So you are thinking about surgery. Maybe it is due to a medical problem or maybe you are considering cosmetic surgery.
Think about this first...
Surgery is serious. When someone cuts into you it literally opens up the fragile eco system that is your body and exposes it to errors, infections and complications.
Here are 10 things I wish I'd been told before I went in for my ednometriosis, ovarian cyst and polyp surgery that went sideways and ended up perforating my bladder.
1. The complications after surgery may be worse than the reason you went into surgery in the first place. Take this to heart because it isn't BS. It's real.
2. You could take you much more time to recover than you expected, or you may never recover. Be warned.
3. The drugs that they give you may adversely affect your body and cause you more damage than good. They may shut down your bowels, cause horrendous nausea and make you feel like you are ET and want to "Go Home".
4. If you cannot go to the bathroom after surgery under no circumstances should you be allowed to go home. Do not listen to the idea that you are simply dehydrated despite pumping you full of fluids and all your urine has magically "disappeared".
5. The surgery could affect other parts of your body that you don't expect and will most certainly affect you psyche. You could be depressed afterwards.
6. You may feel as though your intestines do not belong to you anymore and some wicked witch is squeezing them like a water balloon causing you excruciating stabbing pains, bloating and severe agony every time you move. Many people experience this after surgery for weeks on end. Going to the bathroom and going to be tortured have suddenly become synonymous.
7. You won't recognize your own body. You will be swollen, red, black, blue, bruised, puffy, itchy and may even for some weird reason have your skin peel off. This happened to me, might have been all the poison seeping out of my stomach.
8. You won't be the same. I now have a new bellybutton and scarfacebelly. Since this was a laparoscopy I expected very small scars...I have one 6 inch scar and 3 other very small scars.
9. This surgery could lead to other surgeries. Don't make the mistake I made and think that a surgery error won't happen to you. They happen.
10. Don't expect the surgery to solve all your problems. You may go through all of this for nothing. Doctors don't know everything and can't know how your body will react to the surgery.
I don't want to scare you, but then again, maybe I do. After what I went through these past weeks I would hate for anyone else to suffer the same.
I ended up staying another two days in hospital before I was released.
The last two days were substantially less chaotic and dramatic than the first 24 hours. Thank God!
I was given a private room during the last 18 hours I was in the hospital. It had a door and even my own toilet! It felt like I'd been upgraded to the best suite The Ritz has to offer.
Thanks to a little blue pill called Imovane I managed to have a good sleep that last night filled with wonderful vivid dreams. There were fluffy pug puppies, skiing on the grass in the summer and huge white tame owls to be petted. I was even in a Off Broadway dance show at one point. I wanted to stay in those delightful dreams forever.
I've been home for almost a week now trying my best to recover.
I'd like to tell you that I'm doing better, I'm healing well...
but I don't feel that way.
For eleven days now I've had a new bag. But I won't be posting any photos of myself modeling it with some funky boyfriend jeans and a trendy peplum top.
It's a bag of urine strapped to my leg. It is with me day and night. It requires maintenance. I am constantly taking care of my tubes and bags. It is a nightmare.
It makes me sick.
Physically sick.
For the past few days my lower stomach has started to cause me pain again. Yesterday it was severe. My stomach is a blue/red colour. It's been that way since the surgery.
I can't sit for more than 20 minutes at a time. I'm not eating because it hurts my stomach more.
I'm not taking any pain killers because I'm scared how they affect other parts of my body.
I haven't left the house since I came home from the hospital other than a few short walks with my dog. The bag can't be trusted. I had to walk home a few days back holding it up with my one hand the whole way. I haven't gone outside since then.
Since I started getting new pains again I can feel my optimism slipping away. I don't want to end up back where I was.
The fear has climbed up through my body, threatening to spill out of my mouth should I open it.
More than anything I want this to be over.
....update
I saw my urologist late this afternoon.
After much debate my bag and catheter are gone. Hallelujah!Raise the roof!
I may have an infection where my pain is coming from. I have been given new meds to see if that helps.
I will have an ultra sound hopefully next week to make sure nothing else in my lower abdomen looks infected.
I have been scheduled for a scope or cystoscopy. Not looking forward to this.
They insert a camera into my bladder, fill the bladder with liquid and then see if it has properly healed. This is the only way other than another CT scan to see if I am still leaking. CT scans are like having 40 x-rays, scopes are less damaging to the body.
Removing the catheter today despite my pain, swelling and redness is a bit risky, but I really wanted it gone. If it turns out I am still leaking from my bladder or my infection gets worse I will have to go back to the ER for treatment and then have bladder surgery. This time I have been told to go to a different hosptial that hopefully doesn't have the same issues as the last one. Please, please body heal! I don't want to go back to the ER!
I should know if I still have a hole in my bladder in the next 48-56 hours or so. Thinking positive thoughts!
I am beyond happy to no longer have that bag of piss attatched to me. You can't imagine how great it is not to have to deal with that.
