I had surgery a couple of weeks ago. Because, for one thing of many things, having surgery meant I could avoid having to take a drug for five years (yes, FIVE YEARS) that has a long list of creepy side effects like it might cause you to grow a third eye. OK, maybe not a third eye. But still, potentially unattractive side effects are possible with that drug. Which will remain nameless. Thus, the surgery.
One of the first things I remember when I woke up from the anesthesia was the nurse handing me a small cylindrical thingy and saying: Here is your morphine pump. And me thinking: she is out of her mind! I am not using a morphine pump.
Because I don't do drugs. I've never taken prescription meds for longer than 2 weeks. I barely know if there is a difference between Advil and Tylenol. Is there? I can never remember.
The nurse leaves, visitors arrive, and so does the aching and the throbbing and a kind of searing burning pain that gets worse when I breathe. That's when I realized what I really really really needed was a morphine pump and THANK GOD I has holding one in my left hand.
Those people who invented the morphine pump? Very clever. They made it so you only get a teeny tiny little dose every 10 minutes if you push the pump. When you push the pump successfully it makes a delightful little dinging sound. If you push it before 10 minutes is up, it makes an obnoxious, let's tell the whole world you are a drug addict BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! sound.
I learned three things happen when you use a morphine pump.
#1. The pains stops screaming at you right away.
#2. You believe you are completely lucid at all times despite the fact that you are injecting a narcotic directly into your vein.
#3. You lose the ability to tell time.
At 2:19 p.m. I am becoming a morphine pump expert. I make a mental note that in 10 minutes it will be 2:29. I push the pump. Ding. I am blissful. Did I just have surgery? I can't believe I don't have any pain.
At 2:23 I look at the clock and realize hey! it's time for more morphine! I push the pump again. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Something must be wrong. I address all of my visitors, but specifically Clyde because it is his job to fix things.
Me: This isn't working.
To prove my point, I push the pump again. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Clyde: You just did it a few minutes ago.
Me: I did not.
Clyde: Yes you did. It hasn't been 10 minutes yet.
Me: Yes it has.
I push the pump again, because it has definitely been 10 minutes by now. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Me: See?? It's NOT WORKING.
I am told this conversation was repeated five or six times an hour for the next 12 hours. Thankfully, I don't remember any of that.
As a witness to much of the above, let me add a few of the other effects of the Morphine Pump on our melicious blogger:
- Made her the life of the party--a post-surgical party which happened to be in a hospital room. She was telling stories, making jokes, teasing people...kind of like being the most-drunk person at a get-together of non-drinkers.
- That is, it made her the life of the party apart from those brief moments after the successful use of the the pump when she would lapse out of consciousness...only to re-emerge telling the same story as if nothing had happened.
- Turned her into quite a poster child for IV narcotics. I might choose to have some elective surgery just to try the morphine!
Posted by: Drew McManus | May 15, 2009 at 08:48 AM
You are making up that part about me losing consciousness.
Posted by: Melissa Dyrdahl | May 15, 2009 at 12:59 PM