To be completely honest, I have put off blogging about surgery, at least in part, because doing so meant having first to sort through a tone of pictures. After almost a decade, I pretty much take pictures of everything health related. As a result, I not only have pictures of the good stuff, but also of the bad stuff. And when I say bad, I mean much more than bad. This latest surgery and hospital stay where really really rough and, quite frankly, looking at the pictures of how I looked hurts. Nobody wants to go through major surgery and the recovery period that follows. No one wants to be completely wiped out or experience uncontrollable pain. There are pictures of me from after this surgery in which I look absolutely horrible. Just looking at them is painful and a reminder of what I have been through. So it was hard to sort through everything and, as a result, I kind of put posting about it off for a while.
In addition, I have decided not to post many of the pictures that were taken of me. I believe that I have always been open (perhaps more so than I should have been) with the images I have shared on my blog. When I started this blog, my intent was both to create a record of events for myself and to provide information/advice about chronic osteomyelitis to other people affected by it. This is still my intent, albeit the focus has shifted from osteomyelitis to external fixators and regrowing bone. Given my latest surgery, however, I no longer believe that everything has to be shared. I can maintain a record for myself and continue to have this blog be a source of information for others without posting everything. Some things are too personal. Therefore, many images are omitted.
Now to get to surgery number five and the week long hospital stay that followed.
On November 25, I got up around quarter past five. Mum and I had to leave around six to get to the hospital by seven. There was not much for me to do as I had packed my hospital bag the night before and didn't need to worry about all that nonsense that is breakfast. Fortunately I am not a hobbit - missing a meal or two wasn't the death of me XD. I got dressed, made my bed (which takes a pretty long time when you have to hop around the bed on one leg) and then posted a little blurb on this blog. By then it was time to head out. The drive to the hospital in Hamilton was pretty uneventful. We did run into a bit of traffic, something which we haven't had with previous surgeries which were scheduled for eight instead of nine am. Regardless of this, we made it to the hospital in good time. Mum dropped me off at the front entrance so I could head to the admission desk while she parked. We picked a good time to arrive - right after I got there and took a number to wait in line it got really busy. I only had two people ahead of me.
After registration, where I got to rattle off my ever growing list of allergies, mum and I headed to same day surgery. All patients are sent there to be prepped for their surgery regardless of if they are same day patients or will be admitted to hospital after their surgery. This was my fifth surgery and I have to say, of all the other surgeries I have had, the time spent in the pre-op area this time was the worst I have ever experienced. When I arrived my nurse didn't even introduce herself to me. She handed me a gown and told me to change, came back a little bit later to take my vitals, which she wrote down on a piece of paper towel and left behind when she went to attend to another patient, and then see never came back. I'm not kidding, she never came back.
While we waited I did some soduku puzzles and took a picture of my leg for old times sake. I mean, it will never look the way it did again, right? One long thin pink scar; the only permanent mark the broken leg/bone infection ever left, and that was about to change. Note my one sock! I had a slipper to wear on the other foot for when I needed to head up to the OR waiting room.
We walked (well, I crutched) to the OR waiting area together. He asked me how I was feeling, to which I replied "nervous". He said that was good, there would be something wrong if I excited. So I replied that I was excited to start regrowing my tibia, but really nervous about the surgery itself and getting my external fixator. Then he said that all the staff had been ready and waiting since 8:30. Well then! The same day surgery nurses done messed up. My surgeon went off to go talk to some of the people who would be assisting in surgery while I sat down for a few minutes to talk with the other OR staff e.g., anesthesiology, scrub nurses. The one nurse needed the information I provided when the nurse downstairs asked me all the questions. Apparently it was all for show for my surgeon because none of that that info was put into the computer or attached to my chart. The OR staff were not impressed. I did find out that I couldn't get a never block; it had something to do with the nerve block not covering the entire area of my leg that would be operated on. I was promised lots of lovely pain meds after surgery and that they would put lots of freezing stuff in my leg during surgery. From there two of the nurses escorted me to the OR, where we met up with my surgeon and the rest of the staff. My surgeon said I was a pro on the crutches. I have had too much time to practice over the years. We got into the OR and the usual routine happened. While getting prepped, I looked over to see my surgeon admiring my Angry Birds crutches. I am glad they are a hit! At this point an IV was started, all the prep work done on me, and I was out.
