Home!
L did great with his morning and afternoon physical therapy. No, it wasn't fun at all, and he did it. Dr. Anderson came in the afternoon and talked with L about how he was feeling. He removed the dressings, checked the incision site, checked the drain site, discussed PT and declared L fit to go home.
The ride home was a little rough, but he gritted his teeth and got through it. At home, he met his new mattress, new sheets and 5 new pillows. The hubby man got him settled while I went off to Walgreens to get L's home drugs. His narcotic pain pills were $10. ($23 without the insurance discount) His muscle relaxant was $40 for 1/3rd the pills. ($113 without insurance) I'll never understand drug pricing.
Anyway, it's wonderful to be home. Especially since last night was hell night. L's been building up gas since the surgery. When you get too bloated, it hurts like hell while moving through you. Add that to an active day with 2 PT sessions and a lot of getting up and down and you've got hell. There's no drug that alleviates gas pain. They can knock you out so that you don't feel it. But that slows down your bowels and creates more gas. Better to suffer through it.
So he did. And I stayed near him and kept him company. (and helped him shift around and listened to his moans and visited the 24 hour cafeteria to buy him food to nibble on or reject. I was able to acquire a Krispy Kreme doughnut fresh off the delivery rack at around 4:30 am. This pleased him. A lot.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Recovery Watch, Day 5
So much has happened! It's hard to believe it's Friday already. His second night in PICU he developed a fever. That's pretty expected for all those hours of anesthesia, all the work they did on him, and all that laying around. So he got a chest x-ray. No pneumonia. The lower part of his lungs weren't being mini balloons, they were compressed. So he had some breathing therapy. Which pushed more air into his stomach than into his lungs. They decided that he was doing good enough using the inspirometer instead. For the next two days, someone would come and listen to his bowels and press on his belly and ask if there was any pain. Then they'd comment on the gas or noise down there and say that his bowels were moving and that was good.
He had a flat stomach when he went in. Yesterday he had a beer belly, except it was all bloating from gas. Last night, he was starting to deflate and look more like himself.
In PACU (recovery): The anesthesia made him forgetful. He kept checking to see what was attached to him. I found out why the morphene is kept in a locked box. It's because in the past, hospitals have had a problem with staff siphoning off some of the strong drugs for their own use. Locking it makes sure the patient gets all of it. It's sad, and it happens. I can't criticize people I don't know for self medicating to cope with a high stress job or whatever. And I'm glad my son got what he needed and didn't hurt.
In PICU:
Every hour or two they would shift him. He says his pain levels were between 1 and 3 (on a scale of 1-10) when he was resting. When they "log rolled" him to one side or the other, it would go up to 6 or so. Log rolling isn't as bad as I thought it would be. They have a pad under him. Two nurses would grab the pad at his shoulder and hip and gently lift and push while guiding his back and legs. They'd get him about 30 degrees sideways then stuff pillows under and gently roll him onto the pillows. And hour later, they'd pull the pillows out. And hour after that, they'd log roll him on the other side and bepillow that side. So he cycled through left, flat, right, flat, etc. On day two, the rolling to add pillows was accompanied with a little IV painkiller before they moved him. On day 3, they removed his arterial line. Then somebody came round a few hours later to draw some blood.
The whole point of the art line was to 1) rigorously monitor his pulse and blood oxygen and 2) so they wouldn't need to stick him with a needle. He has a strong needle phobia. Actually, needles don't scare him. knowing the needle is going into his flesh is what makes him panic. He can now actually LOOK at the needles the nurses use, and watch them remove the needle and plug the syringe into his IV.
He's being great about his pain. If he hurts, he hits the nurse call. When they ask his pain level during a check up, he tells them. He's not being tough and sucking it up; and he's maintaining a tolerable level of discomfort.
Now for the fun parts!
Dr. Anderson came to change his dressings yesterday afternoon. Everything looked great. He's got 50 million steri strips holding his back closed. They're so much more comfortable than stitches, although he's got stitches underneath that will dissolve over time. There's only one incision. Dr. Anderson didn't cut him a second time to chisel bone scraps off his hip for the fusion graft; he just cut a longer stripe down the back. L doesn't have any discomfort at all where they took a piece of his hip. His blood count is low, but not low enough to need transfusion. He'll be taking a multivitamin with iron for a good long while because his body is making lots and lots of half grown red blood cells to replace what he lost. Once his body decides he's got enough blood, it'll go back to growing big blood cells. Anyway... Dr. Anderson changed the dressing, decided everything looked wonderful, and removed the drain and epidural. Drain removal was neat and didn't hurt at all. It was cool watching them press around the hole and seeing fluid spurt, then dribble out. The last few presses, his drain site made a noise like a whoopie cushion. Taking out the epidural wasn't so fun. They used a stretchy tape to hold that tiny catheter tube in place, stuck right over the incision. Dr. Anderson had to pull off about 6 inches of tape before he could free the epidural cath. L was not happy about that. But! With the epidural out, they could remove the foley catheter too. No more pee tube! Which had been taped to a nice hairy part of his thigh. Sheesh, don't they LOOK where they're putting tape? The nurses took it off as fast and gently as they could.
Freed from all those tubes and tapes, L progressed rapidly. In the last 24 hours he's gone from bedridden in PICU with all kinds of monitoring devices to walking (walking!!! On his own!!!) to the bathroom, sitting up, reaching for and holding his own drinks and pudding cups, and swallowing pills instead of getting a drip. He's on percoset instead of morphene now.
Today, He's getting his first solid food since Sunday evening. And he's going down to physical therapy for an hour. He will learn to log roll and get out of bed without assistance, and show that he can go up and down at least one step. Some time today, they're taking out the active IV. They'll leave the inactive IV just in case they need it. Removing the IV is the last link in the chain. Unless he backslides, he's coming home tomorrow. 6 days of hospital, 6 weeks of recovery, 6 months of no heavy lifting. And then my MIL wants to take him on a trip somewhere. I wonder if he'll pick Japan?
So much has happened! It's hard to believe it's Friday already. His second night in PICU he developed a fever. That's pretty expected for all those hours of anesthesia, all the work they did on him, and all that laying around. So he got a chest x-ray. No pneumonia. The lower part of his lungs weren't being mini balloons, they were compressed. So he had some breathing therapy. Which pushed more air into his stomach than into his lungs. They decided that he was doing good enough using the inspirometer instead. For the next two days, someone would come and listen to his bowels and press on his belly and ask if there was any pain. Then they'd comment on the gas or noise down there and say that his bowels were moving and that was good.
He had a flat stomach when he went in. Yesterday he had a beer belly, except it was all bloating from gas. Last night, he was starting to deflate and look more like himself.
In PACU (recovery): The anesthesia made him forgetful. He kept checking to see what was attached to him. I found out why the morphene is kept in a locked box. It's because in the past, hospitals have had a problem with staff siphoning off some of the strong drugs for their own use. Locking it makes sure the patient gets all of it. It's sad, and it happens. I can't criticize people I don't know for self medicating to cope with a high stress job or whatever. And I'm glad my son got what he needed and didn't hurt.
