The Wedding Planner

Carter is wedding obsessed! My Mum has been over from NZ for the past few weeks and she will attest to this. Without fail, Carter will ask no less than five times a day;

"Will you marry me? Who are you married to? Where did you get married?"

I don't know why but it's up there with trains and lollies on his list of important subjects. Any movie that has a wedding will draw his unwavering attention and a barrage of questions. He will then ask me to put on my veil (to which I agree as I now keep it easily accessible), followed by the request to put on my wedding dress (which I politely decline because who can be bothered?).

Carter talks regularly about his wedding plans. Today we discussed them at length.

He plans on marrying Emma (the new female Wiggle). They will be married at a park in Samoa. Carter will wear a suit and tie and black shoes. His hair will be brushed and styled with gel and he WILL be wearing his Thomas the Tank Engine undies.

Emma will wear a white wedding dress and a veil. Her shoes will be white and she will have yellow flowers and she will smile and look beautiful.

Their guests will be served Maggi noodles and cheese pizza with lemonade.

Once married, they will live in Nonna's lounge room. Emma will continue her career as a Wiggle while Carter becomes a professional skydiver. They will have five children (named Lachie, Simon, Anthony, Henry, and Wags).

See all planned. Who ever marries Carter will be in for a treat!

Carter with his Bride-to-be

Chunky monkey

My appetite has taken a bit of a hit at the moment. I feel like I have morning sickness with how temperamental my tummy is. I blame it on the cocktail of pain killers. There are a few things that I have wanted to eat though- and lots of it. Even if I don't always feel like myself with the state of my life at the moment, my sweet tooth is well in tact.

I admit (with a combination of pride and shame) that I have almost single-handedly eaten an entire block of chocolate every day this week. Two days it was Rocky Road, on another it was Peppermint, and another it was Snack. Of course it helps that I have SuperHusband who magically appears with chocolate whenever he arrives home.

This is disgusting, but not unusual. There has been a certain craving that has taken both myself and Anthony by surprise though. Over the past couple of days, I have eaten FIVE grilled cheese sandwiches - literally grilled in a frying pan with butter. The idea of this would normally turn my stomach, but I tried one, it stayed down, so I have eaten four more since.

I have been blessed to have my Mum over from NZ to help out while I have been finding my feet. No matter how old you are, there is something comforting about having your Mum on hand when you aren't feeling the best.
I am so grateful to have a mother who is willing to make such a trip whenever she is needed.

Overall, things are going well and with each little bit more that I can do by myself, I am feeling more normal and content. It's crazy how much you can miss the mundane, everyday life. I'm sure that insanity will pass :)

Simple minds

Every day, Carter asks me to roll over so he can check my back. He says;

"Your back all better now?"

I tell him it's not all better, but it's getting better every day.

Tony on the other hand cannot stand to even have a peek at my scar. It repulses him so much that it amuses me. I find a small amount of joy in casually calling him to me and then surprising him with my scar. I know it's totally stupid but that's where I am at right now - being amused by stupid things.

My boys have been fantastic. They are gentle and caring and so considerate of me. I certainly would never have wished these kind of experiences on them, but I know it is helping to make them into gentle, caring, considerate men.

Here is a photo of my scar. Its not as big as my previous surgeries, but it's also not as neat. I suspect that trying to pull open and close the same bit of skin over and over has taken it's toll.
Lookin pretty good though huh!

A taste of freedom

The rest of my hospital stay can be summed up pretty easy; rest, physio, tubes being taken out, food, feeling gross from not being allowed to have a proper shower, visits from family, and lots of pain killers. All my experience in hospital has left me with a mediocre superpower - I can take a handful of pills whilst lying down completely flat.

I know - you are truly astounded!

                  Not exactly glamorous but finally sitting - didn't last long though

Up on my feet!

It was great to start feeling more like myself and one of the first things I was able to eat and keep down was watermelon. Anthony made sure whatever I felt I could stomach was on hand in case the hospital food didn't cut it. The food was fairly decent though - I just didn't have a big appetite.

Once the Fentanyl pump was taken down, I moved on to morphine pills. They weren't as strong but I was able to stay more alert which felt good.

As the days passed, I got a visit from my boys, along with their Aunty and my niece and nephew. Jade had been kindly running the show back home while Anthony and I were in Sydney. It must have been a very busy house here!

Kiddies keeping busy in hospital

    Tony not too thrilled to see my back

I think Tony understood what was happening and my limitations. Carter seemed to grasp the idea but decided that when it was time for him to leave, I would be coming too. My doctor APPARENTLY told him I could come home.

