It's not the new Amy Winehouse album. It's just me in the swimming pool. And on the bike. And on the mat. And now, on the couch.
I can't seem to remember if I was this wiped out before we went to Duluth. If I recall clearly, I think it was actually much worse. Of course, I'm not back up to working quite as hard. But I'll get there.
On the plus side, I haven't taken any pain meds all day. And I only took one all day yesterday- at bedtime. This is a huge improvement and I think it has a lot to do with not pushing it quite as hard as I was last week. I think I have to focus my energies on the prescribed exercises first. Then, whatever I have left that day, I can use to my discretion. But I have to be a good little patient. I can't expend all my energy on other stuff, no matter how much I want to go to the library, get my CME done for the year or cook dinner.
Two more days until my six-week check up. I'll have X-rays done and they will tell me if I can walk, drive, start physical therapy, and eliminate some of the restrictions. I'm a little excited. With the recent decrease in pain, I'm having a hard time believing that things are not healing as they should and I'm very hopeful that I'll be taking the next step forward this week.
Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
That which doesn't kill me...
And it didn't.
I'm very tired and my rehab fell by the wayside to a large extent. Even on the days when I did still have the time and energy to ride the bike, etc. it was pretty minimalist. I was pushing myself in so many other directions that I didn't imagine that I wasn't working hard enough.
Now, I'm back home and getting back into my routine and let me tell you- I wasn't working hard enough. Apparently, the progress that I had made was so very tenuous that skipping 2 days of leg lifts is still a major setback. Weird, huh?
On the other hand, I was out of bed and dressed by 7:30 every morning. I ate all my meals out of bed, if not exactly at a table. I went through seven houses in one day, all of which had stairs. We bought one of them. We visited four daycares and chose one for Nora. We drove and drove and drove and drove.
I am exhausted.
I feel like once I get rested up, my baseline will be significantly better than it was before I left. Or at least, that's what I'm telling myself. For now, just let me sleep.
I'm very tired and my rehab fell by the wayside to a large extent. Even on the days when I did still have the time and energy to ride the bike, etc. it was pretty minimalist. I was pushing myself in so many other directions that I didn't imagine that I wasn't working hard enough.
Now, I'm back home and getting back into my routine and let me tell you- I wasn't working hard enough. Apparently, the progress that I had made was so very tenuous that skipping 2 days of leg lifts is still a major setback. Weird, huh?
On the other hand, I was out of bed and dressed by 7:30 every morning. I ate all my meals out of bed, if not exactly at a table. I went through seven houses in one day, all of which had stairs. We bought one of them. We visited four daycares and chose one for Nora. We drove and drove and drove and drove.
I am exhausted.
I feel like once I get rested up, my baseline will be significantly better than it was before I left. Or at least, that's what I'm telling myself. For now, just let me sleep.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Riddle me this
How do you get two sound adults, one gimpy adult, one wheelchair, two crutches, multiple carry-on bags, and a two-year-old through security at an airport? After security, how do you get them onto a plane? On the plane, how do you keep them from biting off each other's heads to get to the chewy center? These are only a few of the questions rattling aorund my brain as I try to comprehend that we are going to attempt this feat tomorrow.
I suddenly realized last night that we do not have a reservation for a handicapped room in Duluth. Yet, I cannot shower standing up. Hmmm, a quandry. So, it seemed like the logical thing to do to call the hotel and change that. However, our new employer made the reservations. So, I had no confirmation number, couldn't tell the lady what our rate was, how many nights we were staying or who the contact person was. After going in circles with her for about ten minutes, she asked to speak to my husband. this was either because the reservation was in his name or because she suspected that I am on drugs. Either is true. I suspect the latter.
She asked him all the same questions, which he was equally unable to answer (to my delight). But for some reason, she actually gave him the information and changed our reservation. Hence, my suspicion that the Vicodin was creating a barrier betwixt her and I.
I am seriously worried about this trip. If I make it through the part where I have to sit on an uncomfortable, tiny airplane seat with a broken pelvis for three hours, I'll let you know. Otherwise, farewell. I have enjoyed writing this blog.
I suddenly realized last night that we do not have a reservation for a handicapped room in Duluth. Yet, I cannot shower standing up. Hmmm, a quandry. So, it seemed like the logical thing to do to call the hotel and change that. However, our new employer made the reservations. So, I had no confirmation number, couldn't tell the lady what our rate was, how many nights we were staying or who the contact person was. After going in circles with her for about ten minutes, she asked to speak to my husband. this was either because the reservation was in his name or because she suspected that I am on drugs. Either is true. I suspect the latter.