In PICU:
Every hour or two they would shift him. He says his pain levels were between 1 and 3 (on a scale of 1-10) when he was resting. When they "log rolled" him to one side or the other, it would go up to 6 or so. Log rolling isn't as bad as I thought it would be. They have a pad under him. Two nurses would grab the pad at his shoulder and hip and gently lift and push while guiding his back and legs. They'd get him about 30 degrees sideways then stuff pillows under and gently roll him onto the pillows. And hour later, they'd pull the pillows out. And hour after that, they'd log roll him on the other side and bepillow that side. So he cycled through left, flat, right, flat, etc. On day two, the rolling to add pillows was accompanied with a little IV painkiller before they moved him. On day 3, they removed his arterial line. Then somebody came round a few hours later to draw some blood.
The whole point of the art line was to 1) rigorously monitor his pulse and blood oxygen and 2) so they wouldn't need to stick him with a needle. He has a strong needle phobia. Actually, needles don't scare him. knowing the needle is going into his flesh is what makes him panic. He can now actually LOOK at the needles the nurses use, and watch them remove the needle and plug the syringe into his IV.
He's being great about his pain. If he hurts, he hits the nurse call. When they ask his pain level during a check up, he tells them. He's not being tough and sucking it up; and he's maintaining a tolerable level of discomfort.
Now for the fun parts!
Dr. Anderson came to change his dressings yesterday afternoon. Everything looked great. He's got 50 million steri strips holding his back closed. They're so much more comfortable than stitches, although he's got stitches underneath that will dissolve over time. There's only one incision. Dr. Anderson didn't cut him a second time to chisel bone scraps off his hip for the fusion graft; he just cut a longer stripe down the back. L doesn't have any discomfort at all where they took a piece of his hip. His blood count is low, but not low enough to need transfusion. He'll be taking a multivitamin with iron for a good long while because his body is making lots and lots of half grown red blood cells to replace what he lost. Once his body decides he's got enough blood, it'll go back to growing big blood cells. Anyway... Dr. Anderson changed the dressing, decided everything looked wonderful, and removed the drain and epidural. Drain removal was neat and didn't hurt at all. It was cool watching them press around the hole and seeing fluid spurt, then dribble out. The last few presses, his drain site made a noise like a whoopie cushion. Taking out the epidural wasn't so fun. They used a stretchy tape to hold that tiny catheter tube in place, stuck right over the incision. Dr. Anderson had to pull off about 6 inches of tape before he could free the epidural cath. L was not happy about that. But! With the epidural out, they could remove the foley catheter too. No more pee tube! Which had been taped to a nice hairy part of his thigh. Sheesh, don't they LOOK where they're putting tape? The nurses took it off as fast and gently as they could.
Freed from all those tubes and tapes, L progressed rapidly. In the last 24 hours he's gone from bedridden in PICU with all kinds of monitoring devices to walking (walking!!! On his own!!!) to the bathroom, sitting up, reaching for and holding his own drinks and pudding cups, and swallowing pills instead of getting a drip. He's on percoset instead of morphene now.
Today, He's getting his first solid food since Sunday evening. And he's going down to physical therapy for an hour. He will learn to log roll and get out of bed without assistance, and show that he can go up and down at least one step. Some time today, they're taking out the active IV. They'll leave the inactive IV just in case they need it. Removing the IV is the last link in the chain. Unless he backslides, he's coming home tomorrow. 6 days of hospital, 6 weeks of recovery, 6 months of no heavy lifting. And then my MIL wants to take him on a trip somewhere. I wonder if he'll pick Japan?
Monday, October 13, 2008
All Is Well
.
We got to the hospital around 5:15 am. The next 2 hours were spent waiting, getting a room, waiting, meeting the very kind anesthesiologist, meeting someone with paperwork, meeting the surgeon, meeting the pain management team, meeting the spinal cord specialist who's sole job was to spend today monitoring for damage or paralysis, and meeting somebody else, who I forgot.
It was a long day.
The anesthesiologist made a deal with L. She said, "I'll stick you twice. Once with a shot that will feel like a pinch that numbs the area, and once to put in you IV. I won't stick you again while you're awake." L's rejoinder was "I can do that. If I can have an ice pack to cover my eyes with."
An ice pack was procured and the shot and IV were given. She covered the IV with a gauze bandage so he wouldn't have to look at it, and covered the whole thing with a cloth until she was done. After we met doctor after doctor and were reassured that they were all competent and ready for the day, she injected some happy drugs into the IV and they took him away and sent us off to the Surgery Waiting Room with a thingie that rings and flashes when they have an update for us. Just like a restaurant coaster pager, without the coaster. It flashed and chimed at 8:30 and we were told surgery had begun. It flashed and chimed at 9:30 and we were told everything was going well. From there on, every hour it flashed and chimed and we were updated that everything was going well. Except it didn't go off at 12:30. We got a little nervous, but figured the surgery team was busy. Around 1 o'clock, we stopped by the desk and said we were heading off to eat lunch, and got another update. Everything was going well. After lunch, we were told that the rods were being put in. Good. The most dangerous part was over. About an hour later, our pager flashed and chimed and we found out they were closing him up and Dr. Anderson would be out to talk with us soon.
And he was!
The surgery went very very smoothly. He did not need a blood transfusion during surgery. They were able to recover 500ml of L's blood and give it back to him. They were able to straighten his spine more than they had hoped, although we won't know the degrees until they get an x-ray. They did not need to wake him during surgery to check for damage or paralysis. All was good.
When L was in recovery, he could have one person with him. He asked for me. Win for Mom! so I got to see him with his face all puffy and his eyes gummed shut, and asking a million questions and doing things he shouldn't have been able to do
Like lifting his head and turning his neck to look at his IV's. He kept asking what was on him, then forgetting what it was. And there was a lot of stuff on him. He's got 3 separate IV's. Two vein IV's and one that's pretty much the same thing, except it's in an artery. He's also got an epidural in his spine and a blood pressure cuff, and squeezy things on his legs, and a heart monitor, and a monitor attached to a finger.
He's responsive and self aware and doing wonderfully. I think the 4 kinds of pain meds they're giving him help with that.
And... His morphene drip is in a clear box with two kinds of locks on it. But it has a handy carry strap.
More news after I've had some sleep.
.
We got to the hospital around 5:15 am. The next 2 hours were spent waiting, getting a room, waiting, meeting the very kind anesthesiologist, meeting someone with paperwork, meeting the surgeon, meeting the pain management team, meeting the spinal cord specialist who's sole job was to spend today monitoring for damage or paralysis, and meeting somebody else, who I forgot.
It was a long day.
The anesthesiologist made a deal with L. She said, "I'll stick you twice. Once with a shot that will feel like a pinch that numbs the area, and once to put in you IV. I won't stick you again while you're awake." L's rejoinder was "I can do that. If I can have an ice pack to cover my eyes with."
An ice pack was procured and the shot and IV were given. She covered the IV with a gauze bandage so he wouldn't have to look at it, and covered the whole thing with a cloth until she was done. After we met doctor after doctor and were reassured that they were all competent and ready for the day, she injected some happy drugs into the IV and they took him away and sent us off to the Surgery Waiting Room with a thingie that rings and flashes when they have an update for us. Just like a restaurant coaster pager, without the coaster. It flashed and chimed at 8:30 and we were told surgery had begun. It flashed and chimed at 9:30 and we were told everything was going well. From there on, every hour it flashed and chimed and we were updated that everything was going well. Except it didn't go off at 12:30. We got a little nervous, but figured the surgery team was busy. Around 1 o'clock, we stopped by the desk and said we were heading off to eat lunch, and got another update. Everything was going well. After lunch, we were told that the rods were being put in. Good. The most dangerous part was over. About an hour later, our pager flashed and chimed and we found out they were closing him up and Dr. Anderson would be out to talk with us soon.