The irony is that catheter is the one thing I felt personally I could never tolerate and I had it for eleven full days. I guess when you don't have a choice you are simply forced to do what you thought you never could.
I have my fingers crossed that my bladder has healed and this other infection pain is just a blip on the radar.
I want so badly to be normal again. Just the fact that I can sit again to pee is frankly delightful. We take for granted everything that our bodies do for us daily.
Being able to
walk
talk
see
breathe
smell
feel
think
dream
sleep
eat
pee
these are all gifts that you won't miss until they are gone.
Once any one of those is gone you will wonder every minute why you wasted so much time and energy worrying about your
wrinkles
age
weight
saggy chin
etc.
I know it may sound corney but believe me...
Love your body.
Be grateful.
Cherish yourself.
I am hoping with all my heart that next week back I will be back to writing about something other than my health. Fingers crossed....
I will tell you one little funny story that I left out...I think this is brilliant because it truly shows the difference between how a man thinks and how a woman thinks.
When Robert had his surgery for his kidney tumour his stomach was very big and swollen. That is normal. I was shocked to see just how much, but it is a major surgery and that is just your body's natural reaction. I understood that this would eventually pass and mostly just a large scar would remain.
When I was in the middle of my trauma, 24 hours after the surgery, we were in the bathroom trying to deal with the blood and liquid leaking out of me. It was the first time that Robert had seen my stomach after the surgery. He didn't say anything at the time, I was in such pain and it was such a nightmarish situation, really just a blur trying to figure out how to stop the leaking and deal with my pain and nausea. Later though he told me that he was shocked upon seeing my very swollen pointed stomach and had silently thought, "I knew that she said she had gained some weight...but man...that is crazy! Those dresses she wears hide it so well. Underneath she looks like Santa!"
That still makes me chuckle : )
Thanks to everyone for your encouragment and support. I can tell you in all honesty that I read and reread your comments. It helped knowing that there were caring people "out there" rooting for me and I wasn't just writing to the big black void known as the internet. I appreciate the fact that you took the time to write. You made a difference to me and gave me strength. Thank you.
9 am in the ER. Everyone is gearing up for another busy day.
I'd made it through to the other side of night.
I didn't feel stronger for it.
I didn't feel relieved.
I felt like I had begun to climb Kilimanjaro and had only made it to the first base camp.
A new nurse by the name of Kristina has been assigned to me. She is young, tall and thin. She seems sweet.
A surprise...she wheels me out of the triage room and into one of the triage caves with curtains. I would have my own three walls finally!
She told me that she had seen me all day yesterday suffering in the hallway and said she made it her mission to get me into that triage room.
She must have seen how desperately I needed that.
Having not slept at all and living through what was undoubtedly the worst night and past five days of my life I had a feeling I looked as bad as I felt.
I was repulsed by my own body, now completely foreign to me. I hadn't had a bath or shower for five fulls days since the surgery. I hadn't brushed my teeth, hair or washed my face in five full days.
Kristina understood.
She gave me two fresh hospital gowns. When she helped me on with them I felt the tears welling up inside me again. I fought hard and pushed them back down. I didn't want to break now but I was physically trembling with gratitude. Feeling something clean and dry against my skin meant I hadn't totally disappeared.
I was still here.
I still counted.
She suggested some fancy "boy shorts" in lieu of the humiliating diapers. Really they looked like a stretchy dishcloth and for some reason reminded me of Sponge Bob Square Pants, but they were a million times better than what I'd been forced to wear thus far.
She offered up a shower. A shower! My heart leapt! Well... a shower in a bag. It was a bunch of sealed wipes in a bag but I was allowed to go to the washroom on my own and freshen up.
I leaned on my IV pole and putting one trembling foot in front of the other slowly made my way to the washroom at the end of the hall.
Once in the bathroom, door locked, privacy! I looked at myself in the mirror...
Who was that? I didn't know her.
A deranged haggard old lady with tubes and bags attached to her withering, deformed body. Vacant eyes, blank stare, gaunt chalky face, a rat's nest of hair piled high on top of her head.
Who was that? Where had I gone?
I couldn't think about it or I'd never leave that bathroom again.
I stopped looking in the mirror and simply focused on the task at hand.
I started with my teeth and the toothbrush that Robert had bought me before he left. Feeling the toothbrush rub against my teeth and the fresh cool taste of the toothpaste in my mouth was better than the best spa day I'd ever had.
Trying to get on the boy shorts while wearing a catheter and IV was much more difficult than I had imagined. No one tells you how to manage when you have tubes coming out of your body. In the end no matter how many times I tried I just made a mess of it. The tubing was rolled into the dishcloth underpants and I was a tangled up mess. I had to use the Emergency button in the bathroom and call for help. Luckily it was Kristina that came to my rescue. It took a bit of ingenuity, yoga moves and turning (like a warped game of Twister) to get me all untangled, but she did it.
I finished taking my "shower" and I felt slightly more human.