Carter had painted a picture at preschool to hang on the wall. It gave me a good chuckle because it reflected his personality all over. I could just imagine his pre-school teacher suggesting he paint a picture for Mummy in hospital and him reluctantly agreeing. He would have hurriedly put brush to paper, swirled the brush over and over, announced he was "shinished", and run outside to a more exciting activity.

Carter's work of art for me


Tony also wrote me a letter at school. It read;

"Dear Mum,
I hope you had a nice time at hospital and that you can come home and your back won't hurt. You are the best Mum ever and you make lots of nice dinners.
This picture is by Tony and the writing by Tony,
Love Tony"

Tony's letter for me

They made my day!

Sunday I was allowed to go home under certain conditions. We made sure those conditions were met and I was a free woman! Sort of.

The trip home was pretty rough but it felt so good to be in my own bed. I am fully aware there is still a way to go, but the step from hospital to home feels like a big one.

    Happy (but tired) to be heading home.

Day 2

I won't do every post day-by-day as later on they get pretty similar and that would be incredibly boring. I know, I know, it's a horrifying thought to think you might miss out on details like the fact that I got WeetBix, scrambled eggs, toast, AND yoghurt for breakfast but only ate the yoghurt yet every burp tasted like eggs, but I don't want to drone on and on.

Day 2, however, is a post of it's own.

Day 2 sucked! Day 1 was bad of course but the anesthesia still running strong in my body kind of protects you from feeling every little discomfort. You know you are in pain, but there is like a hazy blanket that makes you so unaware that its helps.

By Wednesday morning I was a bit more aware of my surroundings and every little ache and pain as well as the nausea, sweating, and headaches. I know I was still pretty out of it and often couldn't respond much but I think it's more of a case that it is too much to interact with the world around you. As long as I had Anthony next to me, and he could tell me our boys were happy and enjoying being with their Aunty and cousins, that was all I really needed. The rest was too much.

I spent the Tuesday night in ICU and when my morning nurse checked my leg strength (this was done CONSTANTLY), she had some concerns. She shared this with the ICU doctor who came over and had a look at my legs and felt my right leg was significantly weaker. My surgeon was contacted and came in. He said he was hopeful it was related to the pain and swelling, but wanted an MRI just in case. He knows my history and with a wry smile said;

"I knew you were trouble when you walked in."

I assume he wasn't referring to the Taylor Swift song as he doesn't really strike me as a fan, but then again Anthony was a Spice Girls fan so you never can tell.

I had to get moved from my bed to one that could transport me to Radiology and then once there, transferred onto the MRI bed. It was horrible. I know my body HATED being moved because I threw up after each movement. On a side note; throwing up whilst lying down - not easy.

I have had about ten MRI scans in my life. My eyes were shut for the majority of this one as it was too much just to keep my eyes open still. For anyone who hasn't experienced the joy of an MRI, you go into a very narrow tunnel and have to lie still while there is lots of loud banging. It takes about 40 mins. I imagine it's a claustrophobics nightmare but with everything else going on, the worse bit for me was just being moved to and from each bed. The trip back also consisted of vomiting - fun fun!

My surgeon checked the scans and said it appeared the swelling was likely the cause as he couldn't see anything glaringly obvious. For this I am very thankful as any other causes would send me back to theatre.

Later that day, I got to be transferred to a ward. The darkened and much quieter room was a welcomed change.

I was still struggling with not being able to keep awake or interact much but it was more peaceful.

A physio came in and asked if I was ready to try standing. He was very cheery and friendly, but not my favorite person at that moment. So with lots of help, I sat up, felt horrible, stood up, felt worse, took a few steps, and went back to bed. My new nemesis said his goodbyes and left me to rest.

Later that evening, after visiting hours had been over for a while, it was time for Anthony to go. I knew he found it hard leaving and I didn't like it when he wasn't there. I told him I wished it could be over and that 4 years ago I said I didn't want to do this again. I said I believed miracles can happen and that's what I wanted - to wake up and it be over. I think the drugs made me a bit irrational ;o)

He leant down next to me and told me what I needed to hear. That I was strong enough for this. That it would be hard but I could do it. That tomorrow would be a bit easier and the day after easier again. I felt at ease and settled for the night.

I remember making a new resolve to try my hardest so that I could get better. To be positive and know that it would improve each day. I know it isn't a big thing, but that chat with Anthony helped in a big way and from the next day onwards, it started to feel like a challenge I could cope with.