And he was!
The surgery went very very smoothly. He did not need a blood transfusion during surgery. They were able to recover 500ml of L's blood and give it back to him. They were able to straighten his spine more than they had hoped, although we won't know the degrees until they get an x-ray. They did not need to wake him during surgery to check for damage or paralysis. All was good.
When L was in recovery, he could have one person with him. He asked for me. Win for Mom! so I got to see him with his face all puffy and his eyes gummed shut, and asking a million questions and doing things he shouldn't have been able to do
Like lifting his head and turning his neck to look at his IV's. He kept asking what was on him, then forgetting what it was. And there was a lot of stuff on him. He's got 3 separate IV's. Two vein IV's and one that's pretty much the same thing, except it's in an artery. He's also got an epidural in his spine and a blood pressure cuff, and squeezy things on his legs, and a heart monitor, and a monitor attached to a finger.
He's responsive and self aware and doing wonderfully. I think the 4 kinds of pain meds they're giving him help with that.
And... His morphene drip is in a clear box with two kinds of locks on it. But it has a handy carry strap.
More news after I've had some sleep.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
In Lieu of Flowers, Please Send POCKY
.
Today is L's last day of mobility for quite a while. Early tomorrow morning we'll be yawning at the hospital, then he's off to have his spine fused. Seriously, they want us there at 5:30 am.
I'm overwhelmed by the number of people who are keeping him (and the whole family) in their thoughts. I'm also overwhelmed by some of the ways people try to be helpful. Like offering a cane or pair of crutches.
...
He's, um, having his spine fused. He won't be able to use a cane or crutches.Both use your back muscles... The helpful suggestions of a wheelchair or home hospital bed, Those are good suggestions. IF he wants them. Right now he connects wheelchair or motorized bed with being disabled. Since he doesn't see himself as disabled, and his goal is to be enabled as soon as possible; he doesn't want either.
He does have one request.
In lieu of flowers, please send POCKY.
You've got time :D He'll be in ICU for at least the first day, maybe longer.
Today's pain relief methods are amazing. They're going to use an epidural for the first day and a half or so, then switch him over to vicoden. He'll come home with percoset. That's the plan, at least. He knows (cuz I told him so) that the effectiveness of pain meds depends on your genes. If the vicoden works, great! If it doesn't work, ask for something different. Part of "being brave" is speaking up and letting your caregivers know if you're hurting, if you need help going to the bathroom, if you are uncomfortable being bathed by a certain nurse, etc etc etc.
Good feedback doesn't make you a whiner. Caregivers want to give you the best care possible. Feedback enables them to give you the best care possible.
I'll be asking "What's that?" for every single thing the nurses bring in. And I'll ask in my usual cutely curious, I love to learn, way. Because I love to learn. And because sometimes medications and IV things go to someone they weren't intended for. Which is why nurses check and double check your wristband. Asking what it is never hurts.
The closer we get to surgery, the less happy we are. And it is what it is. Post-op, our time will be divided between the hospital and completely sterilizing the house. Thank heavens for hard wood floors! Oh, and he's getting a new mattress set, too.
Now then. I know I can't make the house completely sterile. And by the time they release him, his wounds will be closed over and healing pretty well. And he doesn't *need* a new mattress because he had back surgery.
He needs a new mattress because the one he's got is like, 20 years old. (ewwww)
And scrubbing the house will give me something to do. Besides, we're converting the living room into his space for the next several months. Lots of room, a straight shot from the living room to the bathroom, and a wheelchair will fit down the hall. If all goes according to plan, he won't need a wheelchair, but he can have one if he wants it.
I'm rambling. Anyay, surgery is early tomorrow morning at St. John's Mercy Medical. Prayers, thoughts, and Pocky are gratefully accepted.
.
Today is L's last day of mobility for quite a while. Early tomorrow morning we'll be yawning at the hospital, then he's off to have his spine fused. Seriously, they want us there at 5:30 am.
I'm overwhelmed by the number of people who are keeping him (and the whole family) in their thoughts. I'm also overwhelmed by some of the ways people try to be helpful. Like offering a cane or pair of crutches.
...
He's, um, having his spine fused. He won't be able to use a cane or crutches.Both use your back muscles... The helpful suggestions of a wheelchair or home hospital bed, Those are good suggestions. IF he wants them. Right now he connects wheelchair or motorized bed with being disabled. Since he doesn't see himself as disabled, and his goal is to be enabled as soon as possible; he doesn't want either.
He does have one request.
In lieu of flowers, please send POCKY.
You've got time :D He'll be in ICU for at least the first day, maybe longer.
Today's pain relief methods are amazing. They're going to use an epidural for the first day and a half or so, then switch him over to vicoden. He'll come home with percoset. That's the plan, at least. He knows (cuz I told him so) that the effectiveness of pain meds depends on your genes. If the vicoden works, great! If it doesn't work, ask for something different. Part of "being brave" is speaking up and letting your caregivers know if you're hurting, if you need help going to the bathroom, if you are uncomfortable being bathed by a certain nurse, etc etc etc.
Good feedback doesn't make you a whiner. Caregivers want to give you the best care possible. Feedback enables them to give you the best care possible.
I'll be asking "What's that?" for every single thing the nurses bring in. And I'll ask in my usual cutely curious, I love to learn, way. Because I love to learn. And because sometimes medications and IV things go to someone they weren't intended for. Which is why nurses check and double check your wristband. Asking what it is never hurts.
The closer we get to surgery, the less happy we are. And it is what it is. Post-op, our time will be divided between the hospital and completely sterilizing the house. Thank heavens for hard wood floors! Oh, and he's getting a new mattress set, too.
Now then. I know I can't make the house completely sterile. And by the time they release him, his wounds will be closed over and healing pretty well. And he doesn't *need* a new mattress because he had back surgery.
He needs a new mattress because the one he's got is like, 20 years old. (ewwww)
And scrubbing the house will give me something to do. Besides, we're converting the living room into his space for the next several months. Lots of room, a straight shot from the living room to the bathroom, and a wheelchair will fit down the hall. If all goes according to plan, he won't need a wheelchair, but he can have one if he wants it.
I'm rambling. Anyay, surgery is early tomorrow morning at St. John's Mercy Medical. Prayers, thoughts, and Pocky are gratefully accepted.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
And then there's life
.
My father in law (the step-dad one, not the bio one) had cancer a few years ago. Just a mass of tumor growing in the middle of his body. A team of surgeons opened him up and removed it; along with his gallbladder, a bit of liver and a small part of his pancreas. Just to be safe, you know? Because of his excellent health, he recovered fairly quickly and was back to playing tennis in less than 6 months. He was in his 80's. With degenerative disk disease. Playing tennis.
The cancer came back. They took it out again. Chemotherapy killed his taste buds and he never really got that back.
He fell and broke his collarbone. During an MRI to see how porous his bones might be, they noticed two things. 1. he has little balls of cancer growing all over inside. And 2. his kidneys were about the size of peanuts. Probably from years and years and YEARS of painkillers for the degenerative disk disease.
So they started him on kidney dialysis and discussed the tiny tumors. They weren't growing very fast, and with his remarkable health, he was more likely to die from kidney failure or old age, than from cancer which could take 10 years to grow enough to really affect him.
