One week down. With all the waiting we did for surgery, it's amazing to be on this side of it. Strange to think that at this time last week I was checking in at St Mark's Hospital at noon for surgery.
Strange to think of all the time spent in the hospital room, checked in, prepped, and ready. And waiting. Well, ready except for the IV.
The phlebotomist had tried to do the IV twice, once in each hand, and hadn't been successful. She ran into a valve in the left hand and a bend in the vein on the right hand. She said she had a two poke limit and that the anesthesiologist would be able to take care of it for me.
The patient's surgery before mine ran longer than planned. I was taken to the operating waiting area at a bit after 5 pm and my procedure began at about 5:30.
My anesthesiologist got my IV in quickly and well. He explained what would happen when we got in the operating room and what to expect. Dr. Hunn also reviewed what we were planning to do for me.
Then they wheeled me into OR #8. I asked about the robot station in the corner of the room, I transfered to the operating bed, Tyler put the oxygen mask on me, and that's the last thing I remember in the OR.
Surgery took a little longer than we had expected. My doctor is known for being detailed and good. She is thorough. She is talented. My main incision at my belly button is longer than we had originally planned. There are 2 smaller incisions on each side as well. My mass, Einstein, was more solid than anticipated. Dad said the doctor described it as being like rocks.
They also took my appendix because Einstein had started to adhere to it. Another doctor assisted with the appendectomy portion.
The recovery room is nothing more than a hazy memory. Gray-black images with me barely being able to keep my eyes open. I felt like I was trying to part heavy blackout curtains. And, I remember retching repeatedly. Nothing mattered to me. Pain and nausea consumed me. In my mind's eye, I can see my body leaning on my left arm over toward my side, heaving bile into a collection bag for who knows how long.
Anesthesia was tough to shake. Putting two words together, that made sense, was challenging. A fog enveloped my mind. It was a battle for coherency.
I tried texting people to let them know I was okay. Words and letters made sense as I touched them on my cellphone keypad, but came out as incoherent jibberish on the screen. I deleted and tried time and again before surrendering my phone to my mom and asking if she would type if I dictated.
They kept me overnight. It was late, about 10:30 pm when they got me back to my hospital room. Number 227. I was delirious and exhausted. My sweet parents were sent home for the night.
At 3 am, the nurse got me up to walk and make sure I was doing okay. Catheterization is no fun. And, TMI, urine should not be that color.
Sometime between 3 and 6 am, during one of my many vitals checks, my catheter was removed. Hallelujah!
I had begun working toward leaving the hospital. Being able to hit vitals milestones, breathing milestones, output milestones, and walking milestones provided the promise of independence and healing at home. Those milestones drove me through the fog to more clarity.
At about 7 am, Dr. Hunn stopped by to check on me. We talked for awhile. I texted myself what she said, or what I remembered of what she said, because I didn't trust my memory yet. She said surgery went well though and that she was optimistic of the results.
Mostly I slept. My nurses were Michelle, Stephanie, Sara, and Lauren. My CNA's were Hailey and Beth, who was excited for her daughter to come home from college that Friday night for the weekend. I momentarily had forgotten Beth's name. I appreciate the care and talents of my medical team. They were amazing.
My last procedure, hospital stay had been at 16 for a tonsillectomy. I have more appreciation for the care, knowledge, and fatigue of our medical staff and more understanding of what it is like to be a patient who needs care. I was like a new babe, in pretty much every way.
Going home. Friday was release day. Mostly Friday is vague memories. Saturday was general conference and sleeping. Sunday was more conference and sleeping and a few visitors.
I had thought that the recovery time plan was excessive. I had hoped I would bounce back and be ready to resume life right away. Monday was a hard day. Tuesday was hard, but less hard. I realize I am not ready to return to the fray. I am often reminded by people who care for and about me to relax, rest, and take it easy. Time heals.
I don't know how to adequately thank my parents for their diligent, patient, tender, thoughtful care. I had a picture in my mind of what recovery would look like. Their wisdom was more reality than my expectation. I am blessed every day by and through them.
The tissues removed from my abdomen have gone through pathology. They are benign. Einstein was a 26 cm x 14 cm x 16 cm mass that weighed about 1700g (3.7 lbs). I meet with the doctor at the end of the month.
Relief is palpable. Unknowns and what ifs have haunted me over the past month and a half. We have known since August 23rd that Einstein needed to be removed.
This journey is not over, but the path ahead seems more sunny and more straightforward than it had recently. Hopefully, these lessons build me in compassionate,and grateful ways.
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