Next thing I know I was waking up in recovery. As soon as I opened my eyes (and noticed it was around 11:15) I started asking how many pins my fixator had. It took a while to get an answer, but I finally found out it was four. At this point my leg was covered by blankets so I couldn't actually see the fixator. Pain was managed pretty well at first, but over time it started to creep up on me. I kept asking for more pain medication, but was told I had reached my limit. By 1:00 it had gotten really bad and by 2:00 I was constantly telling the nurse that things were getting worse. This was 10/10 pain, the worst I have ever had. I remember telling the nurse that I couldn't take it anymore. Finally the nurse said she would call the anesthesiologist, but he didn't come down until 3:00. At this point I was shivering uncontrollably and my teeth where chattering. I suspected that a major mistake had been made in the order for pain medication, which the nurse confirmed when she said something about a wrong box being checked or something along those lines. A day or so later the anesthesiologist actually came by to apologize for what happened and to make sure I was okay. Once new orders where given, I received a lot of pain medication. For a while, a nurse sat on a chair solely with the purpose of watching me and making sure I was all right (and this usually only happens for the first little bit after you are wheeled into the recovery room). The anesthesiologist talked with my recovery room nurse a lot, but every time they talked they moved farther away from me, glancing at my with furtive looks, as if they didn't want me to hear what they were saying. It was at this point I realized that they were actually really concerned about me. They kept pumping me full of pain medication for another hour (I think), until things settled down. During this time, my mum was allowed to see me for a few minutes. Then I was left alone for a bit again.
Sometime in the late afternoon I was wheeled up to the orthopedic ward. Unlike the last two surgeries, this time I was in a semi-private room instead of a ward.
Me, not long after being moved out of recovery to the orthopedic ward. Say hello to my lovely fixator! Also, after everything I have been through I am a professional patient - nothing like your own blanket in the hospital!
I am not sure when it happened for the first time after being moved from recovery, but I started having periods of uncontrollable shivering and teeth chattering. I think the first time was very early Thursday morning. I do remember that it was night time and that the rapid response team was called. Between Thursday and Saturday afternoon, it happened three times. Along with the shivering, I would feel freezing cold, the staff would cover me in heated blankets, and then my temperature would spike. My heart rate would also go really high, into the 150s. As a result, a resident from internal medicine was called (I think this was Thursday afternoon). I did not like him. He was a pompous ass. I don't usually say that about people, especially health care professionals, but he was the perfect example of one. He walked in, introduced himself, looked at me, and proceeded to say that I looked a lot better than he expected me to look and that I should be much sicker given my lab work. Apparently my potassium level plummeted pretty severely after surgery. He said he believed that I was suffering from refreeding syndrome, which means he thought I had an eating disorder. I have never had an eating disorder. I take pride in eating healthy (although I like to indulge sometimes too) and try to eat a healthy balanced diet. Instead of approaching the situation from a neutral perspective, he made an assumption about me without ever meeting me based on a single lab value and the fact that I was shivering and my heart was racing. Forget that I had just had major surgery, had been on antibiotics the majority of the year, had been chronically ill for years, and had major issues with pain management after surgery, all of which can cause the symptoms I was having. He just assumed I had an eating disorder and seemed genuinely disappointed when that turned out not to be the case. Sadly, this was not the last we saw of him. All my nurse where great, as well as my doctors, the physiotherapists, all the lovely staff on the rapid response team (who even came to check on me later on because they wanted to make sure I was okay and commented on how much better I was looking). Everyone was fantastic expect the internal medicine resident.
Anyways...