Except those tiny tumors found a weak spot in his back and replaced two of his vertebrae and were working on two more. The tumors put pressure on his spinal column, causing spinal fluid to build up in his brain. He had terrible headaches and short term memory loss.
There's more to the story, but to make it short, the cancer won.
My step father in law was buried on Tuesday with military honors that he more than deserved, but never really wanted. He was just serving the country he loved, and the people of this country as best he could. Never was there such a humble man who wielded so much power as well as he did.
He was a Judge, you see. And he took his job seriously. He never let his personal opinion affect his judicial opinion and he always heard both sides equally.
Once, after sentencing a man to prison, he ordered the guy go to the hospital before incarceration. He thought the guy's cough needed a doctor's attention.
7 years later, that man came to my father in law's courtroom and thanked him. The man had TB. Sending him to the hospital before prison may have saved not only his life, but the lives of anyone exposed to him.
He performed our wedding ceremony, and stood there in his honorable judge robes in the middle of July, on a day when the high temperature was a whopping 64 degrees. And he paused in the middle of the ceremony and commented, "You know... (name omitted) said it'd be a cold day in July before he got married." Then carried on through our laughter, solemnly binding us together.
He left an impression on everyone he met. Usually a favorable impression. His oncologist called to check on him almost every day. He kidney doc sent a note saying that the way my father in law embraced life and in the end embraced his own death, had changed his way of seeing patients.
These are just a few examples of ways my FIL touched people.
And my father in law was not in that flag draped coffin. As his pastor put it, "You can't bury his spirit, his sense of humor, his sense of fairness or fashion. (he was well known for his snazzy clothing) You can't bury who he was, or who he is in our minds and hearts. You can only bury the vessel that carried all those things."
There were a lot of smiles and very few tears at his burial. I'd like my funeral to be full of smiles too.
Having a gun salute would be nice too. That was a first for me.
.
My father in law (the step-dad one, not the bio one) had cancer a few years ago. Just a mass of tumor growing in the middle of his body. A team of surgeons opened him up and removed it; along with his gallbladder, a bit of liver and a small part of his pancreas. Just to be safe, you know? Because of his excellent health, he recovered fairly quickly and was back to playing tennis in less than 6 months. He was in his 80's. With degenerative disk disease. Playing tennis.
The cancer came back. They took it out again. Chemotherapy killed his taste buds and he never really got that back.
He fell and broke his collarbone. During an MRI to see how porous his bones might be, they noticed two things. 1. he has little balls of cancer growing all over inside. And 2. his kidneys were about the size of peanuts. Probably from years and years and YEARS of painkillers for the degenerative disk disease.
So they started him on kidney dialysis and discussed the tiny tumors. They weren't growing very fast, and with his remarkable health, he was more likely to die from kidney failure or old age, than from cancer which could take 10 years to grow enough to really affect him.
Except those tiny tumors found a weak spot in his back and replaced two of his vertebrae and were working on two more. The tumors put pressure on his spinal column, causing spinal fluid to build up in his brain. He had terrible headaches and short term memory loss.
There's more to the story, but to make it short, the cancer won.
My step father in law was buried on Tuesday with military honors that he more than deserved, but never really wanted. He was just serving the country he loved, and the people of this country as best he could. Never was there such a humble man who wielded so much power as well as he did.
He was a Judge, you see. And he took his job seriously. He never let his personal opinion affect his judicial opinion and he always heard both sides equally.
Once, after sentencing a man to prison, he ordered the guy go to the hospital before incarceration. He thought the guy's cough needed a doctor's attention.
7 years later, that man came to my father in law's courtroom and thanked him. The man had TB. Sending him to the hospital before prison may have saved not only his life, but the lives of anyone exposed to him.
He performed our wedding ceremony, and stood there in his honorable judge robes in the middle of July, on a day when the high temperature was a whopping 64 degrees. And he paused in the middle of the ceremony and commented, "You know... (name omitted) said it'd be a cold day in July before he got married." Then carried on through our laughter, solemnly binding us together.
He left an impression on everyone he met. Usually a favorable impression. His oncologist called to check on him almost every day. He kidney doc sent a note saying that the way my father in law embraced life and in the end embraced his own death, had changed his way of seeing patients.
These are just a few examples of ways my FIL touched people.
And my father in law was not in that flag draped coffin. As his pastor put it, "You can't bury his spirit, his sense of humor, his sense of fairness or fashion. (he was well known for his snazzy clothing) You can't bury who he was, or who he is in our minds and hearts. You can only bury the vessel that carried all those things."
There were a lot of smiles and very few tears at his burial. I'd like my funeral to be full of smiles too.
Having a gun salute would be nice too. That was a first for me.
Monday, May 26, 2008
And now for those words...
. There are a lot of sad things happening right now; and there are a lot of good things too. The good things are those little things that make life wonderful. Life is beautiful, my garden is growing, there is much love in my life. The usual stuff.
And my son's high school closed. He doesn't want to go to a different school for his senior year - which doesn't leave a lot of choices. My SFIL has cancer. It's metastasized. It's everywhere, but it grows so slowly that it probably won't kill him. He's getting kidney dialysis every day which usually results in death from a heart attack or stroke. His heart is exceptionally strong. Dialysis probably won't kill him. He fell and broke a bone last autumn, it hasn't healed properly, now it's infected. He's exceptionally healthy, so it probably won't kill him. But he'll be taking antibiotics for the rest of his life.
He's a great man. Not just a good man, but a truly great man. He has done nothing to deserve this. That's how life is. It keeps happening and you keep living until it ends. It's not always right. it's not always fair. And it's not always fun. But it's so much better than not living! No matter what hits you, it's part of living, so don't shut it out. Walk through it.
Before all this happened, I got involved with the Second Life Relay For Life. A fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. Since I signed up in April with the volunteer group, 3 people in the group have died. Plus a few more who had fundraising groups who were motivated by their battle with cancer.
The outpouring of support is amazing. The things people do are amazing. The things people survive are amazing.
. There are a lot of sad things happening right now; and there are a lot of good things too. The good things are those little things that make life wonderful. Life is beautiful, my garden is growing, there is much love in my life. The usual stuff.
And my son's high school closed. He doesn't want to go to a different school for his senior year - which doesn't leave a lot of choices. My SFIL has cancer. It's metastasized. It's everywhere, but it grows so slowly that it probably won't kill him. He's getting kidney dialysis every day which usually results in death from a heart attack or stroke. His heart is exceptionally strong. Dialysis probably won't kill him. He fell and broke a bone last autumn, it hasn't healed properly, now it's infected. He's exceptionally healthy, so it probably won't kill him. But he'll be taking antibiotics for the rest of his life.
He's a great man. Not just a good man, but a truly great man. He has done nothing to deserve this. That's how life is. It keeps happening and you keep living until it ends. It's not always right. it's not always fair. And it's not always fun. But it's so much better than not living! No matter what hits you, it's part of living, so don't shut it out. Walk through it.
Before all this happened, I got involved with the Second Life Relay For Life. A fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. Since I signed up in April with the volunteer group, 3 people in the group have died. Plus a few more who had fundraising groups who were motivated by their battle with cancer.
The outpouring of support is amazing. The things people do are amazing. The things people survive are amazing.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Oh, And Did I Mention?
.
