Night sweats

I have heard of meat sweats, breaking into a sweat, and night sweats, but I can't say I have ever actually experienced these states involuntarily. 

My first night at home from the hospital, first night without pain meds, first night with full mobility and first night with severe night sweats. 

I have no idea what causes the full-body sweat to spontaneously happen and eventually wake up the victim. But I have a theory.

Up until tonight, me and my body have been surviving, pretty much running in parallel universes. Battling side by side. But, as my mental and physical pain has decreased, the tiny, tiny voices of my insides have begun to reach my ears and I am beginning to ally my efforts to help them out. 

The tiny, tiny voices I am speaking of are the engine of recovery. The potassium pumps that move potassium and fluid back and forth between the cells to reduce swelling, pooling, promote healing. The calcium pumps making sure energy and fluid floods the outer most districts of the bowel where a small breakdown in this system could send the whole organism and me, back to the ER. And the sodium pumps who keep our legs from swelling, our heads from fainting and a million other little jobs that we don't even notice. 

My theory is that, as I lay in bed, unmedicated, all of the micro mechanics of my healing body are working very hard to promote healing, re-align my organs into new positions, rebalance the ins and out of my long intestine and prevent kinks, bruising, pain, and overload. This massive undertaking runs always, but when I lay down to go to sleep, it goes into hyper gear. 

Then, in a moments notice, gravity begins to impair the reorganization process and suddenly the sodium, potassium, and calcium pumps are overwhelmed by osmosis and the force of gravity and fluids just start moving without order or design. That's when the night sweat kicks in. 

Massive amount of fluid start escaping the skin, chilling me to the bone, trying with every effort to wake me up and make me move.  I feel the cold sweat running down my back, my hair is dripping wet, I'm confused, but I get up, get the hair drier, wipe the sweat and change pajamas and lay down in 10 minutes on the other side.  It is genius. Like the newborn who can swing their arm at just the right tempo and strength to waken mother just enough for her to offer food, but not actually bring her fully awaken. Magic really. 

So tonight, I believe, because I am not medicated, I have had night sweats twice. So glad Gene is doing laundry these days. 

Returning to bed the third time, and wide awake at 4:30 am, I begin to "listen" to the engine inside. 

I imagine the shock my abdomen had on surgery day when half of the contents of my pelvic area were removed in one scoop. Then, just as those organs started to adjust to their roomier quarters, the bowel obstruction happened and my upper organs increased in size by about 4 times. They were heavy with fluid, so they could no longer adjust to the situation happening in my pelvis. 

Then, within a 4-hour time frame, 3 liters of fluid is removed from the bowel, shrinking it back down by 4-5 times. And for the next 3 days, the small intestine is completely "dried out". 

Finally, on day 10, I am given three massive boluses of heavy contrast that puts gravity back in charge and blasts through my gut, opening the bowel obstruction and the next 12 hours, I lose another liter of fluid in the form of diarrhea. 

Imaging it, These little "pump workers" are just trying to keep me alive and make the best decisions they can. Pushing potassium one way, moving water another way, and all the time, new existensial events continue to happen every 24 hours. It is really quite stunning how they just keep going. And over time, the millions, trillions of little pumps and valves and micro-osmosis pathways just keep on trying. 

Tonight, I felt them (the tiny army inside of me) take the upper hand. They got control of the battle and marched forward, no longer in "catch-up" mode, they are winning the war. I no longer feel like a flabby baby seal slinging my belly from side to side. My body is taking shape, the water logged intestine is balancing, the swollen areas are finding a shape and a place.  Scar tissue is beginning to tether me back together.  

This is definitely a miracle. 

Tonight I laid in bed with my hands on my belly, patting, encouraging, thanking all of those micro organic processes for hanging in and continuing to work night and day to heal me. This is the heart of resilience. 

Though we want to believe resilience lives somewhere in our attitude, I do not believe resilience is centered in the mind,  I believe it is in the micro-levels of the cells, and their willingness to keep on working, despite the overwhelming challenges we set out for them, it is something like "string theory" or magic.  

I hope I never forget the little guys who are keeping my organs from smashing each other, keeping the scaring from getting in the way of healing, securing things so I will, once again, be able to bounce on the trampoline without feeling like my insides are falling out, and doing it all, while I lay sleeping. 

And the most impressive thing, is how they use their one tool, control of fluids, to say "turn over, you big goof", via the "night sweat".  (nothing about my description has any real basis in science, this is all my mid-night imagination:))

I'm going back to bed, to enjoy another few moments of amazement before Lizzie gets up and, hopefully, gives me a chance to show her my love.