A tiny glimmer of myself appeared.
The smallest ember of hope ignited in my belly.
I wasn't totally lost yet.
My Dr. came by.
She asked me how I was.
Wrong question.
I think she could tell by my appearance and my attitude that I was beyond disgusted and miserable.
She said that it was up to my new Dr. to decide how long I stayed in hospital and any further treatment. He was still suggesting that I remain in hospital for seven more days. Seven more days.
I told her in no uncertain terms that should I need to stay there, in the ER, under these circumstances, that I would simply not get better. In fact I would deteriorate, quickly.
I wouldn't be leaving the hospital ever.
This is not a healing environment ...
whatsoever.
Her answer was that eventually the body will simply give out and I would finally sleep, no matter where I was situated in the hospital.
I didn't care for her answer.
She told me to plead my case with the new Dr. to see if I couldn't leave the hospital earlier.
The remainder of our conversation was just... awkward.
I am very sick and it is because of her.
I may need to have another operation and it is because of her.
I will need to have a catheter for ten days to three weeks (maybe longer) and it is because of her.
There was no way around those facts.
I didn't have my life anymore and it was because of her.
Time was advancing like a snail on the pavement in front of me, leaving a sticky wobbly line of unshakable memories.
Seven more hours to go...
Seven more hours?
A nurse passing by spotted that my sheets were off of my stretcher. Through all of my pain I had created one large rumpled ball by my feet. I was still wearing the shoes I'd worn to the hospital. My feet had swollen from all of the fluids they had been pumping through the IV and were bursting out the sides of my shoes like water balloons.
I had been laying on the plastic of the stretcher in the same position for over 12 hours, damp and sticky with sweat. The hospital (obviously trying to save on costs) hadn't put on their air conditioning and it was around 30 Celsius in the ER.
I was so grateful for her kindness when she asked if I wanted my sheets fixed and changed that I almost cried.
She rolled me into one of the triage rooms. I knew that I'd had my dressings on for far too long now. I could feel how wet my stomach was. My whole body was wet. I asked if she would mind changing those too.
She did.
She helped me to put on socks Robert bought me and take off my shoes so my feet wouldn't be sore.
She told me that later, she would try to sneak me into the large triage room next door, where the lights were dimmed so I might try to sleep a bit.
She got me a new cold compress for my head.
I was so grateful.
In the grand scheme of things this little effort to make me more comfortable made me begin to believe I had a chance at making it through the rest of the night.
I wanted to give her a medal for taking the time to notice me and taking action on her own initiative.
My pain wasn't getting worse.
Maybe I could sleep a bit.
About 20 minutes later someone pushed me into the dimly lit large triage room with three other women.
I exhaled.
A sigh of relief.
No overhead lights.
No people buzzing around me.
I had a chance.
Maybe sleep would come and rescue me.
I was physically and emotionally exhausted.
Almost five full days I'd been going through this pain nausea hell without sleep, food or respite.
I was empty.
Sleep had to come.
I closed my eyes...
Right beside me a stranger appeared at my bedside. Talking to me. Touching me.
I opened my eyes...
I was still in the room.
A soft pug snore coming from one of the women sleeping in the corner.
Freaking out. What was that? Who was that?
I tried again and closed my eyes...
Members of my family appeared. As if on a slide show, coming up close to my face and then receeding. Then more people I didn't know. Discussing, pointing, talking to me, talking about me, standing right beside me.
It was real.
I could see it.
It was real.
I could hear it.
It was real.
I could feel it.
It was real.
I could smell it.
They were right beside me...whispering in my ears. I don't know what they were saying. My head was spinning.
I was scared. Really scared.
I opened my eyes...
I was in the darkened room. I heard the annoying beep of the ER machines. I could see the yellow light from the hallway at the foot of my stretcher. A shadow of a nurse passed by. The other lady in the room had started snoring as well.
There would be no witnesses to the ghosts that were tormenting me.
In my brain I understood I was having hallucinations, or waking dreams, most likely brought on by the five days of narcotic use, but in that room they were real. And they wouldn't leave me alone.
I couldn't close my eyes anymore.
My body tightened.
I started sweating.
My heart raced.
I didn't dare close my eyes.
This is the first time I started to fall apart.
Really fall apart.
I felt myself give in.
I relaxed into the pain and fear.
I let it swallow me whole.
The tears started to come.
Someone rustled a plastic bag on the other side of the room. Was it one of the ghosts that had been tormenting me?
No, it was the daughter of one of the women in the room. She had been sitting on a chair by her bed all night long.
Get a grip Suzanne!
I decided right then and there that my crying wouldn't help. Breaking down wasn't going to help. I had to keep it together. It was up to me. Take some control Suzanne.
I refused anymore pain meds other than extra strength Tylenol. The drugs were making me crazy. Literally making me crazy.
I kept my eyes open the whole time.
I promised myself to be positive and grateful for the smallest act of kindness.
