So, um, did I mention that I was having a hernia repaired this morning? No? Well, I did, and hoo boy am I feeling it now, Vicodin notwithstanding. I am also enjoying the sort of fakey-tan orange shade of my stomach, thanks to all that sterilizing stuff they rub all over you before cutting.
The official name of my affliction is "incarcerated umbilical hernia," which is Doctor for "a hernia right underneath the spot where your belly button pops out during pregnancy." This is my second hernia repair, and I'm beginning to sense a pattern of medical procedures in my life (two pregnancies, two miscarriages, two hernias... Hope this doesn't mean a second knee surgery is coming! Har har! Just kidding! But also knocking violently on wood.)
Here's my question: Does anybody else HATE having IV's put in? Like, hate it even worse than the idea of being put under and having someone cut around in your abdomen? I am SUCH a baby about it. To be fair, every nurse has always told me I have small veins, so it is consistently difficult to get the Giant Surgical Needle into my hand. But still...
I've had approximately ten procedures requiring IV's in my lifetime (Jim and I counted up just for funsies while waiting this morning.) So you'd think it wouldn't cause me to cringe in terror anymore. And yet... This morning was particularly noteworthy, as my tiny vein sent blood spurting all over the crisp white hospital sheets before the needle was finally in place. Every time I looked over at the stains, I felt myself growing woozy and faint, somewhat in the manner of a delicate Southern belle wearing a tightly laced corset. And looking at her own blood stains.