Experiences of others in life can spark up our own memories which are similar. Talking to my friend last week and her recent journey put me in touch once again with my own journey form nearly two years ago. I have written in the past when I started my blog nearly 18 months ago, a matter of fact account of the operation. I have decided to share my true feelings of this period in my life, not just a distanced version.My last thoughts before the drugs were pushed into my veins were "Please let me survive this".I awoke early hours of the following morning, the pain was o.k. I looked at the Nurse, everything was kind of blurry like beer goggles blind. I looked down at my stomach, remembered the photo journal and asked a Nurse to use my phone to take pics.
I recall the pain. A pain that was controlled with Gabapentin, Ketamine, Fentynal, Panadol, Anti Emetics, etc. I would awaken and press my P.C.A button. Sometimes the pain was so excruciating I would persistently press the button like a maniac on speed. The nurses would remind me of the 5 minute lock out and persuade me to look at the clock at the foot of the bed, wait and press at the next five minute mark.However the Ketamine which has LaLa properties and hypnotic, I would be living in a ground hog day, forgetting two minutes earlier I had pressed the damn thing, in frustration I would begin frantically pushing the button. A continual cycle for days. I recall a nurse saying to a friend, "most people would be comatose on the amount of drugs she is on", "I cant believe she can speak". Thats were the brain versus pain thing.The pain was horrendous for me, the recovery was a nightmare, because no matter how hard I tried to be a martyr patient and quickly return home to my brood, I was getting nowhere. My Bowel had been sewn into my wound, it was Obstructed. The days after surgery were a blur with moments of clarity thrown in. The paralysed leg was a focus for the Dr's. For me it was an annoyance. While I was trying to be a tower of strength for my friend who had a bet with me "I will have my surgery if you do yours" she said. So when she visited I was playing Maryr. I tried to pretend I was fine as the physios dragged me from bed to walk. I smiled joked and laughed for her, hoping she would have her damn surgery. 
I'm not sure if it was the ketamine(hallucinating) or really his daughter, but the anaesthetist was concerned and would return to check in on me. On one occasion I am sure he bought his daughter up to the ward. She was standing at the door of my room and I was waving and smiling, thinking how cute she was. Retrospectively I'm not sure if I imagined her or not, oh well at least it wasn't a bad hallucination.They stopped the Ketamine after a couple of days, so my memories are sporodic of the first couple, like glimpses of a looking glass, the memories that stuck were usually when the pain was intolerable,or the pain pump had run out. When that happened the clarity was obscene. When my friend told me she felt like she was going to die after her surgery, I can totally relate. her bowels were playing games also which required nasal gastric drainage.
My recent A.C.C report the Urology Consultant (who is paid to make sure no claim goes ahead) stated patients such as myself (women who have suffered abuse), have difficult recoveries (lets generalise you womble). Well in both of our cases our bowels stopped working, hers was non mechanical and most likely an ileus, mine was mechanical and caused by the Surgeon at the time of surgery. How does that justify a statement such as his? It doesn't it is pure unadulterated arse covering drivel.
If that is indeed the case then it would explain why my ex surgeon acted like the Bowel Obstruction was my issue alone.
Day 8 my friend was visiting, I told her through gritted teeth I couldn't speak to her or I would vomit. I had successfully held back a tsunami of foul vomit in for days. She understood, hung around for an hour, did some spiritual healing stuff. Which really worked, as 10 minutes after she left the deluge began again, vomiting until I couldn't breathe, the smell so horrendous the vomiting would begin again.. I had earlier tried a mouthful of bread at my surgeons direction, it was a very bad move. My surgeon denied I had a Bowel Obstruction and believed eating would miraculously cure it(in spite of evidence proving otherwise). I was so scared, so helpless and very much alone knowing I was dying inside. The picture below is when I went home on leave days before discharge.
That night I returned back to hospital. I paced corridors, I cried, I was terrified. The reality and the exhaustion after just four hours of leave was scary. I was a solo mum returning home to an abusive elder son who had his Girlfriend pregnant, a house which looked like a bombshell, no family help, I desperately wanted to be home, but felt a failure at my weakness, low energy and pain levels. I wondered when it would end. It did, it took a shit load of time.
I was told all this time it was adhesions that caused my bowels to be folded in half. The truth that came out in the report was my Bowel was sutured to my wound. When I was tested neurologically a couple of months ago, the pin prick sensation tests uncovered the fact I still have no sensation in parts of my right leg, I can walk normally again, but am reminded of the nightmare of 22 months ago.
