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.