Because they opened my cervix and passed large burny tools through it, not to mention lavage tools to keep it all washed and to prevent the smoke from building up in there (which causes me to imagine vaginal smoke rings) ... A moratorium has been placed on my sex life.
.
.
.
I'm not allowed to have intercourse for 2 months after the procedure.
"Oh, two months, that's not too bad" you say. Uh huh. I can hear you out there, thinking you understand. Yeah.
The last time I had any was November 14th.
For a while that wasn't a problem, because any time I got horizontal, I fell asleep. But now I have energy again.
But I won't risk infection or maybe damaging my stuff down there. And in those moments where I'm more than willing to take the chance; my hubby shows remarkable restraint and won't let me.
Thus, we have learned to be more creative.
.
Because they opened my cervix and passed large burny tools through it, not to mention lavage tools to keep it all washed and to prevent the smoke from building up in there (which causes me to imagine vaginal smoke rings) ... A moratorium has been placed on my sex life.
.
.
.
I'm not allowed to have intercourse for 2 months after the procedure.
"Oh, two months, that's not too bad" you say. Uh huh. I can hear you out there, thinking you understand. Yeah.
The last time I had any was November 14th.
For a while that wasn't a problem, because any time I got horizontal, I fell asleep. But now I have energy again.
But I won't risk infection or maybe damaging my stuff down there. And in those moments where I'm more than willing to take the chance; my hubby shows remarkable restraint and won't let me.
Thus, we have learned to be more creative.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Sickness, Surgery and ... Popcorn (part 2)
.
So the hubby-man left work and drove me to the ER, while I arranged for my mom to pick up my son after school.
Emergency waiting rooms are places of weirdness, I assure you. You would think that someone capable of entering the building on their own two feet would be way down on the list of people being treated; while people being carried in would be higher on the list. Human beings are natural con artists, and triage nurses have seen all kinds of tricks.
So I walked in (on my own two feet) and cheerfully told the nurse at the front desk that my doctor was upset with me and said I needed to go to the ER and get a blood transfusion. I offered him the note my doctor wrote for me, which he declined to accept. He asked me to sit in one of the 4 "waiting for triage" seats next to his desk. I sat next to a skinny gentleman who offered to make room for my husband to sit too. He was not bleeding or holding a limb on with duct tape or vomiting into his hat. The triage nurse called him to the little triage room that can check out 3 people at a time. A nurse took his vitals, asked him quiet questions and whisked him off into the bowels of the hospital, never to be seen again. I guess he needed attention right away. I watched people come and go while I waited for a chance to give someone my little piece of paper saying I had a blood count of 7, and that might be a bad thing. There were at least 80 people in the waiting rooms. I knew I'd be there a while. Another person was triaged while a large and somewhat belligerent man tottered into the hospital. Yes, I know how that sounds. But he was large and somewhat belligerent, and he did totter in like someone with barely enough strength to stand. He loudly proclaimed that he couldn't breathe. That he was having chest pains, and that his arm was numb. Then he focused on looking sickly. He glared at me when the triage nurse called me before him. Even though there was less than a minute between each of us being checked out.
My triage consisted of having my temperature taken, having my blood pressure checked, and having the nurse refuse to look at the note from my doctor. Then I went back to the waiting room.
The hubby-man and I looked for a reasonably uncrowded place to sit. I've never seen Saint Anthony's so busy. We decided to sit near a pair of senior citizens. They seemed nice and quiet. We spent the next hour listening to one of them bitch about not being seen right away.
... He may have broken his wrist in a fall. I'm certain he was in a lot of pain. And the ER takes patients according to 1. need and 2. doctor availability. Maybe the broken wrist doctors were all busy.
Nevertheless, I heard him complain about every single person who was seen before he was. (sigh) The hubby-man was biting his tongue to keep from saying something. I think the only reason he kept quiet was because of me. I do love him so.
They finally took the guy off to get an x-ray and about 40 minutes later called me.
The place really was busy. Usually, you get put in a room with a tv and everything. This time I was put on a stretcher/bed in a room full of stretcher/beds, separated by curtains, with nothing to look at except busy nurses.
Fortunately, I wasn't there very long.
A nurse came and stuck an I.V. in a very uncomfortable part of my arm while expressing surprise that my doctor hadn't called ahead and gotten me a room. I suddenly realized that I would not be going home tonight. I was *not* a happy camper. But I didn't have much time to dwell on that because a phlebotamist showed up and took a bunch of blood from me. I worried over every drop. I know, I know. They needed to test my blood for all kinds of things before they could give me blood; and I felt the best place for my blood was in my own body, thank you very much.
I thought about offering her my doctor's note.
It had become a running joke in my head.
Shortly after all that, with standard IV fluid running into my arm; I was taken to the 8th floor. "Women's Surgery"
I did not like the look of this. I wanted blood and a shot and my own damned bed. Dammit.
I wanted no part of any floor called "surgery" anything.
However.
The nurses were all really really nice. I was a person not an object to them. They let me sleep at night. The food was awesome and plentiful. They even tried to move the IV to a more comfortable spot after I'd had my transfusions.
Yes. TransfusionS. I got blood twice.
That made me just barely blood filled enough to have surgery. And it was a night of hell, getting those units of blood. My vein didn't want 'em. So they had to use a pump. And I think the ER nurse stuck the IV needle right through the tendon in my arm. Or through a cluster of nerves or something. Because that thing hurt like the dickens and pumping blood through it hurt even worse. And the blood wasn't exactly warm, either. And it took almost an HOUR per bag.
Mind you, I am eternally grateful to the strangers who donated their time and (lol) life-blood to give me strength. I am eternally grateful for the kind nurses who cared for me and treated me like a real person. Not just a real person; a real person who they might like if they had time to get to know me better. THAT is impressive.
They're really careful about blood, too. Both times I had 2 separate people check and double check that the info on my wrist tag matched the info on the bag of blood. Both of them asked me to confirm who I was. And both people, both times had to sign a piece of paper before a drop of blood was sent to my IV. AND A nurse sat with me for the first 15 minutes of each transfusion, in case I had a reaction.
After I was all pumped full of blood, they tried to move the IV. I got a lovely bruise and was stuck with the IV in the same place. The next day, the IV site went bad and they *had* to move it. Which left me with 2 more bruises and no IV at all. My veins just weren't sturdy enough to take the IV catheter tube. I also had a better understanding of why I'd been admitted to the hospital. I was very sick. I didn't realize just how long I'd been pushing myself along with sheer willpower. I was exhausted. And I'd been exhausted for weeks.
So, I got 2 units of blood overnight. The next morning I had an ultrasound to check out what might be going on. Then I got a visit from an OBGYN. He said that the ultrasound looked good and the transfusions had brought my blood count up to 8. Woo!!! (It should have been at least 12)
Then he asked me if I had planned on bearing any more children. If I didn't plan on it, he wanted to give me an endometrial ablation. I told him that the hubby-man had a vasectomy years ago. We do not plan on having any more children. This thrilled him to no end and surgery was scheduled for later that day. He actually did 3 things and it took less than 10 minutes, total.
They took me to OR and gave me a new IV in the back of my hand. They numbed the site first. It was a breeze as she carefully pushed the tube into my vein. Didn't hurt at all. Then they took me into a bright room and introduced me to the people who would be part of my surgery and care. Every one of them looked me in the eye and smiled. Way cool. I laid down on the incredibly narrow surgery table/bed (it was warm and comfy) and they injected something into my IV. Then they put a mask over my face. That's all I remember.
