Carrotstick
Surgery story - Friday
Dec 03, 2007
So, Friday was the day after Thanksgiving, and I had an agenda. To fill my painkiller prescription, and to buy groceries, because I had been upgraded to (liquid) mush early and was unprepared.
Mom slept like she hadn;t in weeks, and since I was still on a 6AM wakeup schedule from the hospital, I was up and had a full day in before she was ready to go (1PM). Walking was slow going and difficult - my left incision still was very painful, and still draining, so I could feel blood seeping through my clothes - and so we stopped and got distracted by Christmas decorations for an hour. Finally we made it to the drugstore, only to realize that I had forgotten my medical insurance card. In such situations mom would normally send me as the runner to fetch things, but this time roles were reversed, and I sat on a chair at the Rite Aid and almost fell asleep. I realized that it was now 3PM and I had eaten nothing since 6AM. I was failing on my first day.
Mom returned, we filled the scrip (vicodin), and went to the grocery store, where I bought the weirdest collection of food that I've ever had, including baby food, fat free ricotta cheese, soups, and (fat free) yogurt. Then we stopped so mom could get lunch, and she had a bagel sandwich while I spaced out in a chair again.
So I get home, and I cook some soup, then dump the soup in a blender to liquify it, and my blender explodes. I ran to the bedroom, stripped off my clothes, then ran to the bathroom and started wetting washcloths and covering my burns. It HURT, and I was crying really hard, frustrated about the food, frustrated about the painful burns, frustrated with failing my first day. I cried it out for a half hour or so, then finally emerged, at which point my mom started crying when she saw the burns. They were (are) dark red, and blistered, covering the area above my left breast in a patch about the size of my open hand. At the time, they hurt more than the incisions, which was saying something, considering I was already on 2 vicodin when it happened and numbed out. I called it a day and went to bed.
Mom slept like she hadn;t in weeks, and since I was still on a 6AM wakeup schedule from the hospital, I was up and had a full day in before she was ready to go (1PM). Walking was slow going and difficult - my left incision still was very painful, and still draining, so I could feel blood seeping through my clothes - and so we stopped and got distracted by Christmas decorations for an hour. Finally we made it to the drugstore, only to realize that I had forgotten my medical insurance card. In such situations mom would normally send me as the runner to fetch things, but this time roles were reversed, and I sat on a chair at the Rite Aid and almost fell asleep. I realized that it was now 3PM and I had eaten nothing since 6AM. I was failing on my first day.
Mom returned, we filled the scrip (vicodin), and went to the grocery store, where I bought the weirdest collection of food that I've ever had, including baby food, fat free ricotta cheese, soups, and (fat free) yogurt. Then we stopped so mom could get lunch, and she had a bagel sandwich while I spaced out in a chair again.
So I get home, and I cook some soup, then dump the soup in a blender to liquify it, and my blender explodes. I ran to the bedroom, stripped off my clothes, then ran to the bathroom and started wetting washcloths and covering my burns. It HURT, and I was crying really hard, frustrated about the food, frustrated about the painful burns, frustrated with failing my first day. I cried it out for a half hour or so, then finally emerged, at which point my mom started crying when she saw the burns. They were (are) dark red, and blistered, covering the area above my left breast in a patch about the size of my open hand. At the time, they hurt more than the incisions, which was saying something, considering I was already on 2 vicodin when it happened and numbed out. I called it a day and went to bed.
Surgery story - Thursday
Dec 03, 2007
So, backing up a little to Wednesday night. I have to tell you about Ida. Ida was my roommate. Ida was 96 years old. Ida was in poor shape. Most of the time, you'd not have known she was there, on the other side of the curtain, except when someone came to give her medicine, which was sadly often. Ida apparently has issues with swallowing medicine, and as soon as they'd start giving her something, she's start retching. And puking. And retching some more. And they'd retrieve the pill, or get more medicine, and try again, and this would go on for a half hour or so until the medicine stayed down. Ida also didn't like to move. At ALL. She, like me, was ordered to take a walk once a day to promote healing (she was in due to a hip replacement and a shattered foot that had been rebuilt, and had apparently been at Lenox Hill several weeks already) but couldn't, or wouldn't, or both. A number of people dropped by - physical therapists, swallowing specialists (!) and the like, but the most they got from her was a few minutes sitting up at the side of the bed, and some swearing. I felt really bad for her, and also a little freaked out. Then, Wednesday night, her family and doctors started giving her medicine, and the retching just didn;t stop. After going on and on and on and on and on, I was feeling like throwing up myself, so I went for another walk. My dad showed up around this time, and they were able to sit with me after the walk and listen to another hour or so of retching while I tried to ignore it and watch television.
During our walk, we noticed most of the rooms were empty, and dad said something about maybe moving to a private room, which seemed kinda like a good idea. Ida was 96, man. She deserved some space of her own, and I was no picnic either, since I was crying in pain a lot and up at all hours. I sort of forgot about it, though, after the retching finally finally stopped.
Until late that night, when I realized my dad had spoken to someone in the hospital, and it was Ida, not me, who was being moved. I felt so awful - it looked as though I had complained and asked to get rid of her. I heard one of the family members mention something about "she making her uncomfortable" and wanted to scream NO! It wasn't me! She can stay here and retch and puke all she wants! I'll put up with it! It was humiliating to have the family march by me and look at me sympathetically, almost understanding, while Ida was wheeled away to retch elsewhere. They threw the curtain back after she was gone, and the room was HUGE, though I never did use the other half at all because I thought of it as Ida's.
