After abdominal surgery, there is no good way to get out of bed without causing enough pain to send you leaping straight up in the air, if only you were able. If you're really into twisted humor, put a secret camera in the bedroom of someone who is about a week-and-half into surgery recuperation, then show it to all your mutual friends at the next party.
It now takes me only about five minutes of rolling side to side, trying various positions, regretting several, and eventually grunting and groaning my way off the mattress. This is an improvement. Last week I grunted, groaned, and finally called for help after about 10 minutes. Young Geezer didn't wait for the camera trick; he just laughed out loud in real time. (I'm going to get myself a camera. Someday, he's going to need help. I'll fly back up to the Northwest to help him, with lots of sympathy--and a secret camera.)
I'm so proud of my advanced skills that I'm allowing the dogs to loll about with me, reasonably certain I won't crush them with my writhing. Little Black Dog likes to lie to my right, Scruffdog likes to lie to my left, and Little White Dog bounces in and out like the ditz he is. He stays a few minutes, hears something outside and runs to the front window to bark at it, forgets we're here, and goes to sleep on the couch. Then, when one of us moves, he comes running upstairs, barking. He gets to the door of my room and goes: "Hey, you guys are here? When did you get here?"
It's all good until I grunt and groan my way into bed and get all three dogs peacefully around me--only to realize, five minutes later, that I need to use the bathroom. (It's not like my mother didn't tell me enough times as a kid: "Be sure to go to the bathroom before you go!" You'd think I'd be able to extrapolate the message to the present situation. But nooooo...)
Scruffdog wakes from a deep sleep with his usual stunned expression times 2, and looks frantically for the fire. Little Black Dog opens one eye, tenses for action but waits to see if I can indeed swing my leg over him without killing him. Little White Dog, who has sleep aggression, wakes up growling like an old man and starts dancing dangerously near my surgery area. Then he sails off the bed like a sailor who isn't going to go down with that ship, no siree!
After all that excitement, the rolling and groaning to get off the bed seem anticlimactic. Getting back into the bed is a whole other drama. I'll save that story for another time.
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4 comments:
Hmm...someone in my family had abdominal surgery and figured out a sequence that worked for his incision. First, be close to the edge of the bed. Then roll on to one side so that you are facing the edge. I think he curled up his legs (imagine sitting on a chair), stuck his lower legs and feet out over the edge and let gravity drag them down. Then... using a combination of arm propping up your weight and some unaffected side muscles, drag yourself into an upright position (so that you're then 'sitting' on the edge.
I guess his technique centered around letting his legs pull his torso around. Hope that helps. -c
Unaffeceted side muscles? An arm capable of propping up one's weight? Are you related to Jack LaLanne?
Nah, I'm not related to Jack LaLanne. But my relative is a guy with bigger muscles...
I do hope the incision heals quickly.
-c
Thank you, c, whoever you are! Lying on my side and drawing up my legs, then letting gravity pull them down seems to help. We had a near miss when there was a little dog beneath my dangling feet who I couldn't see...he survived--though I don't think he trusts me much any more!
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