She asked him all the same questions, which he was equally unable to answer (to my delight). But for some reason, she actually gave him the information and changed our reservation. Hence, my suspicion that the Vicodin was creating a barrier betwixt her and I.
I am seriously worried about this trip. If I make it through the part where I have to sit on an uncomfortable, tiny airplane seat with a broken pelvis for three hours, I'll let you know. Otherwise, farewell. I have enjoyed writing this blog.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Meet the Piriformis
Ah, the secondary problems that accompany recovery. Weight gain from sitting on my ass, bed sores from sitting on my ass, piriformis syndrome...from sitting on my ass (and a bike).
Seriously. For those of you unfamiliar with piriformis syndrome, it is lovely. This little, irksome muscle deep in your butt-meat (technical term) spasms and swells and entraps your sciatic nerve. Then you get pain- in your butt-meat and all down your leg. It's caused by sitting, biking, weak muscles, spasmed hip flexors and fat wallets. No, really. George Castanza probably had piriformis syndrome. That's the one risk factor I definitely do not have. I wear my wallet on a cute little string around my neck like an old lady waiting to get mugged in a Mexican airport.
I've been rehabbing on my bike with a bike trainer- a device that allows you to take that bike that you bought to get out into the fresh air and bring it inside so that you can watch reruns while you ride. Birds chirping, be damned!
Well, I've been told to ride an hour a day. And I can't actually reach my foot to stretch first, let alone wrap my leg around me to stretch the piriformis muscle. So I just get on and ride. Then, I sit on the couch or lie in bed for the other 23 hours of the day. Directly on that twitchy little bastard of a muscle. And it has the gall to take exception to this treatment.
I suppose I should be more sympathetic to the a-hole. I'm getting pretty twitchy myself. I just want so badly to MOVE. And be awake- I'm really tired of the fatigue. Oh, and I want to be able to sleep in multiple positions (And no, "propped up" and "slid down" are not two different positions). And if we're making a wish list, I'd like to not have to schedule bathroom trips.
Picky, picky.
Seriously. For those of you unfamiliar with piriformis syndrome, it is lovely. This little, irksome muscle deep in your butt-meat (technical term) spasms and swells and entraps your sciatic nerve. Then you get pain- in your butt-meat and all down your leg. It's caused by sitting, biking, weak muscles, spasmed hip flexors and fat wallets. No, really. George Castanza probably had piriformis syndrome. That's the one risk factor I definitely do not have. I wear my wallet on a cute little string around my neck like an old lady waiting to get mugged in a Mexican airport.
I've been rehabbing on my bike with a bike trainer- a device that allows you to take that bike that you bought to get out into the fresh air and bring it inside so that you can watch reruns while you ride. Birds chirping, be damned!
Well, I've been told to ride an hour a day. And I can't actually reach my foot to stretch first, let alone wrap my leg around me to stretch the piriformis muscle. So I just get on and ride. Then, I sit on the couch or lie in bed for the other 23 hours of the day. Directly on that twitchy little bastard of a muscle. And it has the gall to take exception to this treatment.
I suppose I should be more sympathetic to the a-hole. I'm getting pretty twitchy myself. I just want so badly to MOVE. And be awake- I'm really tired of the fatigue. Oh, and I want to be able to sleep in multiple positions (And no, "propped up" and "slid down" are not two different positions). And if we're making a wish list, I'd like to not have to schedule bathroom trips.
Picky, picky.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
POD #23
I am so very tired. It's mostly because of the half marathon I ran today, but also I just couldn't keep myself from training for my Ironman triathalon next month. Even on a day where I ran a half marathon! I know! I'm just so crazy in love with working out!
Or, in this realitoscape, Jenni came over and taught me how to knit. That's right, I was beaten down by laying on the couch and moving my hands to create 2/3 of what will someday be (in the kindest possible reality) a dishcloth. Jenni promised me that the dishes don't mind the lumps and holes.
Or, in this realitoscape, Jenni came over and taught me how to knit. That's right, I was beaten down by laying on the couch and moving my hands to create 2/3 of what will someday be (in the kindest possible reality) a dishcloth. Jenni promised me that the dishes don't mind the lumps and holes.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
POD #22- On the receiving end of kindness
We had a changing of the guard yesterday. My mom left and Eric's mom arrived in town. It's going well, but I realized as I was preparing for Mary that my life has become a veritable cornucopia of minutiae. What I can and can't do, what pills I take, how long I can be up before I get tired- it's all important. Then add Nora's routine on top of that and it is a lot of information. And it has to be overwhelming to someone dropped into the middle of it. For Pete's sake, I'm overwhelmed and my chief occupation is laying around and sleeping.
