I gotcha, right? HAHAHA OK, maybe it’s the painkillers that’s making things much funnier than they actually are. Gonna do a timeline totally stolen from Matt Logelin because I am that drugged, yo. Although I might make complete sentences because I am not cool like Matt and can’t write like Matt. Hey, I’m not Matt, OK?! Again, drugs.

Thursday:
Woke up at 7 am with butterflies in my stomach. This surgery was bringing up all of these bad thoughts of death and how the babies wouldn’t remember me if I did die. James would listen to me and calm my fears; which was nice because usually he’s all “shut up, you crazy woman!”

We entered through the emergency room entrance 15 minutes before 9 to sign in. This was the latest I’ve ever signed in for surgery. It was nice that I got to sleep in, it wasn’t nice that I couldn’t eat breakfast. Not that I usually eat breakfast but there’s something about not being able to do something that makes you want to do it.

I got situated in my day surgery room and listened to my nurse have a bit of a fight with the anesthesiologist. I was now even more nervous since she was about to start an IV and he was going to put me under for the surgery. No fighting, people! Nice happy thoughts! After 3 attempts and a different nurse I had an IV stuck in my left hand.

There was some confusion whether or not I’d be spending the night at the hospital. Normally, hernia surgery is a day surgery and you’re able to leave the same day. If the hernia is big enough you might get to stay over night. Either way, they had a room ready for me.

Off to the operating room we went.

Usually the anesthesiologist will let you know right before he’s about to put you out, but today, mine wasn’t playing by the rules and before I knew what had happened I was in the recovery room.

When you’re put under it’s an odd feeling waking up. You feel as if no time has really passed and are shocked when someone mentions the time. One of the recovery nurses said 13:00 to another nurse and I croaked out, “wow, it’s 1 already?!” She chuckled and told me that it was nearly 2. I had been in surgery for 3 hours. I knew this couldn’t be good as far as going home that night, but I had no idea what I was in for.

I was given a morphine pump after surgery. If it were legal to marry inanimate things I would so marry that morphine pump with unlimited refills. The morphine and the other medication they gave me for the surgery made me groggy and forgetful of just about everything people told me. It also gave me some wicked dry mouth.

I sort of recall James telling me how my entire c-section scar had opened up and how they had to remove quite a bit of skin, but the drugs were really working and I couldn’t really tell if I was dreaming or if I was in the Wizard of Oz. I spent Thursday night on a morphine high. Crying about missing the babies and telling James I loved him so many times that I’m sure he thought I had a skip on my brain.

Friday:

I met with my surgeon and he told me the same thing that James had told me, but with gory details. My c-section scar had opened up all the way and there was a hole in the wall of my muscular wall that allowed my innards to buldge out. It was pretty bad and there was a lot of reconstruction that had to be done. Apparently, having triplets plus 3 other kids can really mess your stomach area up pretty badly, ladies. Who knew?

He went through how they had to get everything back in my body and back into place. The next step was to sew my muscles back together, they had parted quite a bit. Then they had to sew in the large piece of mesh that is used to repair hernias. That had to be sewn in pretty deeply so it will keep the dam shut. After all of that tailor work was complete he inserted a drain inbetween my muscle layer and my fat layer. When he went to close up the skin he said I had just handfuls of excess skin. So he did what anyone else who is nice would do, he cut it off.

My lovely surgeon also informed me that I wouldn’t be going home that night but that he hoped he wouldn’t see me on Monday when he was back to work. Uhh, so much for day surgery! (I twittered all of this of course)

Friday also brought visits from my dad and step mom. James also brought the kids and my mom in to see me. My parents were in the same room together and it seems to be getting easier and less uncomfortable every time.

Saturday:

The surgeon on duty this weekend doesn’t have the same sense of humor about things as my surgeon does. It was a same he didn’t smirk about my joke of getting a free tummy tuck or how I had a new found interest in the stuff collecting in my drain. His loss.

He paid me back by telling me I wasn’t going home that day and that I was to have a suppository and loads of Metamucil. Need to come up with better bodily function jokes.

My dad came to visit again but left before my other family showed up because my sister would be in tow and they never got along (she’s not his daughter, btw). Soon after he left the caravan of kids showed up. Nurses would peek in hearing that there were triplets in the hospital.

The babies smiled at me more on Saturday. Friday they would give me odd looks. I was laying there in a funny looking gown and my voice was horse. Saturday I made sure to drink more water so they weren’t scared by me. I want them to be scared of me when I want them to be scared of me, dammit.

James brought the family back to our house and then came back to my bedside. This was the most time he’d ever spent with me in the hospital (I’ve been in the hospital a lot it seems). I figured it was because he had help with the kids and would do just about anything for some peace and quiet. He stuck with the “I love you and want to be with you” bit. He’s a bad liar.