Anyway, have I mentioned that while in the hospital, I'd be woken up throughout the night to be injected with various things? Antibiotics, stuff to coat my insides, blood thinners, painkillers, etc. Usually around 2AM or so I'd wake up in a lot of pain and ask for painkillers with my fancy nurse call button. And then I'd usually drop my call button on the floor, rendering it useless since I could not reach down past my knees for anything.
Anyway, I mention this because I have sensitive skin, and it was starting to rebel. My arms developed huge black and blue bruises all over the upper areas from each injection. My IV, which was in a very tiny vein, also started to rebel, and my vein started burning with the fires of hell with every injection - enough that I started crying whenever anyone went near it. It also frequently started backfilling with blood, giving it a gruesome appearance and requiring "flushing" before every injection, which hurts like a BITCH. During my 2AM visit, the nurse said, this needs to come out, and I was momentarily elated, until the followed up with, "and we'll probably have to use your other hand or find another vein for it." OH GOD NO.
That morning I got up by myself around 6AM (Happy Thanksgiving!) and meandered around the corridors on my own for a while, marveling at how quiet hospitals are in the early morning. Then I felt inspired to wash my hair, which was getting greasy and kinda raggedy (I have hair that requires daily washing, there's just no negotiating with it) and so I turned on the shower in my bathroom and bent over as much as I could and washed my hair upside down, the way you would in a sink, to avoid getting the incisions wet. Then I washed one body part at a time until I felt much, much better, and wrapped myself in a new cover up (never did figure out how to tie them myself properly). I started getting hopeful that maybe I could go home that day.
The surgeon stopped by! On Thanksgiving morning! He chatted with me briefly, noted that I'd washed my hair, and said I must be doing better. I was. He cleared me to go home (yay!) after proving that I was able to hold down some more food (hmmm). Then he waved at the IV stand and told a random doctor that I didn't need it any more and I was blissfully detached from my many electrical implements( the nurse - "do you want one last hit of morphine before I unhook you?" me - "sure!"), and then my IV was removed. And I was not given another.
Breakfast came - more jello - and a new element - cream of wheat. I'm pretty sure I had never had cream of wheat a day in my life, so I poked at it with a spoon for a while, then measured out my ounce in the cup and dug in. It went down fine (Hurrah!) and I had about 1.5 ounces before the sweating and tiredness set in, and I napped for a while.
Dad and Monique turned up, and they were thrilled about my pending freedom. A doctor came by (cute, young) and removed my catheter. Time went by, and then another doctor came by for the moment I'd been anticipating/dreading - to remove my drains. The drains were pulling like crazy on the incisions and hurt like hell, plus were just gross because they kept filling with blood and fluid, but I was scared that my skin would have healed around them and that yanking them out was going to hurt. It didn't hurt, exactly...not that it felt good, either. My insides jerked, surprised, when the tube was pulled out past them. But then I was free! I could stand and walk and not have things hanging off me and beeping and crawling alongside me!
Lunch came, and it was mashed potatoes and some sort of creamed green vegetable. Dad looked at me and asked if I was supposed to have that, and I said, um, no. Still on liquids (or solids that run off the spoon like liquids). Plus, looking at it made my stomach turn, and so I just avoided it, said I'd eat at home, and we left.
Home! I drank some of a protein drink, then took a nap for a couple hours. Then mom called, said she was about five minutes away, and my dad got out like a bat out of hell to avoid running into her (I told her that he had left a half hour earlier, so she wouldn't suspect, and she said "how odd, I saw a PA car in the street that looked like his." So mom arrived, dressed to the nines in case my dad was still around, and when she saw he wasn't, went and changed into normal clothes. Then she freaked out at my many bruises, and at the incisions ("you look like you just got back from Iraq.") She claimed I already looked thinner, and I said, well...I basically haven't eaten anything in three days, so maybe. She ordered in some dinner, I had some jello and broth, and I went to bed early.
During our walk, we noticed most of the rooms were empty, and dad said something about maybe moving to a private room, which seemed kinda like a good idea. Ida was 96, man. She deserved some space of her own, and I was no picnic either, since I was crying in pain a lot and up at all hours. I sort of forgot about it, though, after the retching finally finally stopped.
Until late that night, when I realized my dad had spoken to someone in the hospital, and it was Ida, not me, who was being moved. I felt so awful - it looked as though I had complained and asked to get rid of her. I heard one of the family members mention something about "she making her uncomfortable" and wanted to scream NO! It wasn't me! She can stay here and retch and puke all she wants! I'll put up with it! It was humiliating to have the family march by me and look at me sympathetically, almost understanding, while Ida was wheeled away to retch elsewhere. They threw the curtain back after she was gone, and the room was HUGE, though I never did use the other half at all because I thought of it as Ida's.
Anyway, have I mentioned that while in the hospital, I'd be woken up throughout the night to be injected with various things? Antibiotics, stuff to coat my insides, blood thinners, painkillers, etc. Usually around 2AM or so I'd wake up in a lot of pain and ask for painkillers with my fancy nurse call button. And then I'd usually drop my call button on the floor, rendering it useless since I could not reach down past my knees for anything.
