This is an outrageously long post, and I’m sorry about that, but I had a lot to share and this blog is as much for me as it is for all of you. So snuggle up with a warm beverage and I’ll tell you the tale of my hernia repair.
Long time readers of the blog may remember that I mentioned back in April, after my 1 year checkup and CT scan, that the surgeons discovered a wild incisional hernia had appeared. This was revealed to me thusly:
“Ok, here’s the CT scan, everything looks good…” *scrolls through my body scan* “Oh hey! Look at that! You’ve got a little hernia!”
“What? No. No I don’t.”
“Yes you do, it’s right there.”
“But I don’t want a hernia.”
“Well you’ve got one. I’ll fix it. We’ll put a little patch in there, I’ll fix you right up. It’s small. Which is good and bad. Easy to fix, but not so good if you manage to push your intestines out of that little hole.”
It was all laughs and yucks like most of our appointments with the band of merry medical professionals that saved Derek’s life. But it was slowly sinking in for me that a hernia meant another surgery. One year out from the liver transplant and I had mostly forgotten the pain of major abdominal surgery, but the memory of not liking the pain was still pretty fresh. This would be different. A little incision to put the patch in, no intubating, a day surgery. I’d leave with an ice pack and binder which is kind of like a dumpy looking corset with velcro. No. Big. Deal.