One thing that has made things tenable is that people have been very generous with us. Our friends and family have brought meals and offered help and support beyond what I ever would have expected.
My friend Rachel presented our situation to the community at her church and they have provided the majority of the meals that we have eaten for the last three weeks. These are busy people that I have, at most, met briefly. And they have made casseroles and shared the vegetables from last summer's garden and baked cookies for us, virtual strangers.
I have never been on the receiving end of such a beautiful gesture. And I have composed a thank you note many times in my head and have been unable to fully express just how much this has meant to us. It's not even the food that even now fills our fridge and freezer as much as the love and well-wishes behind it that has propped me up when I've felt demoralized.
And it's been a wonderful lesson for me as well. Living in the Deep South as long as I did, I've had a lot of frustrating experience with the type of Christian who goes to church on Sunday and thinks that that is enough. I have long held that meeting Rachel and her husband, Peter, was a turning point in my life, because they showed me, through the little daily actions that make up how they live, that there are people out there who believe in living life in a Christian way, seven days a week. It sounds sort of trite to say it, but it was a revelation for me. They are mindful of how the things they do affect their neighbors, locally and globally. And it changes the way they shop, eat, work and raise their children. It's not about proselytizing- it's about living in a way that is loving to others. It's been inspiring me for five years now.
It shouldn't have surprised me that her church responded they way they did. After all, I've been there. They, like Rachel and Peter, are welcoming, caring people (who are Mennonite and thus respond to crises with food). Still, it did surprise me. It saddens me a little to realize that I've become so jaded to the idea of community that such an outpouring comes as a shock. And saying "thank you" falls so flat in the face of that (very pleasant) shock. I am astounded, bowled over and overjoyed. My heart is so full of gratitude I can't imagine being able to express it.
I only hope that I have the opportunity to astound someone like that someday. I know that I will be looking for opportunities, now.
One thing that has made things tenable is that people have been very generous with us. Our friends and family have brought meals and offered help and support beyond what I ever would have expected.
My friend Rachel presented our situation to the community at her church and they have provided the majority of the meals that we have eaten for the last three weeks. These are busy people that I have, at most, met briefly. And they have made casseroles and shared the vegetables from last summer's garden and baked cookies for us, virtual strangers.
I have never been on the receiving end of such a beautiful gesture. And I have composed a thank you note many times in my head and have been unable to fully express just how much this has meant to us. It's not even the food that even now fills our fridge and freezer as much as the love and well-wishes behind it that has propped me up when I've felt demoralized.
And it's been a wonderful lesson for me as well. Living in the Deep South as long as I did, I've had a lot of frustrating experience with the type of Christian who goes to church on Sunday and thinks that that is enough. I have long held that meeting Rachel and her husband, Peter, was a turning point in my life, because they showed me, through the little daily actions that make up how they live, that there are people out there who believe in living life in a Christian way, seven days a week. It sounds sort of trite to say it, but it was a revelation for me. They are mindful of how the things they do affect their neighbors, locally and globally. And it changes the way they shop, eat, work and raise their children. It's not about proselytizing- it's about living in a way that is loving to others. It's been inspiring me for five years now.
It shouldn't have surprised me that her church responded they way they did. After all, I've been there. They, like Rachel and Peter, are welcoming, caring people (who are Mennonite and thus respond to crises with food). Still, it did surprise me. It saddens me a little to realize that I've become so jaded to the idea of community that such an outpouring comes as a shock. And saying "thank you" falls so flat in the face of that (very pleasant) shock. I am astounded, bowled over and overjoyed. My heart is so full of gratitude I can't imagine being able to express it.
I only hope that I have the opportunity to astound someone like that someday. I know that I will be looking for opportunities, now.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
POD #19- Set backs
I was frustrated today. Yesterday, I biked and swam just like the day before, but it didn't feel the same. Whether it was the cumulative effects of five days of exercise or what, I was exhausted afterward- the kind of tired where you can't move but you also can't actually get to sleep. And I woke up this morning in pain.
I wanted so badly to hop out of bed and get on the bike, get over to the pool early and finish it all so that I could have a full, productive day. I'm not even sure I know how to do that anymore. I couldn't get out of bed to pee before 10:00. It took two rounds of Vicodin (four hours apart), a Celebrex and scrambled eggs to shoehorn me into some clothes. Then, I rode the bike and then, I was unable to convince myself to go to the pool. Or change into real clothes. Or shower.