Anyway, I mention this because I have sensitive skin, and it was starting to rebel. My arms developed huge black and blue bruises all over the upper areas from each injection. My IV, which was in a very tiny vein, also started to rebel, and my vein started burning with the fires of hell with every injection - enough that I started crying whenever anyone went near it. It also frequently started backfilling with blood, giving it a gruesome appearance and requiring "flushing" before every injection, which hurts like a BITCH. During my 2AM visit, the nurse said, this needs to come out, and I was momentarily elated, until the followed up with, "and we'll probably have to use your other hand or find another vein for it." OH GOD NO.
That morning I got up by myself around 6AM (Happy Thanksgiving!) and meandered around the corridors on my own for a while, marveling at how quiet hospitals are in the early morning. Then I felt inspired to wash my hair, which was getting greasy and kinda raggedy (I have hair that requires daily washing, there's just no negotiating with it) and so I turned on the shower in my bathroom and bent over as much as I could and washed my hair upside down, the way you would in a sink, to avoid getting the incisions wet. Then I washed one body part at a time until I felt much, much better, and wrapped myself in a new cover up (never did figure out how to tie them myself properly). I started getting hopeful that maybe I could go home that day.
The surgeon stopped by! On Thanksgiving morning! He chatted with me briefly, noted that I'd washed my hair, and said I must be doing better. I was. He cleared me to go home (yay!) after proving that I was able to hold down some more food (hmmm). Then he waved at the IV stand and told a random doctor that I didn't need it any more and I was blissfully detached from my many electrical implements( the nurse - "do you want one last hit of morphine before I unhook you?" me - "sure!"), and then my IV was removed. And I was not given another.
Breakfast came - more jello - and a new element - cream of wheat. I'm pretty sure I had never had cream of wheat a day in my life, so I poked at it with a spoon for a while, then measured out my ounce in the cup and dug in. It went down fine (Hurrah!) and I had about 1.5 ounces before the sweating and tiredness set in, and I napped for a while.
Dad and Monique turned up, and they were thrilled about my pending freedom. A doctor came by (cute, young) and removed my catheter. Time went by, and then another doctor came by for the moment I'd been anticipating/dreading - to remove my drains. The drains were pulling like crazy on the incisions and hurt like hell, plus were just gross because they kept filling with blood and fluid, but I was scared that my skin would have healed around them and that yanking them out was going to hurt. It didn't hurt, exactly...not that it felt good, either. My insides jerked, surprised, when the tube was pulled out past them. But then I was free! I could stand and walk and not have things hanging off me and beeping and crawling alongside me!
Lunch came, and it was mashed potatoes and some sort of creamed green vegetable. Dad looked at me and asked if I was supposed to have that, and I said, um, no. Still on liquids (or solids that run off the spoon like liquids). Plus, looking at it made my stomach turn, and so I just avoided it, said I'd eat at home, and we left.
Home! I drank some of a protein drink, then took a nap for a couple hours. Then mom called, said she was about five minutes away, and my dad got out like a bat out of hell to avoid running into her (I told her that he had left a half hour earlier, so she wouldn't suspect, and she said "how odd, I saw a PA car in the street that looked like his." So mom arrived, dressed to the nines in case my dad was still around, and when she saw he wasn't, went and changed into normal clothes. Then she freaked out at my many bruises, and at the incisions ("you look like you just got back from Iraq.") She claimed I already looked thinner, and I said, well...I basically haven't eaten anything in three days, so maybe. She ordered in some dinner, I had some jello and broth, and I went to bed early.
surgery story - Wednesday
Nov 24, 2007
so, Wednesday, I was woken up at 5:30AM and it was time to get up for the first time. The squeezy-leg balloon things were taken off my legs, and I was asked to sit up. It was crazy difficult, as I tried t sit up using no ab muscles whatsoever, since any tightening caused my entire abdomen to burn. I used the bed for leverage, and once I was sitting up, standing wasn't that hard. I had a stand with my IV, catheter bag, and various beeping instruments to push along with me, and we started taking very slow, tiny steps toward the door. A nurse walked alongside me.
After about ten feet, tears were coming down my face, as my internal organs felt like they were falling through my body cavity to settle down at the bottom, and the pain was fierce. The nurse saw the tears and asked if I wanted to go back, but I didn;t - I wanted to walk at least to the end of the hallway. I had been told that the more I could walk today, the easier it would be from then on, and walking serves to help expel the air in the body after surgery (they blow you up with air like a balloon during the procedure, and then the air has to work its way back out over the next weeks - if it doesn;t, it settles in the muscles and can be seriously painful.) By the end of the hallway, I was sobbing a little. I made it back to the bed, which was a relief, but sitting back down yanked hard on my ab muscles, and I screamed, and lost it, and cried hard in an out of control way. People came running. One woman got me talking "do you have pets? What's his name? Mattie? My name is Mattie! Here's a photo of my dog..." and a large black nurse held my shoulders and said "DON'T CRY. STOP CRYING" until my head responded "does that actually work???" and I was able to calm myself back down after a minute. That was the worst moment - it all got better from there.
Later that day, I was able to get up by myself, and take another walk. It was incredible how each time was about 100X easier then the last time. I was also sent to the bathroom to "wash up", which I was able to do with a wet washcloth and some soap. I had packed a toothbrush and stuff, but it was zipped away on a shelf in my closet, and I had no energy to get it and wrestle it out, so I did the finger-brush routine with some toothpaste, and mouthwash. I was unable to bend down past my knees, and so had to spend five minutes trying to take my socks off with just the toes of my other foot. When I did it, I felt clever.
