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Granite Falls Advocate Tribune - Granite Falls, MN
Anyone who knows Eric knows that he writes about a little bit of everything, whether it's taking a trip down memory lane, or praising and/or criticizing something or someone.
Recovery
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About this blog
By Eric Bergeson
Since 1997, Eric has owned and operated Bergeson Nursery, rural Fertile, MN, a business his grandfather started in 1937. With the active participation of his parents, who owned the business for the previous twenty five years, and his younger brother ...
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Eric Bergeson's The Country Scribe
Since 1997, Eric has owned and operated Bergeson Nursery, rural Fertile, MN, a business his grandfather started in 1937. With the active participation of his parents, who owned the business for the previous twenty five years, and his younger brother Joe, who is now president of the company, the business has nearly tripled in size during Eric’s ownership tenure. The holder of a Master of Arts in History from the University of North Dakota, Eric has taught courses in history and political science at the University of Minnesota, Crookston. He is also an adjunct lecturer in history for Hamline University, St. Paul, MN. Eric’s hobbies include Minnesota Twins baseball, Bach organ music, bookstores, hiking, photography, singing old country music with his brother Joe, and watching the wildlife on the swamp in front of his house eight miles outside of Fertile, Minn.
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June 18, 2013 12:01 a.m.



It has been a while since I have recovered from a surgery. The tonsil surgery went well yesterday, but naturally there is pain. In adults, recovery apparently takes longer. Even so, I felt so bad for the two babies in recovery who had their tonsils out as well. How horrible not to know what is happening to you. I am not supposed to lift heavy things or drive machinery or eat solids or anything. I am pretty drugged up, so my thoughts are kind of random. I have no compuction using pain killers. Bring 'em on.  Last night was a little rough as the stitches tickled, forcing me to cough. New adventures in pain. With each hour today, things got better. 

Jello is the real joy. It soothes and moistens. Lance made me a bowl of Jello last night and Dot brought over some Jello bars this morning which I immediately devoured.

I also ate four cherry popsicles in the middle of the night, then panicked when I spit out some deep red. Thought I would have to call emergency, as the biggest risk with tonsil removal in adults is bleeding. Took me a little while to figure out that it was red dye #34, not blood. 

The hardest part of the surgery was the part I dread the most...the putting in of the IV. The nurses have never had difficulty finding my veins in the past, but even when it goes well, the procedure makes me nauseated. 

So, this time they couldn't find a vein. "Whoa!" The nurse said, "you're going to have a bruise there!" I got green. "That vein just exploded!" I got greener. Four pokes on the left hand, two on the right. Then finally, one didn't collapse. By then I was green, boy was I green. So they stuck some anti-nausea stuff right in me. The nurse that finally found a vein was a customer and we talked plants. "All you need is some distraction," she said, as if the onus of finding a vein was on me! I guess the mental state of the pokee actually does make a difference for the poker, but I wasn't too keen on accepting blame for all the holes in my arms. 

I had planned to have my last words before going under be "Jimmy Hoffa is buried...." However, they put me under with a mask, so my profoundity was limited to muffled gasping. Imagine my surprise when I read the news this morning that they are digging up another field in search of Jimmy Hoffa. It wasn't me!

No privacy in the recovery room. As Lance and I waited for final instructions, the woman in the next bay, who had obviously had a very intimate (although minor) procedure, was given detailed instructions on which intimate activities she might engage in and exactly how. I am no prude, but the loudness of it in a full room was a bit much. Lance buried his head in his hands until it was over. I admit to some very painful supressed laughter at the absurdity of it all. Poor lady. The doctor (a female, thank goodness) was tactful, beginning her sentence..."It would be best if you could make yourself happy by..." 

Oh, I can't wait until I am old enough for the colonoscopies to begin. 

 

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