While I was not remembering stuff, they were busy dilating my cervix and scraping everything out of my uterus. That's a D&C. Also known as an abortion, or that thing they do after you miscarry to make sure everything is out so that any new babies start with a clean slate. It's also what they do if you won't stop bleeding, if you have certain cancers, etc. etc. etc.
After they cleaned me out and sent all the stuff off to pathology where some poor lab worker would have to look through it all for stuff that shouldn't be there, they gave me a hysteroscopy.
That means they put a camera in my uterus and looked all around.
After they cleaned me out and looked in every nook and cranny, they stuck a zappy wand tool in there and burned the endometreum down to around 6 or 7 millimeters thickness. This is why he asked if I planned on having any more children. If I get pregnant, my uterine wall is too thin to support a placenta. Pregnancy could be life-threatening for me now.
It stopped the bleeding and smoothed everything out in there. 30% of women who have this procedure with the technique used on me (there are other techniques) never have another period. The rest have some kind of period, but it's much lighter.
So basically, I get to keep all my hormone making stuff, and all my girly bits, and go through menopause like I normally would have. but I'll never have another heavy period.
After surgery, the doctor was explaining what he'd done. And described the endometrial ablation as "Just like microwaving your endometreum"
And I instantly said, "You should have put a bag of popcorn in there while you were at it."
.
.
.
Because that's the kind of person I am. Unfortunately, I was still coming out of anesthesia, and I was blinking when I'd said it. And an anesthesia blink takes like 30 seconds. So I missed seeing his expression. The hubby-man says. His face tripped. Like doing a double take without looking away. Then he laughed long and hard.
My job was done :D
.
So the hubby-man left work and drove me to the ER, while I arranged for my mom to pick up my son after school.
Emergency waiting rooms are places of weirdness, I assure you. You would think that someone capable of entering the building on their own two feet would be way down on the list of people being treated; while people being carried in would be higher on the list. Human beings are natural con artists, and triage nurses have seen all kinds of tricks.
So I walked in (on my own two feet) and cheerfully told the nurse at the front desk that my doctor was upset with me and said I needed to go to the ER and get a blood transfusion. I offered him the note my doctor wrote for me, which he declined to accept. He asked me to sit in one of the 4 "waiting for triage" seats next to his desk. I sat next to a skinny gentleman who offered to make room for my husband to sit too. He was not bleeding or holding a limb on with duct tape or vomiting into his hat. The triage nurse called him to the little triage room that can check out 3 people at a time. A nurse took his vitals, asked him quiet questions and whisked him off into the bowels of the hospital, never to be seen again. I guess he needed attention right away. I watched people come and go while I waited for a chance to give someone my little piece of paper saying I had a blood count of 7, and that might be a bad thing. There were at least 80 people in the waiting rooms. I knew I'd be there a while. Another person was triaged while a large and somewhat belligerent man tottered into the hospital. Yes, I know how that sounds. But he was large and somewhat belligerent, and he did totter in like someone with barely enough strength to stand. He loudly proclaimed that he couldn't breathe. That he was having chest pains, and that his arm was numb. Then he focused on looking sickly. He glared at me when the triage nurse called me before him. Even though there was less than a minute between each of us being checked out.
My triage consisted of having my temperature taken, having my blood pressure checked, and having the nurse refuse to look at the note from my doctor. Then I went back to the waiting room.
The hubby-man and I looked for a reasonably uncrowded place to sit. I've never seen Saint Anthony's so busy. We decided to sit near a pair of senior citizens. They seemed nice and quiet. We spent the next hour listening to one of them bitch about not being seen right away.
... He may have broken his wrist in a fall. I'm certain he was in a lot of pain. And the ER takes patients according to 1. need and 2. doctor availability. Maybe the broken wrist doctors were all busy.
Nevertheless, I heard him complain about every single person who was seen before he was. (sigh) The hubby-man was biting his tongue to keep from saying something. I think the only reason he kept quiet was because of me. I do love him so.
They finally took the guy off to get an x-ray and about 40 minutes later called me.
The place really was busy. Usually, you get put in a room with a tv and everything. This time I was put on a stretcher/bed in a room full of stretcher/beds, separated by curtains, with nothing to look at except busy nurses.
Fortunately, I wasn't there very long.
A nurse came and stuck an I.V. in a very uncomfortable part of my arm while expressing surprise that my doctor hadn't called ahead and gotten me a room. I suddenly realized that I would not be going home tonight. I was *not* a happy camper. But I didn't have much time to dwell on that because a phlebotamist showed up and took a bunch of blood from me. I worried over every drop. I know, I know. They needed to test my blood for all kinds of things before they could give me blood; and I felt the best place for my blood was in my own body, thank you very much.
I thought about offering her my doctor's note.
It had become a running joke in my head.
Shortly after all that, with standard IV fluid running into my arm; I was taken to the 8th floor. "Women's Surgery"
I did not like the look of this. I wanted blood and a shot and my own damned bed. Dammit.
I wanted no part of any floor called "surgery" anything.
However.
The nurses were all really really nice. I was a person not an object to them. They let me sleep at night. The food was awesome and plentiful. They even tried to move the IV to a more comfortable spot after I'd had my transfusions.
Yes. TransfusionS. I got blood twice.
That made me just barely blood filled enough to have surgery. And it was a night of hell, getting those units of blood. My vein didn't want 'em. So they had to use a pump. And I think the ER nurse stuck the IV needle right through the tendon in my arm. Or through a cluster of nerves or something. Because that thing hurt like the dickens and pumping blood through it hurt even worse. And the blood wasn't exactly warm, either. And it took almost an HOUR per bag.
Mind you, I am eternally grateful to the strangers who donated their time and (lol) life-blood to give me strength. I am eternally grateful for the kind nurses who cared for me and treated me like a real person. Not just a real person; a real person who they might like if they had time to get to know me better. THAT is impressive.
They're really careful about blood, too. Both times I had 2 separate people check and double check that the info on my wrist tag matched the info on the bag of blood. Both of them asked me to confirm who I was. And both people, both times had to sign a piece of paper before a drop of blood was sent to my IV. AND A nurse sat with me for the first 15 minutes of each transfusion, in case I had a reaction.
After I was all pumped full of blood, they tried to move the IV. I got a lovely bruise and was stuck with the IV in the same place. The next day, the IV site went bad and they *had* to move it. Which left me with 2 more bruises and no IV at all. My veins just weren't sturdy enough to take the IV catheter tube. I also had a better understanding of why I'd been admitted to the hospital. I was very sick. I didn't realize just how long I'd been pushing myself along with sheer willpower. I was exhausted. And I'd been exhausted for weeks.
So, I got 2 units of blood overnight. The next morning I had an ultrasound to check out what might be going on. Then I got a visit from an OBGYN. He said that the ultrasound looked good and the transfusions had brought my blood count up to 8. Woo!!! (It should have been at least 12)
Then he asked me if I had planned on bearing any more children. If I didn't plan on it, he wanted to give me an endometrial ablation. I told him that the hubby-man had a vasectomy years ago. We do not plan on having any more children. This thrilled him to no end and surgery was scheduled for later that day. He actually did 3 things and it took less than 10 minutes, total.