Though they had been in to change the bandages on my incisions, I hadn't been able to see them, because...my boobs were in the way. Lying on my back, I can;t see past them to my stomach. I was aware that I had a drain coming out on either side of my stomach (painfully aware - they pulled on the incisions when I stood up, and were usually full and heavy with a pinkish liquid that the nurses would hold up to the light and study as if they were looking for flaws in a diamond) and a few other bandaged incisions - I figured about five or six, total.
Near the end of the day, I was put into a wheelchair and sent to another part of the hospital to check the system. I drank a few sips of barium fluid (the first thing I'd been allowed to have since surgery - disgusting) and then rolled backward on a massive machine while they took photos of it going through my system. This was to check for leaks. Back in my room, and declared leak-free, I was able to eat for the first time. It's still amazing to me that after reducing my stomach to the size of a golf ball, and rewiring the intestines, that I could eat ANYTHING so soon, but the pace of healing kept surprising me. They gave me some little plastic one ounce sized cups, to measure intake with, and my dad helped me measure out an ounce of broth, which went down fine, then an ounce of sugar free jello (lime). After that, my body started sweating a little, and I got really tired, and needed a nap.
Food still tasted good, and the same as it tasted before. That's not the case with some people post-surgery - they stop enjoying food, or it tastes totally different. I was a little relieved. I want to still enjoy food, I just want to enjoy about 1/12th of what I used to be able to eat. So far, so good.
The nurses started making noises about maybe being released the next day. I felt elated - I was healing, I was doing well! and also a little scared - was I really ready? There was still so much pain, and what if something happened, and being left alone at home was kinda of a dubious prospect...
After about ten feet, tears were coming down my face, as my internal organs felt like they were falling through my body cavity to settle down at the bottom, and the pain was fierce. The nurse saw the tears and asked if I wanted to go back, but I didn;t - I wanted to walk at least to the end of the hallway. I had been told that the more I could walk today, the easier it would be from then on, and walking serves to help expel the air in the body after surgery (they blow you up with air like a balloon during the procedure, and then the air has to work its way back out over the next weeks - if it doesn;t, it settles in the muscles and can be seriously painful.) By the end of the hallway, I was sobbing a little. I made it back to the bed, which was a relief, but sitting back down yanked hard on my ab muscles, and I screamed, and lost it, and cried hard in an out of control way. People came running. One woman got me talking "do you have pets? What's his name? Mattie? My name is Mattie! Here's a photo of my dog..." and a large black nurse held my shoulders and said "DON'T CRY. STOP CRYING" until my head responded "does that actually work???" and I was able to calm myself back down after a minute. That was the worst moment - it all got better from there.
Later that day, I was able to get up by myself, and take another walk. It was incredible how each time was about 100X easier then the last time. I was also sent to the bathroom to "wash up", which I was able to do with a wet washcloth and some soap. I had packed a toothbrush and stuff, but it was zipped away on a shelf in my closet, and I had no energy to get it and wrestle it out, so I did the finger-brush routine with some toothpaste, and mouthwash. I was unable to bend down past my knees, and so had to spend five minutes trying to take my socks off with just the toes of my other foot. When I did it, I felt clever.
Though they had been in to change the bandages on my incisions, I hadn't been able to see them, because...my boobs were in the way. Lying on my back, I can;t see past them to my stomach. I was aware that I had a drain coming out on either side of my stomach (painfully aware - they pulled on the incisions when I stood up, and were usually full and heavy with a pinkish liquid that the nurses would hold up to the light and study as if they were looking for flaws in a diamond) and a few other bandaged incisions - I figured about five or six, total.
Near the end of the day, I was put into a wheelchair and sent to another part of the hospital to check the system. I drank a few sips of barium fluid (the first thing I'd been allowed to have since surgery - disgusting) and then rolled backward on a massive machine while they took photos of it going through my system. This was to check for leaks. Back in my room, and declared leak-free, I was able to eat for the first time. It's still amazing to me that after reducing my stomach to the size of a golf ball, and rewiring the intestines, that I could eat ANYTHING so soon, but the pace of healing kept surprising me. They gave me some little plastic one ounce sized cups, to measure intake with, and my dad helped me measure out an ounce of broth, which went down fine, then an ounce of sugar free jello (lime). After that, my body started sweating a little, and I got really tired, and needed a nap.
Food still tasted good, and the same as it tasted before. That's not the case with some people post-surgery - they stop enjoying food, or it tastes totally different. I was a little relieved. I want to still enjoy food, I just want to enjoy about 1/12th of what I used to be able to eat. So far, so good.
The nurses started making noises about maybe being released the next day. I felt elated - I was healing, I was doing well! and also a little scared - was I really ready? There was still so much pain, and what if something happened, and being left alone at home was kinda of a dubious prospect...
Surgery story - Tuesday
Nov 24, 2007
I'll do this story in installments, since I want to remember a lot.
Doing very well here. I feel very lucky to have suck supportive family and friends, and to have an excellent surgeon and hospital staff who took good care of me, even over a holiday.
The day of surgery was crazy early - I had to be at the hospital by 6AM. My dad and stepmother were there and I got in a brief hello before I was whisked away for registration and then blood work and urinalysis and, finally, surgery prep. The anesthesiologist explained that the operating room would be very cold, but that they would do their best to keep me warm wile I was awake and walked me through the anesthesia, which was similar to what I'd had during my endoscopy, a relief to me (unknown allergy to anesthesia was a concern of mine). I felt good, happy, and interested in everything,. I was introduced to the many people who would be in the OR with me. It must have been teaching day, since there was an anesthesiologist observing, along with a Turkish surgeon and a few other observing doctors, all of whom I was assured would stand in the corner and shut their mouths and just wanted to see my surgeon do his thing. I said it was fine, ad it was nice to have been asked. Eventually I was walked into the operating room (it was nice to walk in like a person, and not be wheeled in a bed) and I climbed up on a bizarre table that looked exactly like the table that they strap people to before lethal injection. People started very rapidly clipping things to me and doing their jobs and rushing around, and the anesthesiologist had some trouble getting in a IV because I have tiny and non-visible veins in my hand. Then I was out.