Now ask me again why I have little faith in those who failed to care appropriately and why I write this blog. I don't want to see other patients go through this.
Sphere: Related Content
|
Experiences of others in life can spark up our own memories which are similar.
Talking to my friend last week and her recent journey put me in touch once again with my own journey form nearly two years ago. I have written in the past when I started my blog nearly 18 months ago, a matter of fact account of the operation. I have decided to share my true feelings of this period in my life, not just a distanced version.
My last thoughts before the drugs were pushed into my veins were "Please let me survive this".
I awoke early hours of the following morning, the pain was o.k.
I looked at the Nurse, everything was kind of blurry like beer goggles blind. I looked down at my stomach, remembered the photo journal and asked a Nurse to use my phone to take pics.
However the Ketamine which has LaLa properties and hypnotic, I would be living in a ground hog day, forgetting two minutes earlier I had pressed the damn thing, in frustration I would begin frantically pushing the button. A continual cycle for days.
I recall a nurse saying to a friend, "most people would be comatose on the amount of drugs she is on", "I cant believe she can speak". Thats were the brain versus pain thing.
The pain was horrendous for me, the recovery was a nightmare, because no matter how hard I tried to be a martyr patient and quickly return home to my brood, I was getting nowhere.
My Bowel had been sewn into my wound, it was Obstructed.
The days after surgery were a blur with moments of clarity thrown in. The paralysed leg was a focus for the Dr's. For me it was an annoyance. While I was trying to be a tower of strength for my friend who had a bet with me "I will have my surgery if you do yours" she said. So when she visited I was playing Maryr. I tried to pretend I was fine as the physios dragged me from bed to walk. I smiled joked and laughed for her, hoping she would have her damn surgery.
At one stage the anaesthetist walked in who had given me the spinal which paralysed the leg. He was anxious, I was pissed off because I was too busy trying to show a tower of strength for my friend and he wanted to do neuro checks. She laughed at this and reminds me about it. Apparently I said to him, "gah not now, cant you see I have visitors", I did lie down while he poked and prodded. It was M.R.I scans later, the re arrangement of my wound drainage tube, which I screamed through and utter confusion on where I was and what the hell I was doing after they upped my Ketamine while having the M.R.I.
I'm not sure if it was the ketamine(hallucinating) or really his daughter, but the anaesthetist was concerned and would return to check in on me. On one occasion I am sure he bought his daughter up to the ward. She was standing at the door of my room and I was waving and smiling, thinking how cute she was. Retrospectively I'm not sure if I imagined her or not, oh well at least it wasn't a bad hallucination.
They stopped the Ketamine after a couple of days, so my memories are sporodic of the first couple, like glimpses of a looking glass, the memories that stuck were usually when the pain was intolerable,or the pain pump had run out. When that happened the clarity was obscene.
Day 8 my friend was visiting, I told her through gritted teeth I couldn't speak to her or I would vomit. I had successfully held back a tsunami of foul vomit in for days. She understood, hung around for an hour, did some spiritual healing stuff. Which really worked, as 10 minutes after she left the deluge began again, vomiting until I couldn't breathe, the smell so horrendous the vomiting would begin again.. I had earlier tried a mouthful of bread at my surgeons direction, it was a very bad move. My surgeon denied I had a Bowel Obstruction and believed eating would miraculously cure it(in spite of evidence proving otherwise). I was so scared, so helpless and very much alone knowing I was dying inside.
I lay in my bed, turned on my side, I cried silently, pictured my children and begged an unseen entity I could return home to them. A nurse enters my room, "I'm going to die arent I?", "No your not going to die" she replied. 10 days had passed, the pain no better, I was preparing for home. I tried to reduce my dependence on the pain pump, I was scared, terrified. During that time my sons girlfriends mother had come in to tell me my eldest son had got his daughter pregnant....
I really had to get home, instead one morning while my tribe was visiting, my Dr came around and ordered them from my room. I had just told them I would be home the next day.
Instead I was told "we are taking you back into theatre, you have a Bowel Obstruction". "Is this my fault" I wailed, as she had inferred the whole time it was my fault for being non compliant for not eating when told to. "No" she said.
All the work I had done in the last two weeks was undone, I had to re enter the stage for a grand finale. I was in Hospital for four weeks.
My friend asked the other day "when will I feel normal again" It could be months I replied. Expect months and if its a quicker recovery then awesome. Your body had just been through hell.