Day three

So now were at day three of post-op and let me tell you, all those times that I told people that it's the third day that feels the worst, well, I wasn't lying.  It definitely hurts more today than yesterday, or the day before, but you know what?  I don't care how much it hurts.  You know why?  Because I have a mouthful of teeth, silly.  Well not quite, I did have three teeth on the bottom removed, but they're all the way in the back so you can't even tell.

Can you see the ones missing in the back.  Me neither.

One thing, though, about this whole ordeal, that still bothers me and that bothers me with any situation like this.  When you go and see a caregiver, whether it be a doctor, dentist, physical therapist, pretty much anyone who went to school to learn how to fix you when your broken, they seem to be under the assumption that they know your body better than you.  Don't get me wrong.  I have no idea what a Popliteal Fossa's purpose is, or even what to do if it gets broken, but I do know that there are certain things about my body that I know better than any doctor out there.

Evidently this is a Popliteal Fossa and what it does.  It's also known as "the knee pit".  Now you know something completely useless.

The day of my surgery, I went in knowing that I was going to have an IV.  Now, normally this isn't that big of a deal, for most people anyways, but here were talking about me, the exception.  I have always been terrified of needles.  Now let me clarify here, I'm not always terrified.  I'm only terrified when they are shooting me up with something.  Pulling blood, sure, I'm fine with that.  But, shots or IV's, Houston we have a problem.  It's a totally irrational fear, but it's all mine.  Okay, back on track.  When I go to have the IV put in, I let the Surgeon, the guy with five degrees on his wall, know that I have the tiniest of veins, where he want's to stick the IV and that they usually have to either put it on the top of my wrist, or just below my knuckles on my hand.  I'm getting the eebies just typing about this.

See, tiny little veins.  About as small as a ball point pin line.  Definitely not fit for an IV.

But, the problem is, I don't have five medical degrees on my wall, so what the hell do I know about what my veins can handle, right?

Wrong, turns out this, no-medical degree-having girl, actually knew what she was talking about.  How do I know this.  Well my surgeon decided he knew best and went ahead and shoved that IV needle into my elbow pit, which by the way, hurt like hell.  Then he noticed that the IV bag wasn't dripping any liquid, which in turn means that the suction in that vein isn't great enough to suck the IV solution out of the bag.  Well instead of trying a different spot to hook up my IV, the doctor then gives the IV bag a squeeze, thinking that maybe it's clogged.  It wasn't clogged, my vein was just too little.  Gee, I wonder where I heard that before.  Oh yeah, out of my own damn mouth to the surgeon five minutes before he did this.

Doctors, don't always know best.

So my moral to this story is;  If you feel you know yourself and your body better than your doctor.  Don't let your fear or nervousness take over and let them do what they want.  Stand your ground, tell them what you know and make sure that they listen.  I just wanted so badly to get this procedure done, I didn't make him listen.  And while this bruise doesn't hurt anymore, let me tell you, it's a painful experience to have your vein explode, even more painful to know that it could have been avoided all together.

With all that bitching said and done, I just have one more thing to say.

Look at my smile.  I would have let them explode a couple more veins for this.  I really have no room to complain.  But, I am a girl, so yeah, it's just the way it is.

Until we meet again,
Marisa