When I woke up, I started shaking almost violently from the cold. I had been dreaming - about what, I have no idea - and being yanked from the middle of a dream into freezing cold was disorienting. Then I started tuning in to what was happening, and my surgeon was absolutely ripping the staff a new one, calling them incompetent and chastising them for a missing needle. I got kind of jarred, and the anesthesiologist stepped in to tell me that everything was fine, the surgery went well, and the lost needle was one that was not even used in the surgery. I'll admit I was skeptical until they wheeled me into recovery.
Recovery was not what I had expected - just a big room like an empty schoolroom with a bunch of people in beds kinda chilling. Eventually my dad and stepmother reappeared and chatted with me, and then were shooed away. It was sort of difficult to stay awake for very long, though I felt pretty alert when I was. Not long after, I was wheeled to my room. Someone mentioned a catheter and I thought "I have a catheter?" because I hadn;t felt it and I had heard a few people complain about painful catheters. I had restrictive balloon-like things on my legs which squeezed and released them to prevent blood clots, and pulse monitors on my boobs and shoulders, plus two drains coming out either side of my stomach, and an oxygen tube in my nose, plus the IV and stand, so I was pretty well wired up. I think it was tough for my dad to see me like that, bu he was relentlessly supportive.
Nurses introduced themselves and gave me a never-ending stream of injections and medicines through my IV and my stomach and arm - antibiotics, blood thinners, things to coat my insides, and stuff I didn't know about at all. I drifted in and out, chatted with my dad, and so it went until 5AM, when I was asked to walk for the first time.
Doing very well here. I feel very lucky to have suck supportive family and friends, and to have an excellent surgeon and hospital staff who took good care of me, even over a holiday.
The day of surgery was crazy early - I had to be at the hospital by 6AM. My dad and stepmother were there and I got in a brief hello before I was whisked away for registration and then blood work and urinalysis and, finally, surgery prep. The anesthesiologist explained that the operating room would be very cold, but that they would do their best to keep me warm wile I was awake and walked me through the anesthesia, which was similar to what I'd had during my endoscopy, a relief to me (unknown allergy to anesthesia was a concern of mine). I felt good, happy, and interested in everything,. I was introduced to the many people who would be in the OR with me. It must have been teaching day, since there was an anesthesiologist observing, along with a Turkish surgeon and a few other observing doctors, all of whom I was assured would stand in the corner and shut their mouths and just wanted to see my surgeon do his thing. I said it was fine, ad it was nice to have been asked. Eventually I was walked into the operating room (it was nice to walk in like a person, and not be wheeled in a bed) and I climbed up on a bizarre table that looked exactly like the table that they strap people to before lethal injection. People started very rapidly clipping things to me and doing their jobs and rushing around, and the anesthesiologist had some trouble getting in a IV because I have tiny and non-visible veins in my hand. Then I was out.
When I woke up, I started shaking almost violently from the cold. I had been dreaming - about what, I have no idea - and being yanked from the middle of a dream into freezing cold was disorienting. Then I started tuning in to what was happening, and my surgeon was absolutely ripping the staff a new one, calling them incompetent and chastising them for a missing needle. I got kind of jarred, and the anesthesiologist stepped in to tell me that everything was fine, the surgery went well, and the lost needle was one that was not even used in the surgery. I'll admit I was skeptical until they wheeled me into recovery.
Recovery was not what I had expected - just a big room like an empty schoolroom with a bunch of people in beds kinda chilling. Eventually my dad and stepmother reappeared and chatted with me, and then were shooed away. It was sort of difficult to stay awake for very long, though I felt pretty alert when I was. Not long after, I was wheeled to my room. Someone mentioned a catheter and I thought "I have a catheter?" because I hadn;t felt it and I had heard a few people complain about painful catheters. I had restrictive balloon-like things on my legs which squeezed and released them to prevent blood clots, and pulse monitors on my boobs and shoulders, plus two drains coming out either side of my stomach, and an oxygen tube in my nose, plus the IV and stand, so I was pretty well wired up. I think it was tough for my dad to see me like that, bu he was relentlessly supportive.
Nurses introduced themselves and gave me a never-ending stream of injections and medicines through my IV and my stomach and arm - antibiotics, blood thinners, things to coat my insides, and stuff I didn't know about at all. I drifted in and out, chatted with my dad, and so it went until 5AM, when I was asked to walk for the first time.
Alive and doing fine.
Nov 22, 2007
I'm home, guys. The surgeon did an excellent job, and I'm progressing well.
I'm awake now because I'm having a little rough patch, but overall I've had excellent care and support, and I feel lucky, and happy.
Will write more when I'm feeling up to it. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving.
I'm awake now because I'm having a little rough patch, but overall I've had excellent care and support, and I feel lucky, and happy.
Will write more when I'm feeling up to it. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving.
Thoughts the day before.
Nov 19, 2007
So, amazingly, it's almost here. How'd that happen?