On Thursday, physio came to see me and get me moving a bit. He asked if I wanted to get out of bed and sit in a wheelchair. I was not obligated to do this a day after ex fix surgery, but as always, I put my best foot forward (literally!) and got into a wheelchair. It took some time and perseverance to get it done and to get the IV pole and all the cords to cooperate, but I did it. Physio said I was a rock star XD I was hunched over a basin fighting back nausea the entire time, half asleep with my eyes closed and head leaning on my hand, but I sat in that chair! On Friday I managed to get to the washroom with a walker.
Because my potassium level had tanked, I was pumped full of lots of IV potassium. As a result, my IV pole grew.
I do not remember very much of that Friday, but I know that I got out into the hallway with my walker several times on Saturday.
On Sunday I used my walker to get to the sun room with my mum where we could watch a gorgeous sunset over the city. Just before midnight I had more problems with a high heart rate. My nurse did an electrocardiogram, which showed that my heart has a normal rhythm but that I had tachycardia.
Monday morning I was washing my hands in the washroom, which I was allowed to go to by myself by that point when I shivered a couple of times. It stopped by itself so I finished up and made my way to bed. And then out of nowhere, full blown uncontrollable teeth chattering and shivering and high heart rate (as high as the 150s) again. Fun times! Not... Physio gave me a break that day so I could rest up a bit. I also discovered that my tongue had turned white and it felt like the top layer had been scrapped off. I told my nurses and doctors several times, but never got anything for it. On Monday night, the resident who was in the operating room with my surgeon took off all the bandages on my leg for the first time. Although I was coming to terms with the fixator, seeing those pins jutting out of my skin was a shock. I sat there very quietly as he worked away. He asked me if I was okay. "Yes, trying to take it all in," I said. He replied that it was normal to feel like that and that it would take some time to get used to the fixator and pin sites.
On Tuesday word had it that I was going home. From an orthopedic perspective, I no longer needed to be in the hospital. I was mobile, my pain was well managed, and my incision was looking good. My nurse very kindly washed my hair for me in the morning and then physio came to practice the stairs with me. Once more, I kept asking for something for my mouth, which my doctor on floor (the ortho resident) had confirmed was oral thrush, probably due to the antibiotics I was on, but didn't get anything.
Later in the morning, two nurses redid the dressing on my leg and showed me how to do it myself.
My leg! 57 staples an all!
After this, the only problem preventing me from going home was I hadn't had a bowel movement since before surgery... so eight days earlier. Have you ever not pooper for eight days? Think how uncomfortable you would feel. Normally it is policy that patients have a bowel movement before they are discharged because it is important to make sure that every system in the body is working properly after surgery. Apparently, however, Wednesday is the big surgery day for the floor, so they need lots of available beds. This means that they try to discharge as many people as possible on Tuesdays. So it didn't matter that I hadn't met all the requirements to go home, because I was being discharged anyways. I was told that thing's would probably work themselves out but to go to the ER if it felt like I was giving birth.
I was discharged in the early afternoon with a long list of prescription medications, ranging from long and short acting pain medications of various doses, something to treat my oral thrush, a medication specifically for nerve pain, and a slew of things to get my bowels up and running again. For convenience sake, mum and I decided to go to the hospital pharmacy and enjoy some hospital cake in the cafe on the main floor (I love hospital cake, as weird as that sounds) while we waited. An hour or so later we were on our way home. By then it was rush hour, so we keow we would get stuck on the highway. I would be in pain no matter which route we took home, so we opted for the scenic route which normally takes longer than the highway, but not when there is a traffic jam. And after a week in hospital it was nice to see the world again!
Here are all of my medications once we got home. Some are taken every day, others are as required. When mum and I got home we had to write out a schedule for what to take and when. It took quite a while to figure out. I was taking seven different things, plus extra stuff from constipation (thanks narcotics, thanks a lot). Some stuff was twice a day, other three times, some stuff even four times. I am glad my mum was there to help, because it was quite confusing in my drug induced fog.
No comments:
Post a Comment