As bad as my ordeal has been, I think it has been worse on my family. I guess I'll share their story before I share my experience. Friday morning when we got to the hospital, we had to sit in the family waiting room for about 45 minutes before I was called back (I'll explain later). We watched as several doctors came in, found the family they were looking for, and either talked to them there or escorted them to right outside the door and spoke with them. After I went in, my family eagerly waited for any news about me and watched as the doctors continued to come in and speak to the families. I had two surgeons work on me, and my female surgeon came in. She looked my family in their face, then diverted her gaze to the ground as she approached them. They asked her if everything went well, and she responded with "we should wait until we can speak with the other doctor", but she would not look them back in the face. Instead she walked them out of the waiting room, into a room across the hall where they had 3 chairs waiting. They said that they feared the worst, and that they were shaking really badly, and my mom felt like she was going to pass out. My surgeon came in, and reassured them that I was fine and everything went pretty well. I remember being at the vet's when they pulled my husband and I back to a private room to tell us that they lost my rat Nemo on the operating table. I know how scary it is, and my husband no doubt remembered that experience at that time. I feel so bad that they had to go through that.
Ok, so here's my story. It's a long one! On Thursday (the day before surgery), I had to go to the hospital to do a type and screen, in case I would have to have a blood transfusion on the table. When we arrived (we arrived early), I was nowhere in Admitting's computer. So I had to wait in the waiting room until someone put me in the system. This really nice guy came out and called me back, where he asked me a bunch of questions and I signed paperwork. Then he told me to go to the lab, to do my blood work. I walk to the lab, and wait until I'm called. I had to walk down this long hallway to get there, and when I walked in, they informed me that I needed a work order from my surgeon (which I was never given!). I had to wait 15 minutes until my surgeon's office opened, then I had to walk over there and wait for an order to be made. The receptionist was rude and freaking out because "she shouldn't be the only one there". My doctor himself came out to give me the work order. Of course he's in the process of trying to leave because I think that's the day he should be at another hospital 10 minutes away (he works out of two hospitals). So we walk back over to the lab, and they read me back the spelling of my last name, and they forgot an "e". So they tell us to go back to admitting to get it fixed because one tiny little mistake can have dier consquences. We walk all the way back through that long hall and I'm talking about getting the run around when we attempt to leave the "lab admitting". The girl there tells us that she can fix it. 10 minutes later, I'm finally able to give my blood! What should have only been a 20 minute visit turned into 2 hours of the run around. Not a very good way to start my surgery experience!
Friday rolls around and we make the 112 mile drive. It was stressful because my mom was driving behind us, and she had never driven it before. We arrive at the hospital 20 minutes early, are sent straight up to the surgery floor, and they can't find my EKG (which I had done on my own, my surgoen's assistant told me I didn't need it but I thought it's better to be safe than sorry) or my Chest X-ray. At this point, being the second day that things weren't going right, I began to get pissed. I "personally" handed those to Korina, and so help me, if she lost them, she'd better hope I died on the table before I could get to her! So anyways, about 45 minutes later, after Korina had to refax them up to the surgery floor, I was called back. The first step was to give blood for some test. I had already given blood twice that week, so that wasn't going over really well, and I questioned them on why I needed to do it AGAIN. The woman who took me back there had no friggin clue what she was doing, and she attempted to get blood from my arm. I told her before she ever started that out of 4 years of giving blood, NO ONE has ever put a needle in my arm because NO ONE has ever found a vein. She didn't believe me, and she was the first one to attempt it. There was surprisingly no pain when she put the needle in, but I watched as she dug it around back and forth, hoping she'd find a vein. After a minute of not locating anything, she pulled it out and went to my hand. She should have listened to me to begin with and we could have saved 5 minutes.
Then I was taken to this room, where I had to put on a gown. OK, let me explain something, this was my first ever hospital experience, and I had no idea how to put on a gown. I ended up putting it on backwards, where it opened in the front. Plus it was too small, so here I am trying to cover up my parts, when the woman came in. She told me that I had it on wrong and right then, Mark walks into the room. I instantly turned away, and not even a second later, my brother walks in. I scream that I'm not ready, and my brother turns around and leaves before catching a potentially very humiliating experience. She tells them that she'll send for them when it's time, then she gets me a larger gown (that fit wonderfully). By this time, I've calmed down and I'm not really scared. Just anxious because I can't wait to get it all done and over with. I answer all her questions, and I lay down on my bed, and she puts the IV in my hand, to start my anitibiotic treatment. Then she tells my family that they can come back and see me.