And I'm still exhausted tonight. I think that's what frustrates me the most. I rested. I relaxed. I sewed my daughter a hat. And I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
I'm supposed to go to Duluth with Eric and Nora in 10 days or so. We are scheduled to have business meetings at Duluth Clinic, meet with our partners, shop for houses and interview daycares. And of course, I can't neglect my therapy. How on earth am I going to manage all that when I have yet to eat all three meals at the table?
As irritating as the weight-bearing restrictions are and as time-consuming as the therapy is, what is really chafing me is the lack of stamina. I'm living this life right now that is so much slower than I'm used to. I thought that would afford me some sense of peace, but it turns out that there is a fine line between peace and stagnation. And the more I try to kick myself back into the stream of things, the farther I sink.
I wanted so badly to hop out of bed and get on the bike, get over to the pool early and finish it all so that I could have a full, productive day. I'm not even sure I know how to do that anymore. I couldn't get out of bed to pee before 10:00. It took two rounds of Vicodin (four hours apart), a Celebrex and scrambled eggs to shoehorn me into some clothes. Then, I rode the bike and then, I was unable to convince myself to go to the pool. Or change into real clothes. Or shower.
And I'm still exhausted tonight. I think that's what frustrates me the most. I rested. I relaxed. I sewed my daughter a hat. And I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
I'm supposed to go to Duluth with Eric and Nora in 10 days or so. We are scheduled to have business meetings at Duluth Clinic, meet with our partners, shop for houses and interview daycares. And of course, I can't neglect my therapy. How on earth am I going to manage all that when I have yet to eat all three meals at the table?
As irritating as the weight-bearing restrictions are and as time-consuming as the therapy is, what is really chafing me is the lack of stamina. I'm living this life right now that is so much slower than I'm used to. I thought that would afford me some sense of peace, but it turns out that there is a fine line between peace and stagnation. And the more I try to kick myself back into the stream of things, the farther I sink.
Monday, April 6, 2009
POD #17
So, I'm no longer the slug I once was. Starting 2 days ago, I've been riding a stationary bike for an hour a day. And today, I added swimming.
I initially intended to swim for about 20 minutes, after having ridden for an hour. But I got to the gym today and the woman at the desk refused to let me in, because I didn't have a written doctor's clearance. I offered to write her one on the spot. She was less than impressed with this suggestion. So I went to the pool and swam for about 30 minutes, walked in the water for 20 minutes and treaded water for ten minutes (thinking that bicycling my legs against no resistance in the pool would be similar to bicycling my legs against no resistance in a gym). I figured that I was going to spend the rest of the day strapped to my CPM machine and sleeping, so I might as well give what I had.
Then, on my way home, Eric called and brought up the possibility of riding the stationary bike another gym near us and just paying the day pass fee. After I got over feeling stupid, I agreed that that sounded like a good idea. So, I'm headed over there now. I'm trying to think of rehab as my job right now. If it takes everything out of me, consumes my whole day and requires me to eat more to support it, so be it. I want to give this surgery as good a chance of succeeding as I can. At least I know that a blood clot is unlikely. And I should sleep well tonight.
I initially intended to swim for about 20 minutes, after having ridden for an hour. But I got to the gym today and the woman at the desk refused to let me in, because I didn't have a written doctor's clearance. I offered to write her one on the spot. She was less than impressed with this suggestion. So I went to the pool and swam for about 30 minutes, walked in the water for 20 minutes and treaded water for ten minutes (thinking that bicycling my legs against no resistance in the pool would be similar to bicycling my legs against no resistance in a gym). I figured that I was going to spend the rest of the day strapped to my CPM machine and sleeping, so I might as well give what I had.
Then, on my way home, Eric called and brought up the possibility of riding the stationary bike another gym near us and just paying the day pass fee. After I got over feeling stupid, I agreed that that sounded like a good idea. So, I'm headed over there now. I'm trying to think of rehab as my job right now. If it takes everything out of me, consumes my whole day and requires me to eat more to support it, so be it. I want to give this surgery as good a chance of succeeding as I can. At least I know that a blood clot is unlikely. And I should sleep well tonight.
Friday, April 3, 2009
POD #14
Two weeks ago today, I signed a consent form to have someone break my pelvis. Now, I'm living with that. Just a thought.