They took me to OR and gave me a new IV in the back of my hand. They numbed the site first. It was a breeze as she carefully pushed the tube into my vein. Didn't hurt at all. Then they took me into a bright room and introduced me to the people who would be part of my surgery and care. Every one of them looked me in the eye and smiled. Way cool. I laid down on the incredibly narrow surgery table/bed (it was warm and comfy) and they injected something into my IV. Then they put a mask over my face. That's all I remember.
While I was not remembering stuff, they were busy dilating my cervix and scraping everything out of my uterus. That's a D&C. Also known as an abortion, or that thing they do after you miscarry to make sure everything is out so that any new babies start with a clean slate. It's also what they do if you won't stop bleeding, if you have certain cancers, etc. etc. etc.
After they cleaned me out and sent all the stuff off to pathology where some poor lab worker would have to look through it all for stuff that shouldn't be there, they gave me a hysteroscopy.
That means they put a camera in my uterus and looked all around.
After they cleaned me out and looked in every nook and cranny, they stuck a zappy wand tool in there and burned the endometreum down to around 6 or 7 millimeters thickness. This is why he asked if I planned on having any more children. If I get pregnant, my uterine wall is too thin to support a placenta. Pregnancy could be life-threatening for me now.
It stopped the bleeding and smoothed everything out in there. 30% of women who have this procedure with the technique used on me (there are other techniques) never have another period. The rest have some kind of period, but it's much lighter.
So basically, I get to keep all my hormone making stuff, and all my girly bits, and go through menopause like I normally would have. but I'll never have another heavy period.
After surgery, the doctor was explaining what he'd done. And described the endometrial ablation as "Just like microwaving your endometreum"
And I instantly said, "You should have put a bag of popcorn in there while you were at it."
.
.
.
Because that's the kind of person I am. Unfortunately, I was still coming out of anesthesia, and I was blinking when I'd said it. And an anesthesia blink takes like 30 seconds. So I missed seeing his expression. The hubby-man says. His face tripped. Like doing a double take without looking away. Then he laughed long and hard.
My job was done :D
Sickness, Surgery and... Popcorn (part 1)
.
Yeah, I know. It's been forever. On to the story of what's happened to me!
*WARNING - THIS PARAGRAPH CONTAINS TMI* (Too much information, over sharing, roughing the reader)
I've been having menstrual problems for a while now. Every time I had a little spotting during ovulation, I'd google around and read that it's totally normal for someone my age. Every time I had a period with lovely clumps of warm red jello sliming their way out of my cervix, I'd google and read that it's totally normal. I'm not one to completely trust even medical sites on the internet. So I'd meditate on my body; focus on my uterus, and find nothing wrong. Just heavy periods every 19-21 days.
I've been having periods every 19-21 days for a decade. Some times they'd last 4 days, sometimes a week. No biggie. I've never been anemic.
Then came November. I was (again) spotting during ovulation. I decided that no matter how "perfectly normal" this might be, I should get some tests done. That's what medical insurance is for, after all.
But it would have to wait until after my period. Can't do a pap smear during a period. It seemed to take forever to actually start menstruating. At least a week! I was truly thankful on Thanksgiving day when I finally started bleeding like a normal woman.
Except it wasn't normal. I was dropping clots the size of small pancakes. Not one or two, but dozens. And I bled for 15 days.
It was gross.
I smelled like oxidized copper.
Everything tasted metallic, and I was thirsty all the time.
I was so weak that I couldn't stand up in the shower. The steam made me feel sick.
I was reduced to sponge baths and washing my hair in the sink.
It was a miserable two weeks and a day. And yet, my body said it was just fine. No cancer, no weird ectopic magical pregnancy, no crazy hormone shifts. So when it finally stopped, I made a mental note to go see my doctor as soon as I had the strength to take a real shower.
Six days later, I started bleeding again. Made perfect sense. I get my periods every 19-21 days. 15 + 6 = 21. And I felt absolutely horrible. And frustrated! Dammit. I was on my period again. Can't get a pap smear! (Like a pap is the only test that can be done on a woman's reproductive organs. Duh)
Monday night, I was so weak and in so much pain, that I wondered how much dying hurt. And for the first time in my life I was afraid of death. Because the pain I felt combined with my weakness scared the crap out of me. I knew I wasn't dying. And I kind of understood, at last, that death usually involves being physically weak.
Tuesday morning, I called my doctor. I told them I'd take anybody who could see me. I was fine with a Physicians Assistant. I didn't care. I was bleeding, I was sick, and I needed it to be fixed. They could see me almost right away.
Great! I stuffed the last of my maxi pads in my purse and drove to the doctor.
Doctor's offices suck when you're truly unwell. So do emergency rooms. Both have uncomfortable seats and no way to lie down across them. So I sat upright and knitted. I even smiled and chatted with people who boggled at the 5 double point needles I was using to make a whatever it was. Really, I don't know what the hell I was making. Could have been the start of a mohair sock or the sleeve of a child's sweater. I just focused on knitting round and round and not letting my fear take control. I was afraid of more pain. I mean... worst case scenario, they give me a hysterectomy, right? Lots of women have those. I can live with that. It was the PAIN that I didn't want. So I knitted round and round and focused on staying calm.
A nurse called my name, weighed me, took me into a little room, checked my blood pressure and asked me questions. I explained about the 15 day period, the massive clumps of goo, and the funny taste in my mouth. She commented that I looked pale. I replied that I'm a redhead, I'm always pale, however; I was pale even for me. We both stared at my face in the mirror for a moment. Then she stabbed my finger with a little needle and took off with a dot of my blood. I marveled at the wonders of modern medicine - that one drop of blood was going to give them all the information they needed to make me stop bleeding. Sweet!
I'm making it sound like I was totally fine during this adventure. That's not true. I was weak and dizzy and my hands didn't really want to manage all those knitting needles. I felt queazy. I simply didn't see how letting any of those things overwhelm me would speed up the process of getting better. And I was certain that I was going to get better. My mind kept returning to this thought: Worst case scenario, I get a hysterectomy. I'll deal with that when my uterus is gone.
A few minutes later, the doctor came into the room wearing a look on her face that I hope you never see. She was very concerned and slightly frustrated, and a bit surprised, and there was some fear in there too. She had the face of a doctor who has to give bad news and has no idea how the patient will take it. I felt bad for her.
She told me that the drop of blood the nurse had run off with said my blood count was low. I was anemic. "Ah ha!" I thought. "So this is what anemia feels like!" I felt better already. But she still was wearing that face. Ok... it's more than just anemia. Best case, they give me a hormone shot - worst case, they take my innards. Let's see where I stood.
I have *no* idea what this means. It meant something to her though. My hemoglobin number was 7. That's very low. Low enough that I would need a blood transfusion.
Um, ok. Worse than a shot, waaaay better than a hysterectomy. And something that had never crossed my mind. A blood transfusion for a period? You've got to be kidding me!
She said I could go to the emergency room and get a transfusion, hormones to stop the bleeding, probably a D&C, and an ultrasound to see what's going on in there.
OR
I could go to the ER and get a blood transfusion and have the rest of the stuff done in a clinic the next day.
I said. "So. Either way, I'm getting a blood transfusion?"
She looked down at the printout of my blood test and said "Well, yes. I don't know what your normal hemoglobin count is, so I can't say for sure. And I do think you should get a transfusion as soon as possible. Preferably today."