I talked with them for a while, and my doctors came in to see me before the procedure. Then my mom and brother decided to leave. I think she was having a hard time holding it together. As she was walking out, she started crying, which made me cry. It was the first time, I had cried. She said she loved me and I could barely choke the words back out to her. Shortly after she left, I stopped crying and talked to Mark for a while longer. Then the lady who was going to give me the anestisia came in, and told us that she was going to give me a memory blocker for the pain before surgery. Mark left shortly after she did. It was hard saying goodbye, and praying it wouldn't be the last time.
Then came in the lady to wheel me to the operating room. Along the way, another girl joined us and she put a cap on my head. It was just like the movies, where you're wheeled down that long lonely hall staring up at the lights. (Actually pretty cool!) Then we enter the operating room, where there are a couple of other girls, one who is wearing lots of makeup and looks several years younger than me. Then I feel it...a slight itching in the back of my neck. I scratch it, and in the wake of the itch mark, is a burning streak of HOT pain. I start itching on the other side too, and I ask if something is wrong, as I scoot over to the operating table. The nurse acts a little startled and then another nurse comes up and tells me that I'm experiencing something called "Red Itch" or something like that, from the antibiotic. Something to do with it counteracting with something else they gave me. Then she tells me that it should go away because my sedative should kick in shortly. I thank God again for the wonderful life he has given to me, and look at the nurse with all the makeup on. I remember thinking how I liked it, and watching the nurses rearrange the lights over the table, and then nothing. The next thing I know, I'm coming to in a room with a blonde lady buzzing around me, taking my vitals. I ask her what time it is and she said 4:00. My surgery was supposed to be at 11:30, and it got started about 45 minutes late. That means it had to be longer than expected. I glide in and out of conscienceness, until I wake up and this really hot guy is to my left. The nurse tells me that I'll be seeing my family in a couple of minutes, and then I'm being wheeled out of recovery and into the elevator.
Then we get to my room. I'm barely awake at this point, and the hot guy is still on my side. I hear him leave the room and ask for someone to come in and help him scoot me over to my bed. Someone tells him that he is strong enough to do it, and I hear him say "I don't want to break my back".
That would be the one thing I would be conscience enough to hear. He comes back into the room with another woman and I tell them that I can move myself over (hoping he felt like an ass!). Sure enough, I scooted myself onto the other bed by myself. Then I went to sleep, and awoke to my family coming into the room. The day was jumbled, although I can remember some of it. My mom and brother stayed a while, and then left. I remember holding that little clicker button for the pain constantly, and I had started pushing it the second that the nurse put it into my hand, clear until I had to stop. My family said that even while I slept, I pushed it constantly, waiting for the beep every six minutes. I don't remember being in pain, but I think I was afraid I would be. That night, I had to stop pushing it though. Around 7:30, they had to come in and put me on oxygen because my breathing was getting too shallow. Everytime I'd start to go to sleep, my breathing would almost stop, and they told Mark to keep waking me up because they were afraid that if I went into a deep sleep, I wouldn't wake up. That was pretty scary. I tried to breath deep and keep the oxygen level up, but it was hard to stay awake for long. Mark stayed next to my bed, and tapped me everytime the machine was about to go off. It had a loud beeping, and it took forever to shut off.
That night was an experience. Around 11, I finally started breathing normally, and was able to go to sleep. I slept for an hour or two, then woke up for a while. At 1:00am, my second dose of antibiotics was given. Two hours later, I got the burning HOT pain again. I called my nurse in and since I only had a little left, she didn't want to stop it. It burned and itched so bad that I couldn't stop crying, and she had to stop it. That time it was reacting to the pain medicine I was on. Shortly after she stopped the antibiotic, the itching stopped and I fell back asleep. Mornings there were hectic. 5:00am, a guy came in to draw blood. I fall back asleep, and at 6:00 a lady comes in to take vitals. 7:30, another nurse comes on duty and comes in to introduce herself, and at 8, breakfast was served. Within an hour, the cleaning lady comes to empty trashcans and sweep the floor, and before 10:00, a doctor comes in to see you. It was awesome service, totally better than I thougth it would be. My nurse came to check on me every couple of hours to see if I needed anything or to change my IV bag. Everytime someone entered my room, they asked my name to make sure that it matched who they had on the paper in their hand. I got physical therapy once a day (it should have been more but I'm not complaining) and respiratory therapy twice a day (should have also been three times, but I could hardly take deep breaths as it was). I also had to wear these horrid leg braces for two days, that squeezed and released constantly like a Blood Pressure cuff, to make sure that I didn't get blood clots.