A bag of ice one nurse brought me to help with the overheating and sweating. Turning on the air conditioning might have been an idea. I was grateful that she listened to and fulfilled my request.
My body urged me, begged me to close my eyes. All my muscles, stiff, hurting, exhausted, implored me to close my eyes.
I fought it.
I fought it with everything I had.
I didn't give into the ghosts.
I didn't give into the mounting depression.
I didn't succumb to the crazies that clawed at the corners of my brain.
I looked at my watch but I couldn't read it.
I laid on the stretcher like that until almost 9 am.
Surrounded by other patients each on their own stretcher with nurses, Doctors and paramedics constantly bustling by us.
The bright yellow lighting made it look like we were living in a Polaroid photo from the 1970's.
All the triage caves were full. The stretchers were lined up all around the glass box that held the nurse's station. One after the other. Head to toe. Like casualties of war. Each of us with our own story of suffering, pain and fear.
The casualties of life.
My prime spot made it impossible to sleep however it did provide a front row seat to the evening's "events".
The first hour or so I spent listening to everyone else's problems. It was impossible not to. Even with my earplugs I couldn't drown out the suffering.
So many people were too upset to respond to the myriad of questions being thrown at them in triage. They couldn't concentrate, or didn't understand. Some didn't speak English. Each of them was sick, worried and stressed about getting the proper care.
After listening to all these different people unable to respond to simple questions it was a refreshing surprise when the guy right across the hall arrived.
He was precise.
Thorough.
Detailed.
Knowledgeable.
He really seemed to have his act together. Every question was answered with ease. He knew the last time he had leukemia. The dates, the Dr. that treated him. The hospital. The duration of the time spent in hospital. It was a relief for a change. Someone finally knew what they were talking about.
Then the conversation went on a bit longer.
He had been a school teacher.
Then he was homeless for 13 years.
The commanders on the radio told him where to go to sleep at night and who to trust. Otherwise no one was trustworthy.
He became agitated.
The radio people controlled everything. They were also known as the Police. Everyone was out to get him. It was a huge conspiracy.
No one could be trusted. The nurse hadn't been vetted by the radio people.
He worked himself into a panic and decided to run. He took his backpack and literally ran barefoot out of the hospital. As if a bunch of men in white coats were chasing him.
The most sane patient in the ER turned out to be a lunatic.
Things are not quite what they seem in the ER.
Then there was the mumbling old man in the corner cave triage room. He must have been at least 80, maybe closer to 90 something. Mumbling incoherently, calling out for help for hours on end. When a nurse finally did go to take blood I understood he had been waiting for over 12 hours in that state, being ignored, trying to see a Dr.
It was awful.
This mumbling old man was no fool though.
He devised a plan.
He was going to get treated faster.
There was a way.
He decided to sh*t everywhere on his stretcher.
Everywhere.
The stench was strong enough to overpower the smells of vomit, stale piss, old bleach, sweat, fear and death that filled the ER. This smell buried everything else.
At that moment I thought you could never pay me enough to be a nurse.
The mumbling old man was transferred to a room...upstairs. A real room. With 4 walls and a ceiling and lights that can be dimmed. Maybe it wasn't a private room, but I figured it had to be better than where he came from.
His plan worked.
Sly guy.
After that episode I figured, it couldn't possibly get any worse. It'll be smooth sailing the rest of the night. I got out my book and tried to read. By that time it was after midnight.
I decided to stop taking the Dilaudid in an effort to quell the nausea and only took the Naproxen and some extra Tylenol. I needed off this roller coaster of pain and nausea.
The Dilaudid it made it impossible to read. The words were blurry, bouncing off the page. I tried to concentrate. If I couldn't read I would just have to lay here with my exploding stomach pain and nausea and listen to everyone suffering all night long.
Only 4 hours had passed since Robert left.
Four hours!? How is that possible?
I still had another 10 to go before I'd see him again.
The countdown continued...
At 1 am four police officers show up with a twenty something guy on a stretcher. He has what looks to be a cage and bars on top of him to restrain him.
He is crying.
I can't tell if it's because he is in pain or not. They put him in the cave right across from me. He looks like he might have been in a fight. He is red and swollen. Maybe it's just from the crying.
Maybe he is just high.
At first the guy is very apologetic, " I won't do it again officer! Really! Don't call my parents! Please please please! Don't, don't, don't!"
Then after a couple of minutes, for some reason he does a 180 degree turn and starts in on the offensive.
"Why did you search my bag officer? You didn't have the right to search my baaaag! Where is the warrant to search my bag officer?"
And then full on heart stopping screaming.
At the top of his lungs, as loudly as physically possible,
"You don't have the right officers! I'm gonna go to the TV station! You can't do this to me!" and then swearing. Lots and lots of swearing.
This is all so loud that I want to put my hands over my ears. I still have my earplugs in. Good-for-nothing earplugs.
I don't put my hands over my ears.
That is too obvious.