In other (but related) news, I awoke this morning to Nora giggling. The last two weeks, I have been waking up to the throbbing of my hip as my pain medicine wears off. It was like stepping into sunshine to not wake up to pain. So, obviously, I felt better about weaning off my pain medicines. I decided to play it by ear.
It is now 14 hours later. I have taken no MS Contin and only 3 Vicodin all day. And I'm in no pain. Granted, I'm in my standard 6-hours-of-CPM-threatening-to-give-me-a-pressure-ulcer pose on the couch. But earlier, I went to the pool and bought a membership, then ran errands until 1:00 and went to lunch. (Don't worry- Mom drove.)
So, it's exactly 14 days after surgery and I think I'm turning that corner that the surgeon told me I would turn at 2 weeks. Hunh. Turns out he knows what he's talking about.
In other (but related) news, I awoke this morning to Nora giggling. The last two weeks, I have been waking up to the throbbing of my hip as my pain medicine wears off. It was like stepping into sunshine to not wake up to pain. So, obviously, I felt better about weaning off my pain medicines. I decided to play it by ear.
It is now 14 hours later. I have taken no MS Contin and only 3 Vicodin all day. And I'm in no pain. Granted, I'm in my standard 6-hours-of-CPM-threatening-to-give-me-a-pressure-ulcer pose on the couch. But earlier, I went to the pool and bought a membership, then ran errands until 1:00 and went to lunch. (Don't worry- Mom drove.)
So, it's exactly 14 days after surgery and I think I'm turning that corner that the surgeon told me I would turn at 2 weeks. Hunh. Turns out he knows what he's talking about.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Post-op check up (day #13)
Today, we went to the doctor's office for my post-op visit. There are no stitches or staples to remove, so it was really just a check on the wound and a discussion of what my restrictions are now. It was a case study in the good, the bad and the weird.
First, the good: I only have to do the continuous passive motion machine for another week. And I've been given an out. If I can find a way to start the next stage of rehab early, I can ditch the CPM as soon as I have it arranged. So now I just have to find a stationary bike that I can ride for an hour a day. He also cleared me to swim or walk in a pool. So I'll be getting off the couch momentarily. That's incredibly good, since I was about to chew my leg off like a raccoon in one of those traps with the shiny things and the nails. (Never mind. Just re-read "Where the Red Fern Grows" if you didn't catch that one.)
Now, the bad: They want me to wean off my pain medicine. Which is good- this whole bowel regimen thing stinks. And so does being sleepy so much of the time. And so does the itching. But it's also scary. They are telling me that right about now, I should be turning the corner and my medication needs should be decreasing drastically. Physiologically, that makes sense. This is about the time that the bones will have fused enough to not be moving around against each other causing pain, even if they aren't strong enough to stand on. And I do see that somewhat.
But last night, for the first time since leaving the hospital I was awakened from sleep by gnawing pain and an inability to get comfortable every time my Percocet wore off. And that was on top of the MS Contin. Then, today when I was up and around and going to the grocery store (in a wheelchair) and cooking (on crutches) I was fine and needed no Percocet. Until the MS Contin began to wear off. And now I am back on the couch waiting for it to kick in. So I'm a bit skeptical that I'm ready for this.
But I know from being on the other side of this interaction, what exactly it looks like when a patient is dragging her feet about stopping narcotics. And one of my biggest fears about this surgery was getting hooked on painkillers. What if I trust my gut and decide to keep going on the meds until I feel ready to wean? That sounds great except for the part where I run out of medication and have not yet completed an appropriate taper and have to choose between asking a doctor for more medication that I know he feels is inappropriate or undergoing a severely uncomfortable (but not life-threatening! Hooray!) withdrawal syndrome.
And finally, the weird: Yesterday, I accidentally ripped off about half of the Steri-strips holding my incision together while dropping my pants to pee. When Eric saw the resulting carnage of flopping tape and perfectly healthy skin underlying it, he moved quickly (and without any warning, the bastard) and yanked off the rest of the strips. The surgeon looked at it and agreed that the incision looked great, but was worried about it. Because the wound is a foot long, goes against the skin fold lines and passes through the sweaty fold of the groin (Mmmmm...sweaty fold), he thinks that it is at high risk for re-opening. Unfortunately, my eczema has had things to say about the stress of surgery and the sheer number of exposures to sticky tapes and dressings. There is a lot of irritation where the Steri-strips were. So he decided to forgo putting those back on and has asked me to use an apparently time-honored technique recommended by the plastic surgeons for scar healing- paper tape.
