in front of my stomach if I needed to cough.  Good advice; it helped.

Eventually they fed me: rice, and some sort of chicken dish; good for a hospital though not enough of it.  I think this was around 3:30 in the afternoon.

I faded in and out much of the rest of day, until about 8 when I was fed again.  Not enough.  Feh.  I wanted food.  I also wanted a cigarette.  Fortunately, in Mexico, the nicotine inhaler that is by far the best system for not smoking ever, is cheap, and doesn’t require a perscription, so that kept me reasonably sane.

I think it was during that time that Irene and Sergio took Reesa out for some shopping, which was awfully sweet of them.  Or maybe that was earlier; my brain was not in top form, and I did a lot of the things Vlad does when his brain is messed up: getting the order of events wrong.  Nice to have the reassurance I got that stuff right.  (Pats self on back).  Anyway, Reesa showed me the stuff she’d gotten for the kids, and a really beautiful ash tray for me, with what seems to be Aztec designs in it.  I’m using it as I write this.