I've had my book in front of me the whole time trying to read the same sentence for over an hour now. This wasn't going to beat me. I was going to read that book and take myself away from this hell. I would make it happen.
It didn't happen.
The cops are trying to calm the kid down, "Don't worry, it's okay, keep it together, you're going to be fine, just breathe, calm down."
This goes on for at least 30 minutes. Maybe longer.
The screaming doesn't stop or pause, it just keeps going.
The kid becomes more and more agitated and starts to provoke some of the officers. Everyone's nerves are frayed. It has escalated too far. The piercing screaming has been going on for over an hour now, maybe longer.
The air seemed thicker, buzzing.
It felt hard to breathe.
Something was going to snap.
A scuffle and then one police officer hits the kid right up side the head across the face, up against the bars around his head. The kid has a bloody nose.
Now he is screaming louder. I don't know how, my voice would have quit ages ago.
"Police brutality! Police brutality! Thanks for hitting me in the face officer Randal! Thanks for hitting me in the face officer Randal! Look!!! My nose is bleeding! Thanks officer Randal! You saw that! You saw that! See what he did to me??? Look! Thanks officer Randal! Thanks officer Randal!"
As there are curtains on either side of the triage unit it was like I was watching a You Tube video at a theatre.
Just a bit of violence, to add to the evening.
The kid kept screaming and lashing out. I thought he would eventually wear himself out, but nope, he did that for a good two hours before they were able to find an isolation room at the end of the hall to put him in.
I could still hear him though. He was unbelievably loud. He kept screaming well into the morning.
Was it police brutality? Probably.
Did I think he deserved it? Undoubtedly.
The officers left.
The roar dulled.
I tried to focus on the remaining 7 hours before I would see Robert again. I will make it through this night.
Catheter and IV in place I am wheeled out of the storage room and placed in a hallway. From here it gets a bit blurry. I was taking more and more Dilaudid while waiting in the hallway.
I got the CT scan.
Was placed back in Emergency in a hallway not too far from the nurse's station.
How I wished I could just pass out from the pain and nausea. No such luck. I couldn't close my eyes for too long because the dizziness would take over and that was far worse.
My surgeon appeared. She was rushing off to Radiology to get the CT results.
Thank God! I thought. Maybe now I could get out of this hell hole.
Laying in the hallway...for hours. Slowly the stretchers were being taken closer to triage and the nurse's station. I was moved up right in front of the glass room where the Emergency nurse's station was. All around the nurse's station were triage units, tiny caves with three walls and a curtain to pull across the front. All the curtains were pulled back. There would be no privacy here. All the caves were full of other suffering patients. How I longed to leave the bustle of the nurse's station and have my very own three walls.
We waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Time passed.
A death march.
Refusing to be rushed despite my silent pleas.
In the evening my Dr. appeared,
"I've got news!" She exclaimed in her bubbly perky way.
Hope. I had hope.
"It's not good news."
I have no hope. Wipe that smile off your face then if it's not good news.
"I am so very, very sorry to say that somehow during surgery I ruptured your bladder. I don't know how. It could have been one of my instruments or when I was burning the endometriosis off of your bladder I may have gotten too close to the organ itself. The first time in fifteen years that this has happened to me. " It didn't happen to you. It happened to me.
"So now you will be taken care of by a urologist by the name of Dr. Kwan. He has deemed it necessary for you to stay in the hospital for 7-10 days to see if your bladder will start to heal itself. If not, then he will need to operate on you. Once again I am so very, very sorry about this. Now I will go home and cry." You will go home and cry but I will apparently stay in this hell and suffer.
My heart sinks. I feel depression pushing my body down further into the iron stretcher. I cannot face the thought of one night in the hospital let alone 7-10.
It is now close to 8 pm. Robert needs to go home to look after Zoe our pug.
One of the nurses taking care of all of the "hall patients" stops and tells me I will be admitted and will staying there.
"Where? What room?"
"Right here."
"Here???" My face falls.
"In the hallway?"
"Yes. Right here. We have no rooms or extra beds. We are too full tonight. You will need to stay here."
I can't stay in the hallway.
I won't sleep.
I won't get better.
I'll get worse.
The nurse explains the only way a bed will open up is if someone gets discharged in the night (it never happens) or someone dies.
What do you say?
What do you think?
Nothing. That's what.
You say nothing.
You shut up and suffer like everyone else around you.
Dr. Kwan shows up. He looks to be around 30 or so. Fresh faced but serious. He explains that he isn't 100% sure that my bladder hasn't been damaged in more than one place. He will try the first method of allowing the body to heal itself, but if by tomorrow my blood results haven't changed (the bladder is now affecting my kidney function) then he will need to operate. He seems too confident and too keen to get me on his operating table.
I'm reeling at the thought of having another surgery.
I can't.
I won't survive.
It'll be worse.
I don't have faith that they can heal me.
Robert must leave me now. He has picked up a few things from the drug store so if by some miracle I can get off my stretcher, I will have a toothbrush and toothpaste. He has bought me two books. He knows I won't be sleeping tonight.