I suppose I'm as ready as I'm ever gonna be. It's bizarre to think that I'm changing my life tomorrow, so definitively.
Last night my favorite show, the Simpsons, did an episode where Homer gets "stomach stapling" (although the kind of showed the LAPband, which involves no staples, but whatevs.) I was a little in shock at the timing of the episode, because, damn. Premise of the episode: Marge opens a Curves and becomes a very successful businesswoman; Homer fears she will dump him for a trophy husband, so loses weight to be more attractive. He winds up with tons of loose skin which he pulls back with a few clips in a disgusting but seriously funny way which made me laugh/cry and get self-conscious.
I started the liquid diet today (two weeks of this part, then I get baby-food-consistency food for another two) and I am hungry. And a little crabby. I had green tea for breakfast, and am having broth and a Vitamin Water for lunch. Boo. I want to go home and feel sorry for myself, but I have Waaaaaay too much work to do today.
My horoscope today said that this week was an especially good week to look after my health and schedule medical appointments. !!
I'll be at the hospital (Lenox Hill) at 6AM. Surgery's at 7:30AM. Should be done and in intensive care by 10. I'm the first one of the day, so hopefully that means I'll be done (and released) earlier. Will probably be released, depending on how things go, on Thanksgiving.
This weekend I was scared I was gonna die. Spent the days mulling the death risk of this surgery (1 in 200.) Realized that while it would be sad if I die, it would mainly be really inconvenient, because I have a lot of things I want to do - I'm having a fine life and I want more. When I'm stressed, I clean, and my apartment is approaching hospital-quality cleanliness itself after the weekend. I also rearranged all my furniture, most likely much to the chagrin of my patient downstairs neighbors.
Today I'm not so worried about dying (why? I dunno. Maybe the lack of food has dulled my senses.) and more curious about everything. Kinda looking forward to seeing my surgeon again and getting the damned show on the road.
Tonight I'm decorating for Christmas, because after tomorrow, I can't lift more than ten pounds or do stairs (ladder) easily, plus when I'm lying around letting the morphine wear off, I'll have pretty blinky lights to look at, and that sound rather pleasant.
I suppose I'm as ready as I'm ever gonna be. It's bizarre to think that I'm changing my life tomorrow, so definitively.
Last night my favorite show, the Simpsons, did an episode where Homer gets "stomach stapling" (although the kind of showed the LAPband, which involves no staples, but whatevs.) I was a little in shock at the timing of the episode, because, damn. Premise of the episode: Marge opens a Curves and becomes a very successful businesswoman; Homer fears she will dump him for a trophy husband, so loses weight to be more attractive. He winds up with tons of loose skin which he pulls back with a few clips in a disgusting but seriously funny way which made me laugh/cry and get self-conscious.
I started the liquid diet today (two weeks of this part, then I get baby-food-consistency food for another two) and I am hungry. And a little crabby. I had green tea for breakfast, and am having broth and a Vitamin Water for lunch. Boo. I want to go home and feel sorry for myself, but I have Waaaaaay too much work to do today.
My horoscope today said that this week was an especially good week to look after my health and schedule medical appointments. !!
I'll be at the hospital (Lenox Hill) at 6AM. Surgery's at 7:30AM. Should be done and in intensive care by 10. I'm the first one of the day, so hopefully that means I'll be done (and released) earlier. Will probably be released, depending on how things go, on Thanksgiving.
This weekend I was scared I was gonna die. Spent the days mulling the death risk of this surgery (1 in 200.) Realized that while it would be sad if I die, it would mainly be really inconvenient, because I have a lot of things I want to do - I'm having a fine life and I want more. When I'm stressed, I clean, and my apartment is approaching hospital-quality cleanliness itself after the weekend. I also rearranged all my furniture, most likely much to the chagrin of my patient downstairs neighbors.
Today I'm not so worried about dying (why? I dunno. Maybe the lack of food has dulled my senses.) and more curious about everything. Kinda looking forward to seeing my surgeon again and getting the damned show on the road.
Tonight I'm decorating for Christmas, because after tomorrow, I can't lift more than ten pounds or do stairs (ladder) easily, plus when I'm lying around letting the morphine wear off, I'll have pretty blinky lights to look at, and that sound rather pleasant.
24 Hours
Nov 19, 2007
No more food. Goodbye food. See you in a month.
fancy testing
Nov 13, 2007
Just got the call from Lenox Hill - This is pre-testing, just wanted to let you know everything looks good and you're good to go! So, good luck.
I am GOOD TO GO, people.
Backing up a little...
Monday morning I went to Lenox Hill for my pre-testing stuff (the laundry list of which was in a previous post. Now, I am only just beginning to gain knowledge about the experience of being a hospital patient, but I have to say, they give the impression that they know what they are doing. It boosted my confidence for when I am actually going under the knife.
I arrive and the security guard is very nice to me and gives me directions. I am sent over to a pre-surgery testing area, where I start waiting in a PACKED waiting room. I despair, thinking it'll take forever, but surprisingly, people are called at a pretty fast clip and I really only waited maybe 15 minutes. I am called and registered, and briefly told what I will be doing that day (urinalysis, blood test, EKG, chest X-ray.) Then I am given a blue hospital bracelet, which apparently is code for GIVE THIS ONE A CHEST XRAY, and sent back to the waiting room.
