Carpal Tunnel Surgery: A lot of pain, A Little Anxiety and Not Enough Chick-Fil-A

I had carpal tunnel release surgery last week and no one was more excited than me to get it done and over with. No one except my husband who has been hearing me complain incessantly for the past year that my fingers are numb, and the circulation is cut off in my hands. He would gladly trade places with me in the operating room if it meant he didn’t have to listen to me vocalizing my current physical sensations, or as he calls it, whining. I don’t think I was being dramatic.

One thing I have learned after childbirth is that pain is unique to each person and my “I feel like I am dying” might not slow someone else down. I am a talker and talking about pain (or whatever I am feeling) is just how I cope. I remember getting up in the middle of the night from throbbing and walking around the house just to move my hands and shake out the weird tingling. This happened a lot when I was pregnant. As if I needed to be swollen anywhere else in my body and then my hands started...Thanks, baby Will!

I started like every prospective patient with a medical issue and consulted Dr. Google. For hours (mostly in the middle of the night) I read about all my symptoms and tried to diagnose myself. I do not recommend this. It took weeks to schedule this weird nerve test to confirm if I actually had carpel tunnel syndrome and so I had plenty of time to doom scroll.

I am fascinated with medicine, so yes, I absolutely watched a surgery on YouTube. It scared the hell out of me, but I couldn’t stop watching. I think all that scrolling and clicking is really just my way of trying to cope with anxiety. I thought I could overcome all my fears if I knew every single possible thing that would happen to me. I am not sure this was a good plan.

Turns out I don’t sleep better or feel calmer if I can see what the incision and the surgical tools look like. Yuck.

I know surgery is often a last resort after you try other options. But I wasn’t getting better. My pain was actually worsening, and it was in both hands, sometimes traveling up my arm into my neck. Cortisone shots weren’t effective long-term and steroids only worked briefly. Acupuncture and PT seemed like a lot of time without a guaranteed result, and I am someone who prefers certainty. For me, surgery seemed the best route. Also, to be clear, this is not major surgery. I was under general anesthesia, but this was minimally invasive, and I was going to be home in two hours. That was a big factor in favor of surgery.

I also gave a lot of thought to the effect on my quality of life and how much distress this was causing. It hurt to sit at my desk and do work. I was taking Tylenol every single day. I was dropping things. Lifting my son was awful. Clicking him into his car seat was more than my hands could handle. I did a lot of my own research and found a doctor who specialized in hands and I messaged back and forth with several other people who had carpel tunnel surgery successfully performed by this doctor. This is where the local Facebook Mom groups are the best! I consulted with him, confirmed I did need surgery and scheduled each wrist a month apart. I considered doing them both at once just to have it over and done with, but the idea of having no working hands for an unknown time period scared me. My husband loves me, but he is not going to pull my pants onto me every day. He already told me doesn’t even understand how leggings work. He probably would have done it because he is a good egg, but still. A girl needs at least one working hand. And “how leggings work” will just have to remain a secret.

I had the surgery the day after Valentine’s Day and I was home, eating Chick-Fil-A with my left hand by lunch time. Minus the pain, this is my definition of living the dream. However, I expected to be immediately cured as soon as I woke up in the recovery room.

Unfortunately, that was not the case and that really was a rude awakening! My fingertips were still extremely numb and stiff. After a few days of discomfort, I convinced myself that the surgery hadn’t worked, and I was destined to be miserable forever.

Dramatic, much?

Here is what I learned from this experience: There is no such thing as a guaranteed outcome in life. I have the utmost respect for doctors and health care professionals, but they aren’t magicians. (because magic isn’t real!) My symptoms are improving gradually, but it may take more time than I prepared myself for. That does not mean the surgery didn’t work. It just means the outcomes can vary and we all recover at our own pace.

I am someone who enjoys relaxing on the couch and bingeing Netflix, but for some reason, I felt guilty doing this after my surgery. I found myself thinking I needed to vacuum and wipe down the counters. I didn’t want my family to think I was being lazy and so I tried to make dinner and clean up the house a little. Bad idea. So stupid! It only hurt worse! After about 2 minutes, I found myself back on the couch.

Why was it so hard for me to just sit still and relax? Why did recovering cause me to feel so guilty?

I think it’s the worry that I am shifting my personal and professional responsibilities to other people and that isn’t fair to them. I often struggle with the possibility of disappointing others. I am working to reframe those thoughts and let some of that go. Being sick is just part of life. Sometimes we have no choice other than to rest and heal our bodies. This may mean laying on the couch while your husband walks and feeds all three dogs and does all the daycare pick up and drop offs for a week.

My next surgery is in a few weeks for my other wrist. I’ve vowed to stop watching surgeries and googling things like “what if the anesthesia doesn’t work?” I am going to go into this one with realistic expectations for the outcome and realistic expectations for myself. I’ll be laid up on the couch for a few days again and I will probably be in good bit of pain. My husband will be on diaper duty and my co-workers may end up covering for me.

Everyone will survive. I am definitely not as excited as I was the first time, but I am prepared.

I’m giving myself permission to relax, to be “lazy” and to get Chick-Fil-A on the way home.