I tell him, "Go ahead, leave me in this fresh hell, I'll be fine."
But really I don't believe that.
I hadn't properly slept in five days and not sleeping at all might finally push me completely over the edge.
I have been taking Dilaudid and Naproxen non stop for five days. It felt like my body wanted to shut down.
I worried about my sanity.
I didn't think I could keep it together much longer.
As I turned my head as best I could from the stretcher to watch him leave I took a deep breath. How would I last?
I started calculating the hours. Fourteen hours until I saw him again and countless hours until I left the hospital. I focused on the closest goal.
Fourteen hours.
I started counting down.
Oblivious to the disturbing night that would ensue.
How I managed to get through the night I don't know.
Monday morning the Dr.'s office was contacted. I had an appointment for 11.
Robert laid towels down in the car since I was still leaking like the Trevi fountain from my pointy navel.
I had 6 maxi pads strapped to my waist and another towel I held in front of my stomach.
I kept a cold cloth on my forehead trying desperately not to spew. It wouldn't matter really. I hadn't eaten in 5 days by that time. Only Dilaudid and Naproxen were keeping me moving.
I was dizzy.
I had sharp pains in my shoulders from the C02 they'd injected into my stomach.
I had unbearable pain in my entire torso. Like my belly is going to burst.
Seriously.
Right now.
My stomach is going to explode all over everything and some alien baby is going to come out and overtake the world.
The clerks at the Dr.'s office seem surprised by my state. And by that I mean I looked like one of the extras on The Walking Dead.
I'm lead into a waiting room.
The Dr. appears about 5 minutes later.
She is surprised.
"It was such a routine surgery. Yes I did lots of work on you, I removed a very large cyst from your left ovary and a very large polyp as well. I had to extend the opening in order to remove them they were so large, but otherwise it was very routine. I will call the hospital to talk to a specialist just to double check that everything is okay and then we can proceed from there."
Thirty minutes later she finally gets through to the specialist. It is deemed that I need to head straight to Emergency where they will be expecting me and already have orders as to how to proceed.
I am to have a catheter inserted and then have my bladder reverse filled with a contrast dye for a CT scan to see if the bladder has been damaged. I will most likely need to be admitted to the hospital.
One thing you need to know before I go on here...there are two things I asked the surgeon before I decided to have this surgery...will I need to stay overnight in the hospital and will I need a catheter?
No I was told.
I figured I could get through the surgery if I could avoid those two things. These were the two absolute top items on my bucket list of things I never wanted to do in life. Now here I was facing both of my greatest fears without a choice.
My surgeon works out of her own clinic, but the hospital she works with is one of the oldest and smallest in all of the greater Toronto area. In fact it is so old and small that they are building a newer one and will soon bulldoze the other one. The one where they were expecting me.
We get to the Emergency.
My pain hadn't receded.
Thankfully Robert finds me a wheelchair to help me into Emergency. I can barely move.
I'm rolled in.
Robert tells reception that they should have been contacted in advance etc. but that doesn't matter. I will still need to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally after what seems like a million eternities I'm "chosen". My new id bracelets are replacing my old id surgery bracelets and I am handed over to a nurse to prep me.
When I stood up from the wheelchair to go onto the stretcher it was like three water balloons had broken below me. My skirt was literally soaked and dripping on the floor.
I.
Was.
Horrified.
Embarrassed.
Disgusted.
The nurse wasn't phased. Some bleach will clean that up...no worries. I'm sure she thought I'd peed.
This prep nurse must have been all of 20 years old. I could have been her first day for all I know. She was sweet and had a lovely demeanour, but as I was soon to learn...utterly incompetent.
I was wheeled into a sort of storage room on my stretcher. It was here that I would have my IV and catheter inserted. They were so busy that no other rooms were left. We had to make due.
First things first...I explained that I was leaking from my belly.
We needed to find a better solution for containing this pink liquid that had grown lighter and lighter pink.
She found some new extra absorbent sterile pads and added about 8 of them. The medical tape that comes in huge sticky pieces was then added on top of that. In the end the result was a bit of a mess, but better than having a bunch of maxi pads taped to my stomach. I hoped it would hold for longer than an hour.
The fact that I'd had surgery only 4 days ago meant I was still bleeding from the surgery. We needed to find a solution. The only one she could come up with was adult size diapers.
I was barely in the hospital 4 hours and all of my dignity was already gone.
I was too sick to argue. Too tired of leaking from everywhere to disagree.
Once the hideous thing was on me I heard her say, "Shoot!"
Oh yeah. She had totally forgotten about the catheter. I was wondering about that but thought she might just forget the catheter.
No such luck.
The diaper was ripped off.
The catheter kit was opened.
It is all meant to be sterile. Organized and sterile.
She had no space and opened the kit in this storage room on a side counter that was full of other stuff. The disinfecting solution spilled all over the rest of the stuff in the kit. Dark brown liquid went everywhere. What a mess.