Sunday:

I got to go home! Woo! Er. No woo! No more Toradol and no more nurses checking in on me asking if I needed new ice water or more pillows. Actually, I was really excited to get home and get into my own bed. Plus, Abby loves filling up that huge insulated drinking mug that I brought home form the hospital.

I spent a fair bit of time in the recliner rocking two babies at one time. James and my mom would bring them to me and switch them out every once in a while. I am not supposed to lift anything over 10 pounds for 4-6 weeks. The babies weigh over 15 pounds now, so Ill have to fudge that one a bit.

Monday:

James went back to work, so it was just my mom and me versus the kids. I started feeling like crap around noon, so then it was just my mom there to keep the kids in line. Poor woman.

I knew there was something wrong. I suddenly had the chills and felt like a piece of gum stuck tot he bottom of a marathon runner. I slept most of the afternoon away. When James came home he knew I was poorly. He stuck a thermometer in my ear and had me pop my vicodin. I hadn’t been able to get my pain under control all day long and was getting frustrated with these huge pain pills not having any effect on my pain.

When James read back my temperature he was concerned. The discharge papers said to go tot he ER if you had a fever over 101 or the chills or a headache or a bunch of other things. I was checking off each of those things in my head as James told me that I had a temp of 102.5.

We waited for 45 minutes before taking my temp again. A little time for the Tylenol in the Vicodin to work on my fever. It was still 102.2, so James called the ER. After a million and one questions (thank god he answered them, I was way too out of it and would’ve gone bananas on their asses) they said that I should go in because the fever was something that concerned them. If only they could’ve said that in the first 10 seconds of talking to him instead of going through 15 minutes of questions.

Into the ER we went. The doctor who saw me remembered me, you know, from that time when I thought Abby swallowed a watch battery.

My bloodwork came back all clear and they just assume the fever was a result of the surgery and just to keep an eye on it sort of thing. They gave me a shot of painkillers and another prescription for the pill version of that shot. I wish they could’ve given a prescription for the shot version because that was very very nice.

Tuesday:

Mom and me vs kids. More pain. More whining. Slept through most of the day. Will have to think of a great way to pay back my mom. She is the only one who understands what my daily life is like now. James has a good idea, but hasn’t really done it all on his own.

Wednesday:

Woo! Today! This is along post, huh? You’ll all get a cookie if you made it this far.

Met with the surgeon. Still draining too much stuff to take the drain out. I asked what the yucky goopy stuff was. Learned it was fat. I am getting a wee little liposuction to go along with the tummy tuck. I don’t think those women in Beverly Hills would go through this much pain to get that done though.

Walked out with another prescription for another painkiller. You’d think I was a junkie by this point. Who knows what the pharmacy at Target thinks. Do I care? Hell no.

This pain is a lot worse than that of a c-section. I can understand why, since it involved a lot of reconstruction of my abdomin. I am still upset that I haven’t bounced back as quickly as I thought I could have. I like to take a tiny bit of pride in my ability to handle a lot of pain. I always have left over painkillers from all of my surgeries. Soon after returning home I am off of them and on to a little bit of Tylenol.

This time, this surgery, has kicked my ass. I walk slowly and with care. I take 2 Percocet or 2 Vicodin or 2 whatever every 4 hours. The medicine from 4 hours previously wore off 2 hours ago and I watch the second hand tick by until I can take some more. I am worried I’ll become addicted to the painkillers. I’ve seen others I love dearly go down that road and I don’t want to even tip toe down that path to see what the scenary is like.

So, that’s the story. I am here, healing. I am determined to get back to my hometown for their annual Night We Light parade and fireworks (if they raised enough cash that is). Emma has been asked to be in the parade and that made her smile so big that I can’t handle letting her down.

If you’re going to be in the MN and at that particular event, we’ll be by the radio station if you wanna stop by and see the triplets. I think we’re going to keep them in the Suburban where it will be nice and warm. Gonna take full adavantage of that handicap parking permit while I can. I might be in there tosting my bum with the seat warmers too. So, if you need your bum toasted, you’ll be more than welcome to jump on in!

Sorry, no cookies today. Need them for the cookie salad. Want the recipe?

Cookie Salad

2 Cups Buttermilk
2 packages instant vanilla pudding mix
Small tub of Cool Whip
1 large can of mandarin oranges
1 package of royal striped cookies – crushed

Combine buttermilk and pudding mix. Add Cool Whip and mandarin oranges. Fold in cookies. Refridgerate. Overnight is best, but a couple of hours will do.

We’re asked to bring this to every potluck and holiday. I got the recipe from my awesome sister in law, Kristi, at my bridal shower.

Now I need to set up the air bed in the kids’ bedroom. I told them that if they cleaned up their room they could sleep on it. I didn’t expect them to clean it up tonight! A promise is a promise.