Once out of ICU, Anthony was allowed to take photos so here are a few that I was too out of it to know were being taken.

My arterial line was taken out just before I left ICU so one less tube - Not that I really noticed

Holding tight to my Fentanyl button - it never left my hand!

Wound drains - gross!  Just be glad there isn't a catheter bag shot ;o)

Day 1

Well, I'M ALIVE!!

Made it out the other side of the operating theater. Thank you to my wonderful husband for updating my blog and for staying by my bedside. I can now vaguely remember waking up in ICU and the nurse asking me if I was ok and about pain. I had an oxygen mask on but burst into tears and somehow communicated that I wanted my husband. She called him and next thing I knew he was whispering in my ear.

That single act alone of knowing he was next to me made a would of difference. It didn't stop the pain or confusion or discomfort, but it brought peace to my drugged, confused little mind.

That first day is a blur now. I remember being taken to theatre. I said my goodbyes to Anthony and was wheeled into Operating Theatre 10. The anesthetist saw me in the little pre-op room and explained that he was only going to put in a little canula to put me off to sleep and would put in the rest of the bigger ones once I was out of it. I love him for that as I have a few nice big bruises and my arms where the bigger needles were.

He gave me something that he said would make me feel 'hazy' and I thought it was a relaxant and then I would be wheeled into theatre and get the general anesthetic injected like I have in the past.

Instead, I remember feeling hazy and then it was lights out!

Next thing I recall is waking in ICU. I actually didn't know where I was - I thought it was perhaps a recovery bay or something. But I knew I hurt! And that I felt horrible and couldn't stay with it at all. For some silly reason, one of my priorities after regaining consciousness after a surgery is knowing the time. My eyes can never focus but I always try to find a clock around me to see the time. Stupid considering I will be out of it again in a minute and not remember any of it when I wake once again.

My nurse swapped the oxygen mask for nasal prongs and gave me a button in my hand to push for Fentanyl whenever I felt pain. This was always - but the machine had a 5 minute lock-out so you can't overdose.

Fentanyl really knocks me out and I would doze off for a brief few moments only to be woken a couple minutes later with the pain worsening again. That and all the machines beeping and alarms going off in ICU make it tough to actually sleep. But to be honest, I doubt I would have been getting much sleep regardless.

For anyone interested in the details, I had three IV lines in, a catheter, two wound drains sewed into my back, a blood pressure cuff on constantly, little finger oxygen/heart rate monitor, and leg compressors which rhythmically inflate your calves to keep the blood moving.

It's all a blur (thankfully) but it's over now and I feel good in comparison to that day.

Anthony obviously wasn't allowed to take photos in ICU, but I will post the photos he has taken when I get to those days.

Once again, my thanks to everyone for their well-wishes and prayers. It's pretty cool having your own little cheer squad!

"And how is Jo?"

When I catch up with people it's always a fairly predictable exchange. They ask 'Hey, how's it going? How's work? Did you see the game?' Normal everyday chitchat sort of stuff. My mumbled responses usually receive a polite smile in return. I imagine most people's small talk is pretty similar. Over the years I have noticed a pattern in these little chats. There is a change that occurs which shifts the conversation from being quick pleasantries to something more meaningful. These conversations usually change tone when I'm asked: 'And how is Jo?' It changes because I can see genuine interest. I know that a mumbled, superficial answer isn't what they are after. I see the expressions of people who ask and they are faces of genuine concern.

I try my best to respond honestly. When I say she is struggling a bit, people usually express their disappointment by wincing and shaking their head. They don't like that she is doing things tough.  When I say she is doing well it makes people happy. Their eyes brighten and their smiles beam (I'm not trying to be poetic here, it literally happens this way). It's amazing to me that people feel so happy and relieved that she is doing well. The contrast in these responses are day and night yet they both show me how much people genuinely care for Jo.

The surgery that she had today was tough on her but it went better than we had anticipated. She had some of her broken rods and screws removed but her surgeon could see that she had some bone development which means that her spine is finally fusing. She is in the intensive care unit today, obviously very sore, but in good spirits. The hospital staff are amazing and are making a challenging process as smooth as it can be. So far there have been no major complications which is a miracle in itself. She is awake and aware most of the time and is able to control her own pain medication.  I'm so proud of her, when I first saw her after the surgery a small smile came across her face and later in the day I even managed to get a little chuckle out of her!

Thank you all for you support.

Anthony