"No worries. I'm just going to wipe you down with this and then insert the catheter."
I had my doubts.
The liquid was cold.
I was too sick to look.
She was down there for a good 5 minutes. Rummaging around like someone looking for her lost keys in the bottom of her purse.
"Sorry. So sorry...but I just can't seem to get this. I need a urine sample and I can't get anything. I'll try again."
Nope.
In fact I think she had missed the hole. It felt like she was in the wrong place.
I didn't say anything.
I felt like I might pass out. I silently hoped and prayed I would pass out.
She tried again without success. It was decided that she would find someone to help her.
There I was splayed out on the stretcher in the storage room waiting for the next team member to arrive. So this is what they call vulnerable I thought.
A ridgid intense looking nurse arrived with the younger one. I could tell there would be no messing about with this one. She meant business.
A new catheter kit was opened. I was being prepped with sterilization liquid again.
Some guy in a red shirt opened the door to the storage room...sees what is going on and closes the door quickly.
The one nurse turns around and says, " Who was that?"
The other one says, " I don't know, just some guy in a red shirt."
"Suzanne...you're in recovery. The surgery is over."
But I can't open my eyes. The pain is too severe. The cramping is piercing all of my muscles below my chest. I'm trying to breathe through it with the only technique I know, short, sharp breaths. My fists are clenched, my whole body is rigid with pain.
"Suzanne you're going to have to slow your breathing down and stop crying."
Maybe you should give me some f***ing pain medication! Do you think I'm doing this for fun?
I told my brain to stop feeling the pain. Just stop. You can get through this. You can do it.
I managed to slow my breathing down. But the pain didn't go away. It got worse.
Every hour or so I was told I needed to get up and try to go to the bathroom. Until I peed I couldn't go home.
Each time I was helped into the bathroom nothing happened. The pain escalated.
It was 4:30. Must have been close to closing time because the nurse came around and an ultra sound was done on my bladder. There was nothing in it. No wonder I couldn't pee. It was like trying to squeeze blood from a rock. The Dr. was called and it was determined I could go home as long as I peed by the next day.
As happy as I was to leave I wondered how on earth I would manage at home in such pain. I started popping the Dilaudid that I'd been given. Naproxen and Dilaudid like candy. Didn't matter. It didn't work. Just made me nauseous and dizzy on top of the overwhelming pain.
I got home and went straight to bed.
This part is a bit blurry. I remember being in extreme pain, unable to move, taking lots of meds and sleeping for about 30 minutes at a time. I had the heating pad on my stomach. I couldn't tell if it helped or not. I held a cold washcloth on my head trying to stave off the all-consuming nausea.
This was Thursday night.
All day Friday I suffered thinking this was normal.
Robert had slept in the guest room because I was in too much pain. I had a pan and metal spatula to "call him" should I need him.
Saturday I awoke from a Dilaudid induced fitful night to find the bed was wet. All around me. Everything was wet. The white sheets were now pink/rust.
I started hitting the metal pan.
Where was it coming from? I'm not sleeping on a Kool-Aid filled waterbed that broke.
When I was able to stand up I noticed my stomach looked like I was 7 months pregnant and about to give birth to a conehead alien baby.
My stomach was literally pointed.
And from my extended bellybutton a fountain had appeared spewing out pink liquid.
Apparently the cone head baby was going to be born via my bellybutton and my water was breaking.
We applied cotton dressings. Robert had to go to the store three times because I just kept soaking through them in minutes.
Finally I got the idea of maxi pads. We started strapping those onto my stomach. Two horizontally and three vertically. That might last 60 minutes, sometimes it only lasted 15. Robert had to go and buy more maxi pads and tape.
How much discharge should I have after surgery? Did I even have that much liquid in my body? Where was it coming from? The alien baby?
All this time I was in pain. Serious pain. And the nausea. Oh man... the nausea.
I thought about going to the Emergency. I thought about waiting for hours maybe a full day in Emergency. I thought about the last time I was in Emergency. How horrible it had been.
I decided to wait it out and try to see the surgeon's office first thing in the morning.
By now we were strapping full sized bath towels to my stomach. There was too much pink liquid. Robert was doing laundry constantly because we had no more towels or sheets left in the house. I was leaking too fast.
My little "quickie" day surgery for the endometriosis was scheduled for a Thursday morning. I had to be at the hospital for preparation by 6 am.
We arrived on time but the clerk wasn't there to start admitting people.
Is this a sign?
A red flag?
Naaaaw.
You're being paranoid Suzanne.
Just breathe.
The clerk turns up about 20 minutes late and starts checking people in. Apparently she had lost her keys.
You can always tell the people that are the ones having surgery as opposed to the people there supporting them. The patients faces are slightly grey, a clammy layer of perspiration clinging on their tight faces.
Having been checked in I'm trotted off to the first station where they take all your personal belongings and put them into a large plastic bag that says "Personal Belongings".
