So I passed PT today and they let me go home. It was an amazing series of "coincidences" orchestrated largely by my husband. I wouldn't have passed yesterday and as I hobble around here tonight, I feel pretty certain that I wouldn't have passed had they checked me much later in the day. Of course, I may just be excessively tired and sore from all the activity related to the trip home, I guess.
They pulled out the epidural this morning, which I was pretty sure was not working anyway. I was rocking the Casbah on just Percocet. But the resident wrote me for MS Contin as well as Percocet. I scoffed at that, thinking that the pain is going to get better every day, right? That lasted until 4:00 this afternoon. I broke down and started the hillbilly heroin (I know, not really, but life is just funnier this way.)
Tonight, I feel rough. But I'm home. In my bed. With my husband and daughter and bathroom and food and no one checking vital signs in the middle of the night or insisting leave the catheter in place.
And it took several acts of Congress to get me here, many of which fall firmly within the category of doctors making the worst patients. For instance, Eric removed my catheter. This was surprisingly not awkward. I guess you just get to that point in your marriage someday. I didn't think it would happen quite so soon...
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