A friendly woman doctor calls me and asks me a ton of questions about drugs and blood thinners and medical history. She says I "seem pretty alert to her" and takes my blood pressure. It's the new electronic kind, and she's new to them, and I give her instruction because I've had my blood pressure taken 10000000 times recently, always with the new fancypants electronic machines. They scare me, because I worry (every damn time) that they will not stop, that they will continue squeezing and pop my arm, and guess what happens when I worry? My blood pressure rises. Wey laugh and laugh at my idiocy, and I return to the waiting room.
I get called again a few minutes later after idly listening in to my neighbor's conversation with her friend about how she will approach cooking her Thanksgiving meal this year, and the nurse calls me sweetie, which makes me happy. She indicates a chair that has a giant padded arm across it, like a ride at Disney World, and tells me to sit. I then say the dumbest sentence that has ever been said, in response, "Um...how do I sit on it?" To her credit, she rolls her eyes at me only slightly and lifts the arms up for me to sit down, then lowers them back over me.
It occurs to me that I have eaten nothing this morning since I never eat before 10:30AM (part of my protestation against the morning people of the world, I suppose) and I start worrying, because I faint frequently when blood is taken (or right after), and especially when I haven;t eaten. Also, I'm not gonna lie, but being pricked so often over the past couple months has given me a little anxiety on the giving blood front. I am suddenly grateful for my weird chair, which I realize will hold me in a sitting position if I were to pass out, and I think about how someone invented this chair for the faint-prone like me, and how brilliant and amazing that is. She comes over and takes blood, and I don;t look at it because I don;t want to see how many tubes she's taking, as if that will somehow make it less. I do not faint.
She send me in to do the urine test, and then I'm back in the waiting room. When I get called again, it's for the EKG. I follow another nurse into a room, where she tells me to take my top off, and watches me while I do. I think, I am glad that I don't have major body issues, because otherwise it would be weird to be hanging out alone in a room in my bra with this lady. Instead, I just wonder if my bra looks ok and stand straighter so my boobs look good, although I have no idea why I do this.
I lie down and she sticks stickers all over me, about eight of them. The stickers have a little tab that sticks straight up. She then grabs a scary-looking bunch of wires with clips on the end, like the kind you jump start a car with but smaller, and clips them all to my stickers. I wait for something to happen, and imagine electricity suddenly shooting through the wires and being fried. A few seconds pass, and nothing seems to be happening, and then she is taking all the wires and stickers off me and I realize it's over. She bizarrely asks me to put my shirt on behind a curtain in the corner, I guess because she's into stripping but not so much with dressing back up.
Back in the waiting room, and then I am sent to another part of the hospital that says Radiology. ??? I think, but it's also where they do chest Xrays, so cool. I am met by a kindly old Chinese man who reads a form that they have handed me to give him and gives me a gown, directs me to a locker room, and tells me to "keep on my brassiere". I think that this whole trip was worth it just to hear him say that.
The locker room has no available lockers, so I decide to keep my stuff with me. My gown does not tie anywhere, so I wrap it around me and hold it pinned under my arm and throw my bag over my shoulder to keep it there. I then proceed through the hospital and get lost twice, asking people for directions and hoping that my boobs do not pop out. I find the new waiting area, which is completely dark, and wait confusedly in the blackness until a young guy comes to pick me up and starts chatting me up in a friendly off-putting way. He brings me into a room that is basically a giant X-ray machine, with tracks all along the ceiling where he can push and pull various parts of the machine around the room. I put my stuff down carefully, wondering if the giant Xray room will fuck up my cell phone, and stand in the middle while he rolls giant scary machine parts around. He starts feeling up my back, asks, "is that a bra?" and I say yes (brassiere). He asks me to take it off, and I think, ??? and he turns his back, gentleman-like, and I do. I fling my bra carelessly in the corner because fuck it. He then maneuvers me around some more and then flees the room to leave me alone with the radiation while we do a front shot and a side shot. I do the long walk back to the locker room, accompanied by the friendly guy and dragging my bra alongside me.
I'm done! I barely understand what we're testing for, but I've done them all. And I am fine, as I suspected. Hooray!
I am GOOD TO GO, people.
Backing up a little...
Monday morning I went to Lenox Hill for my pre-testing stuff (the laundry list of which was in a previous post. Now, I am only just beginning to gain knowledge about the experience of being a hospital patient, but I have to say, they give the impression that they know what they are doing. It boosted my confidence for when I am actually going under the knife.
I arrive and the security guard is very nice to me and gives me directions. I am sent over to a pre-surgery testing area, where I start waiting in a PACKED waiting room. I despair, thinking it'll take forever, but surprisingly, people are called at a pretty fast clip and I really only waited maybe 15 minutes. I am called and registered, and briefly told what I will be doing that day (urinalysis, blood test, EKG, chest X-ray.) Then I am given a blue hospital bracelet, which apparently is code for GIVE THIS ONE A CHEST XRAY, and sent back to the waiting room.
A friendly woman doctor calls me and asks me a ton of questions about drugs and blood thinners and medical history. She says I "seem pretty alert to her" and takes my blood pressure. It's the new electronic kind, and she's new to them, and I give her instruction because I've had my blood pressure taken 10000000 times recently, always with the new fancypants electronic machines. They scare me, because I worry (every damn time) that they will not stop, that they will continue squeezing and pop my arm, and guess what happens when I worry? My blood pressure rises. Wey laugh and laugh at my idiocy, and I return to the waiting room.