The thought crosses my mind that my life is now in a plastic bag.
You are given your wardrobe for the day, 2 hospital "gowns" (whomever chose the word gowns to describe these things must have been high) to wear. One facing so your butt hangs out the back, and the other you wear like a "robe" as to maintain your so-called modesty.
Oh, and you're wearing socks. Socks to protect your feet from germs and socks to help keep your feet warm on the bleach scented icy tile floors.
When I glance around the room the *lucky ones* having surgery have been transformed into ghosts wearing socks. Nothing to identify us other than our plastic arm candy, a series of bracelets with a UPC code for good measure to insure we aren't mixed up with any of the other ghosts.
I'm told to say goodbye to my loved one as he will no longer be able to wait with me.
This is quick. I don't like long goodbyes and everyone else is watching.
I am lead into another room and seated in my own large easy chair with extra wide arm rests. How kind I thought. Then I understood this was for all blood drawing, IVs and tubes.
Let the party begin I thought.
IV inserted, blood taken, vital signs recorded, questions asked.
The anesthetists came by and had a chat. Do I have any loose fillings in my teeth? What are my allergies? These were the same questions the nurse asked 15 minutes ago and the same as my pre-op appointment I'd had the week before.
After that I had to wait for the surgeon to show up.
I kept my cool. I even read the paper a bit. I didn't run.
The surgeon was on time. I took that as a good sign, meaning she would be precise in everything she does.
She described again what she was going to do and then another nurse came by and told me she would be assisting. They asked the same questions I had been asked before. I could feel a bit of fear creeping up inside from the pit of my stomach. Why doesn't anyone here know what is going on? Why are they all asking me the exact same questions?
I wasn't allowed to dwell on it too long.
I was lead into the OR by the anesthetists who seemed so tightly wound I thought her springs were about to burst. I could barely keep up with her long quick strides racing into the operating room.
From there everything went at warp speed.
Five women were in the room. My surgical team. GO Team Suzanne. Everyone was masked. Three nurses stood off to the side with their backs to me, busily preparing instruments and glanced over their shoulders when I came in the room. One gave me a slight nod of the head as if to say, "so this is our next victim".
What I assume was the head nurse started directing me.
Climb up on the table...come down a bit. Bum needs to be lower. Put your legs up. Open. Relax down.
She raises my gowns.
The anesthetists takes my right arm. She starts describing the first sleeping agent she has injected into my hand.
It's freezing my hand and hurts something terrible. Maybe they made a mistake and mixed it with antifreeze?
The surgeon takes my left arm. She is strapping it down.
Cold antiseptic is being washed from my upper thighs to above my bellybutton.
Everyone seems to be talking at once.
The surgeon takes my hand perches herself next to me on the table as best she can, looks down and dictates,
"Now this is the time you get to decide where you want to go on your dream. Somewhere hot? Or exotic? Where do you want to go?"
Paris.
I was supposed to be in France when this whole mess with the endometriosis started I explained.
Hairy spiders, slithering snakes or really creepy things like centipedes
freak.
me.
out.
The thought of sky diving makes me a bit breathless, but not in a good way, in a hyperventilating kinda way.
Mention hospitals or emergency rooms and that makes my
blood
run
cold.
They are full of what I fear most...
Sick people.don't stand next to me!
Germs.everywhere...I can't breathe!
Bad smells,not just bad...horrendous smells. A cocktail of every single thing that makes you gag stirred together. Smell hell.
Disgusting sounds.Who likes the sound of someone vomiting? Or coughing up a lung?
Seeing things you don't ever want to see.You know what I'm talking about.
Losing your personal identity.Take a number, have a seat, we'll get to you when we can.
Surrendering your body.Being poked, prodded, jabbed. Needles, tubes, tape, stitches you name it it will soon be stuck to and inside your body.
The unknown.Everything is foreign. The instruments, the language, the people.
Trusting someone with your life.You have to trust people you've only just met to have your best interests at heart. They now control what happens to your body.
Loss of dignity.Get over it right now. Be prepared to describe in agonizing detail your most personal problems and then take off your clothes and put it all on display.
Despair.The only good reason to go to a hospital is to have a baby. Everyone else is there for something bad.
Aging.It happens to everyone, but it isn't pleasant.
Loss of hope.
And finally...the biggie...
Death.
People die here.
Daily.
By far hospitals are my greatest fear in life.
You may remember that I had to take a little break for a quick laparoscopy surgery to try to deal with some endometriosis.
It was a day surgery, meaning I should go in at 8 am and leave by around 2 pm.
Back at work in a day!
Have sex again in 3 days!
Wohoo! high five!!!
They were making it sound like a romantic getaway.
Easy peezy right?
That was over a week ago.
I was just released from hospital today. I'm still very weak (among other things) and it will take quite some time for me to heal and recover completely.
None of this 1 day BS. I guess that was another brochure.
The ordeal was so terrifying and unbelievable I need to tell it in stages. So today I'm just introducing you to the idea...
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