18. Don't kid yourself, Post-Op is all about pain management and pooping

WARNING: THERE IS POOP TALK IN HERE, AND AS ONE WOULD IMAGINE IT AIN'T PRETTY!

The last few days has been all about finding a rhythm and a med schedule. Collin had busted out the dry erase board so we can have a giant place to check off that my pills have been delivered on time and in the correct dosages.

I was given seven different kinds of medication when I left the hospital, and if you take away pain management and constipation preventers, there actually is only one that I am required to take. Seriously I have two different kinds of "stool softeners" because narcotics really back you up.  And the pain that is hardest to contend with is the back up and the gas.  

While laying down, I have an extremely noticeable  belly bump. And while I keep piling water, detox tea, and god forbid prune juice on top of it, that sucker isn't moving.  

So Monday becomes "dose down the narcotics before your body explodes day." Seriously, I need to poop bad.

"Jesus," I think to myself, "how the hell do Oxy addicts survive like this?"  I now have  much more sympathy for those with IBS disorder. This feels like hell and I am wondering at what point do I just start throwing stuff up cause nothing will go down?

I make a deal: "Please universe, you can keep the stupid drains in me as long as you need, just please evacuate this crap"

Might I add this is not the sexiest of discussions to have with your husband. Specially when you are about 5 seconds from asking him to go buy a FLEET ENEMA. But our vows did mention "in sickness and health" right? 

My prayers are answered at approximately 10 p.m. Monday night.

It's gross, smelly and painful, but my belly is a semi normal size and non-gasy sleep is on the horizon.

I fall out pretty fast. 'Cause c'mon I sooo earned it.