Whaaa?
So I'm supposed to put paper tape on my incision. The stuff that is notorious throughout the medical world for falling off if you sneeze near it is going to hold a 12-inch wound together? Sure, there are sutures under the skin and all. But paper tape? My unofficial poll (n=4 doctors, including me) went something like this...
Me: Have you ever heard of this?
Eric: Sure. The plastic surgeons use it all the time.
Me: Do you use it?
Eric: [insert jargon about Langerhans and partial nephrectomy incisions here to get us to a short answer of] No. But you should.
Me: Have you ever heard of this?
Dan/Denise: No. Sounds like voo-doo to me.
Me: Yeah, that's what I thought, too.
Dan/Denise: You should probably do it anyway.
Me: Oh, I totally will.
So. we're agreed. Paper taping the incision it is. Anyone digs up a reference on this and I'll buy you dinner. Not you, Eric- I buy you dinner every night.
First, the good: I only have to do the continuous passive motion machine for another week. And I've been given an out. If I can find a way to start the next stage of rehab early, I can ditch the CPM as soon as I have it arranged. So now I just have to find a stationary bike that I can ride for an hour a day. He also cleared me to swim or walk in a pool. So I'll be getting off the couch momentarily. That's incredibly good, since I was about to chew my leg off like a raccoon in one of those traps with the shiny things and the nails. (Never mind. Just re-read "Where the Red Fern Grows" if you didn't catch that one.)
Now, the bad: They want me to wean off my pain medicine. Which is good- this whole bowel regimen thing stinks. And so does being sleepy so much of the time. And so does the itching. But it's also scary. They are telling me that right about now, I should be turning the corner and my medication needs should be decreasing drastically. Physiologically, that makes sense. This is about the time that the bones will have fused enough to not be moving around against each other causing pain, even if they aren't strong enough to stand on. And I do see that somewhat.
But last night, for the first time since leaving the hospital I was awakened from sleep by gnawing pain and an inability to get comfortable every time my Percocet wore off. And that was on top of the MS Contin. Then, today when I was up and around and going to the grocery store (in a wheelchair) and cooking (on crutches) I was fine and needed no Percocet. Until the MS Contin began to wear off. And now I am back on the couch waiting for it to kick in. So I'm a bit skeptical that I'm ready for this.
But I know from being on the other side of this interaction, what exactly it looks like when a patient is dragging her feet about stopping narcotics. And one of my biggest fears about this surgery was getting hooked on painkillers. What if I trust my gut and decide to keep going on the meds until I feel ready to wean? That sounds great except for the part where I run out of medication and have not yet completed an appropriate taper and have to choose between asking a doctor for more medication that I know he feels is inappropriate or undergoing a severely uncomfortable (but not life-threatening! Hooray!) withdrawal syndrome.
And finally, the weird: Yesterday, I accidentally ripped off about half of the Steri-strips holding my incision together while dropping my pants to pee. When Eric saw the resulting carnage of flopping tape and perfectly healthy skin underlying it, he moved quickly (and without any warning, the bastard) and yanked off the rest of the strips. The surgeon looked at it and agreed that the incision looked great, but was worried about it. Because the wound is a foot long, goes against the skin fold lines and passes through the sweaty fold of the groin (Mmmmm...sweaty fold), he thinks that it is at high risk for re-opening. Unfortunately, my eczema has had things to say about the stress of surgery and the sheer number of exposures to sticky tapes and dressings. There is a lot of irritation where the Steri-strips were. So he decided to forgo putting those back on and has asked me to use an apparently time-honored technique recommended by the plastic surgeons for scar healing- paper tape.
Whaaa?
So I'm supposed to put paper tape on my incision. The stuff that is notorious throughout the medical world for falling off if you sneeze near it is going to hold a 12-inch wound together? Sure, there are sutures under the skin and all. But paper tape? My unofficial poll (n=4 doctors, including me) went something like this...
Me: Have you ever heard of this?
Eric: Sure. The plastic surgeons use it all the time.
Me: Do you use it?
Eric: [insert jargon about Langerhans and partial nephrectomy incisions here to get us to a short answer of] No. But you should.
Me: Have you ever heard of this?
Dan/Denise: No. Sounds like voo-doo to me.
Me: Yeah, that's what I thought, too.
Dan/Denise: You should probably do it anyway.
Me: Oh, I totally will.
So. we're agreed. Paper taping the incision it is. Anyone digs up a reference on this and I'll buy you dinner. Not you, Eric- I buy you dinner every night.
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