I started getting out of bed Saterday morning to use the bathroom. It was hard trying to unplug my IV and drag it to the bathroom. I also had a pain pump and draining tube inserted, so while I carried those, Mark moved my IV. He stood outside until I finished, and then back to bed for me. I probably got in and out of bed 10 times that first day. I was on a liquid diet, and wasn't able to drink hardly any of it but what I did drink, came out shortly after. Around noon, I had to do my third and final treatment of my antibiotic, but thankfully, it didn't react badly with anything that I had going through the IV. But that night, I noticed that my ID bracelets were getting tight on my wrist. I called the nurse in and sure enough, my IV had moved and was no longer filling my vein. Instead it was inserting the liquid in my hand. It was almost twice the size of my other hand. They had to withdraw the IV and place it in the middle of my arm vein. I was freaked out thinking I'd bleed to death because that is a HUGE vein. The IV being in the arm was a lot more comfortable though. I also started getting hungry and wanted actual food. I was supposed to start a semi soft diet Sunday morning, and was really looking forward to it, but when they served breakfast, it was liquids again.
When the doctor made his rounds, I begged to be started on food.
Of course he said yes because I was already supposed to be getting it. I was beyond happy when lunch was served, and it was ham, scalloped potatoes and bread. Hospital food is GOOD!!! And even more surprising, I'm not big on cranberry juice. But they served these little cranberry cocktail juices and they were yummy!!! I'm even thinking about contacting the company to see if I can order them at home.
Sunday morning, I was actually sitting up in a chair when the doctor came in, so he saw that I was doing pretty well. I was also told by the Physical Therapist that I didn't need therapy anymore because I was doing so well. But boy by night time, I would be so sore from the days activity. Monday, I did my respiratory therapy, which my brother joked saying I looked like I was smoking the hooka. Then I was released to go home at 11:00 am. The ride home was horrible, I felt every bump and swerve. But I did fall asleep and it made time go by quicker for me. I've been staying at my mom's house, because they are home and can get me whatever I need. I haven't made them into too big of slaves, because I want to be able to do things for myself. I'm spending most of my days out of bed, although an afternoon nap still beckons me.
I'm still terrified that I'll get infected along my incision, but I'm trying to keep the area dry and clean. Mark is freaking out over every little bump or spot. But he did an awesome job of taking care of me. He stayed with me the full three days in the hospital, and my mom and brother made the drive down Saterday and Sunday to spend a couple of hours with me. I have an awesome family and am very lucky! I feel bad because I wasn't taking phone calls at the hospital, but I really didn't feel like talking to anyone, just like I still don't really feel up to seeing people just yet. But each day I am feeling better and stronger, and I hope that by Monday when I get the staples out, that I'll be pretty much back to new. I think I got a total of 34 staples, from about 3 inches above my belly button, all the way down. Not too bad, and my surgeon even left my belly button intact, instead of cutting it in two, he took the incision to the right of it. I couldn't have asked for a better surgeon! And the pain? I haven't cried once since I've been out of surgery (except from the antibiotic). The pain is sooooooo much more tolerable than the pain before surgery. BUT I am having a lot of back pain. I have to sleep on my back, and I HATE sleeping on my back. I've always slept on my stomach, up until this past year, when I had to sleep on my sides. I can hardly wait to get back to sleeping normal.
So overall, it wasn't near as bad of an experience as I thought it would be. And best of all, the HUGE cyst is gone, along with my right ovary, fillopian tube, gallbladder and appendix. They said the hardest part of the surgery was trying to find my gallbladder. The cyst itself was pretty muchly the size of a newborn baby, and it was what they call a borderline cyst. From what I understand, it wasn't cancerous, but it had abnormal cells, which could have ended up going into cancer if it wasn't removed. Oh yeah, and the cyst had already been leaking when they opened me up, so it's a good thing they did it when they did because it could have caused septicemia or all sorts of problems in there. It took 10 months to get this stupid thing out, and now that it is, I don't regret it at all. I do however have a very new look on life and how stupid people are!!! I'm sorry but people who go in and get surgery for vanity reasons are fucking stupid!!! Who in the hell would go in and do this to themselves, just so they looked better for a little while? If it isn't life or death, or even needed, then people are fucking morons! Even gastro bypass isn't worth it!!! If I can't lose the weight by controlling my portions and getting off my ass for 30 minutes a day, then I deserve to be fat!!! And people who shoot up drugs??? What the hell??? I got poked like 8 times in 3 1/2 days. I feel like a human pin cushion. People who do it to themselves are insane!!! I have bruises everywhere that I was poked, and they are just now showing signs that they may fade away into memory. I also haven't needed to take many pain pills since being home, and I only got three doses of antibiotics at the hospital. So, I'm pretty muchly pill free. :)
I will be posting pictures soon, I just haven't downloaded them yet. It's good to be home, and thank you for everyone who was sending prayers and warm wishes. It was greatly appreciated! I'm back....and I hope....improved. I do know one thing, I will be trying to lose weight now. Still can't get over that hot guy and what he said.
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