My doctor's office is across the street from a hospital. It's a good hospital. My insurance likes the place to. She didn't once suggest I cross the street and go there. Instead, we discussed hospitals 20 miles away. I opted for Saint Anthony's. They're nice people. And competent. And the ER isn't usually crowded.
I thanked my doctor and left. Walking to the truck, I realized I'd left my cell phone at home. I sat in the truck and cried. blood transfusion
Then I wiped my eyes and drove home to call the hubby-man. I could have driven all the way to the hospital, but the hubby man would have been hurt that I didn't call him asap. Besides. I didn't want to go through a blood transfusion alone. I was really really scared.
Transfusions are for war wounds and terrorist victims and major surgeries. Not for an overly long period.
So I cried on an off the whole way home and scared the crap out of my husband when I called him in tears. "They said... (sniffle, hic) that I need (sob sob) a... (hic) a... (sniff,cry) ... blood transfusion! (waaaah!)
He was quiet, as if I had more to add to that "horror".
He thought it was going to be something BAD. Like a hysterectomy. Instead, I get to have a little blood. Isn't that why we all donate blood anyway?
.
Yeah, I know. It's been forever. On to the story of what's happened to me!
*WARNING - THIS PARAGRAPH CONTAINS TMI* (Too much information, over sharing, roughing the reader)
I've been having menstrual problems for a while now. Every time I had a little spotting during ovulation, I'd google around and read that it's totally normal for someone my age. Every time I had a period with lovely clumps of warm red jello sliming their way out of my cervix, I'd google and read that it's totally normal. I'm not one to completely trust even medical sites on the internet. So I'd meditate on my body; focus on my uterus, and find nothing wrong. Just heavy periods every 19-21 days.
I've been having periods every 19-21 days for a decade. Some times they'd last 4 days, sometimes a week. No biggie. I've never been anemic.
Then came November. I was (again) spotting during ovulation. I decided that no matter how "perfectly normal" this might be, I should get some tests done. That's what medical insurance is for, after all.
But it would have to wait until after my period. Can't do a pap smear during a period. It seemed to take forever to actually start menstruating. At least a week! I was truly thankful on Thanksgiving day when I finally started bleeding like a normal woman.
Except it wasn't normal. I was dropping clots the size of small pancakes. Not one or two, but dozens. And I bled for 15 days.
It was gross.
I smelled like oxidized copper.
Everything tasted metallic, and I was thirsty all the time.
I was so weak that I couldn't stand up in the shower. The steam made me feel sick.
I was reduced to sponge baths and washing my hair in the sink.
It was a miserable two weeks and a day. And yet, my body said it was just fine. No cancer, no weird ectopic magical pregnancy, no crazy hormone shifts. So when it finally stopped, I made a mental note to go see my doctor as soon as I had the strength to take a real shower.
Six days later, I started bleeding again. Made perfect sense. I get my periods every 19-21 days. 15 + 6 = 21. And I felt absolutely horrible. And frustrated! Dammit. I was on my period again. Can't get a pap smear! (Like a pap is the only test that can be done on a woman's reproductive organs. Duh)
Monday night, I was so weak and in so much pain, that I wondered how much dying hurt. And for the first time in my life I was afraid of death. Because the pain I felt combined with my weakness scared the crap out of me. I knew I wasn't dying. And I kind of understood, at last, that death usually involves being physically weak.
Tuesday morning, I called my doctor. I told them I'd take anybody who could see me. I was fine with a Physicians Assistant. I didn't care. I was bleeding, I was sick, and I needed it to be fixed. They could see me almost right away.
Great! I stuffed the last of my maxi pads in my purse and drove to the doctor.
Doctor's offices suck when you're truly unwell. So do emergency rooms. Both have uncomfortable seats and no way to lie down across them. So I sat upright and knitted. I even smiled and chatted with people who boggled at the 5 double point needles I was using to make a whatever it was. Really, I don't know what the hell I was making. Could have been the start of a mohair sock or the sleeve of a child's sweater. I just focused on knitting round and round and not letting my fear take control. I was afraid of more pain. I mean... worst case scenario, they give me a hysterectomy, right? Lots of women have those. I can live with that. It was the PAIN that I didn't want. So I knitted round and round and focused on staying calm.
A nurse called my name, weighed me, took me into a little room, checked my blood pressure and asked me questions. I explained about the 15 day period, the massive clumps of goo, and the funny taste in my mouth. She commented that I looked pale. I replied that I'm a redhead, I'm always pale, however; I was pale even for me. We both stared at my face in the mirror for a moment. Then she stabbed my finger with a little needle and took off with a dot of my blood. I marveled at the wonders of modern medicine - that one drop of blood was going to give them all the information they needed to make me stop bleeding. Sweet!
I'm making it sound like I was totally fine during this adventure. That's not true. I was weak and dizzy and my hands didn't really want to manage all those knitting needles. I felt queazy. I simply didn't see how letting any of those things overwhelm me would speed up the process of getting better. And I was certain that I was going to get better. My mind kept returning to this thought: Worst case scenario, I get a hysterectomy. I'll deal with that when my uterus is gone.
A few minutes later, the doctor came into the room wearing a look on her face that I hope you never see. She was very concerned and slightly frustrated, and a bit surprised, and there was some fear in there too. She had the face of a doctor who has to give bad news and has no idea how the patient will take it. I felt bad for her.
She told me that the drop of blood the nurse had run off with said my blood count was low. I was anemic. "Ah ha!" I thought. "So this is what anemia feels like!" I felt better already. But she still was wearing that face. Ok... it's more than just anemia. Best case, they give me a hormone shot - worst case, they take my innards. Let's see where I stood.
I have *no* idea what this means. It meant something to her though. My hemoglobin number was 7. That's very low. Low enough that I would need a blood transfusion.
Um, ok. Worse than a shot, waaaay better than a hysterectomy. And something that had never crossed my mind. A blood transfusion for a period? You've got to be kidding me!
She said I could go to the emergency room and get a transfusion, hormones to stop the bleeding, probably a D&C, and an ultrasound to see what's going on in there.
OR
I could go to the ER and get a blood transfusion and have the rest of the stuff done in a clinic the next day.
I said. "So. Either way, I'm getting a blood transfusion?"
She looked down at the printout of my blood test and said "Well, yes. I don't know what your normal hemoglobin count is, so I can't say for sure. And I do think you should get a transfusion as soon as possible. Preferably today."
My doctor's office is across the street from a hospital. It's a good hospital. My insurance likes the place to. She didn't once suggest I cross the street and go there. Instead, we discussed hospitals 20 miles away. I opted for Saint Anthony's. They're nice people. And competent. And the ER isn't usually crowded.
I thanked my doctor and left. Walking to the truck, I realized I'd left my cell phone at home. I sat in the truck and cried. blood transfusion
Then I wiped my eyes and drove home to call the hubby-man. I could have driven all the way to the hospital, but the hubby man would have been hurt that I didn't call him asap. Besides. I didn't want to go through a blood transfusion alone. I was really really scared.
Transfusions are for war wounds and terrorist victims and major surgeries. Not for an overly long period.
So I cried on an off the whole way home and scared the crap out of my husband when I called him in tears. "They said... (sniffle, hic) that I need (sob sob) a... (hic) a... (sniff,cry) ... blood transfusion! (waaaah!)
He was quiet, as if I had more to add to that "horror".
He thought it was going to be something BAD. Like a hysterectomy. Instead, I get to have a little blood. Isn't that why we all donate blood anyway?
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