I get called again a few minutes later after idly listening in to my neighbor's conversation with her friend about how she will approach cooking her Thanksgiving meal this year, and the nurse calls me sweetie, which makes me happy. She indicates a chair that has a giant padded arm across it, like a ride at Disney World, and tells me to sit. I then say the dumbest sentence that has ever been said, in response, "Um...how do I sit on it?" To her credit, she rolls her eyes at me only slightly and lifts the arms up for me to sit down, then lowers them back over me.
It occurs to me that I have eaten nothing this morning since I never eat before 10:30AM (part of my protestation against the morning people of the world, I suppose) and I start worrying, because I faint frequently when blood is taken (or right after), and especially when I haven;t eaten. Also, I'm not gonna lie, but being pricked so often over the past couple months has given me a little anxiety on the giving blood front. I am suddenly grateful for my weird chair, which I realize will hold me in a sitting position if I were to pass out, and I think about how someone invented this chair for the faint-prone like me, and how brilliant and amazing that is. She comes over and takes blood, and I don;t look at it because I don;t want to see how many tubes she's taking, as if that will somehow make it less. I do not faint.
She send me in to do the urine test, and then I'm back in the waiting room. When I get called again, it's for the EKG. I follow another nurse into a room, where she tells me to take my top off, and watches me while I do. I think, I am glad that I don't have major body issues, because otherwise it would be weird to be hanging out alone in a room in my bra with this lady. Instead, I just wonder if my bra looks ok and stand straighter so my boobs look good, although I have no idea why I do this.
I lie down and she sticks stickers all over me, about eight of them. The stickers have a little tab that sticks straight up. She then grabs a scary-looking bunch of wires with clips on the end, like the kind you jump start a car with but smaller, and clips them all to my stickers. I wait for something to happen, and imagine electricity suddenly shooting through the wires and being fried. A few seconds pass, and nothing seems to be happening, and then she is taking all the wires and stickers off me and I realize it's over. She bizarrely asks me to put my shirt on behind a curtain in the corner, I guess because she's into stripping but not so much with dressing back up.
Back in the waiting room, and then I am sent to another part of the hospital that says Radiology. ??? I think, but it's also where they do chest Xrays, so cool. I am met by a kindly old Chinese man who reads a form that they have handed me to give him and gives me a gown, directs me to a locker room, and tells me to "keep on my brassiere". I think that this whole trip was worth it just to hear him say that.
The locker room has no available lockers, so I decide to keep my stuff with me. My gown does not tie anywhere, so I wrap it around me and hold it pinned under my arm and throw my bag over my shoulder to keep it there. I then proceed through the hospital and get lost twice, asking people for directions and hoping that my boobs do not pop out. I find the new waiting area, which is completely dark, and wait confusedly in the blackness until a young guy comes to pick me up and starts chatting me up in a friendly off-putting way. He brings me into a room that is basically a giant X-ray machine, with tracks all along the ceiling where he can push and pull various parts of the machine around the room. I put my stuff down carefully, wondering if the giant Xray room will fuck up my cell phone, and stand in the middle while he rolls giant scary machine parts around. He starts feeling up my back, asks, "is that a bra?" and I say yes (brassiere). He asks me to take it off, and I think, ??? and he turns his back, gentleman-like, and I do. I fling my bra carelessly in the corner because fuck it. He then maneuvers me around some more and then flees the room to leave me alone with the radiation while we do a front shot and a side shot. I do the long walk back to the locker room, accompanied by the friendly guy and dragging my bra alongside me.
I'm done! I barely understand what we're testing for, but I've done them all. And I am fine, as I suspected. Hooray!
mmmmm
Nov 13, 2007
I have discovered that Crystal Light Classic Orange flavor mixed in a water bottle tastes just like orange juice but without any calories or sugar.
New morning drink!
Also: I am becoming fast addicted to Raspberry Ice Crystal Light. I have some now mixed in a Fiji water bottle on my desk. It's a pretty red color. Raspberry drink is my new Diet Coke.
In exactly one week from now, I'll be in recovery in the hospital. Nearly there...
New morning drink!
Also: I am becoming fast addicted to Raspberry Ice Crystal Light. I have some now mixed in a Fiji water bottle on my desk. It's a pretty red color. Raspberry drink is my new Diet Coke.
In exactly one week from now, I'll be in recovery in the hospital. Nearly there...
albcsougfvo
Nov 07, 2007
I called the surgeon's office today, and was all "I can haz flu shot?" and they said yes, so I'll be doing that tomorrow, and hopefully dodging any more viral nonsense this season.
Monday I'm scheduled for my big pre-surgery clearance appointment, which I'm oddly fascinated by. I'm having the following, according to my checklist from the surgeon:
- CBC (I don;t know what this is)
- Urinalysis (I am completely, utterly sure I am not preggers despite being off birth control for two months. GUESS HOW I KNOW?)
- Prothrombin time (another mystery)
- APTT (I think they might be making shit up now)
- Chemistry 20 (I always did well in chemistry)
- TSM, TFT (CNBC! CIA! MADD!)
- Hemoglobin AIC
- EKG (This is the one where they run the ticker tape on your heart, not the one where you run on a treadmill, right?)
- Chest X-Ray (to see what's under the boobs)
Hey, guess what! This is the last year of my life that I'll have to feel shitty about myself and think "hey...I cut calories and work out more than the year before...why have I gained another mysterious 20 pounds???" Isn't that awesome? I cannot imagine myself thin and in shape, but at the moment, all things are possible and I love that. I wonder what this experience will be like. I winder if I'll like what I look like on the other side of it.
