![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Not Dead--The Story Continues
Jul. 23rd, 2019 07:54 pm During my second stay at St. Mary's, I had a couple more trips to the OR to cut out more infection. They installed two wound vacs--One would flush the appendix wound out every so many minutes with saline solution, leave it in for about10 minutes, then suck it out again. That makes it heal quicker, apparently. It prevents the nasty stuff from hanging around by loosening it and flushing it out. The wound was deep enough for a man to put his hand completely in there. My abdomen and legs and feet were super swollen. My feet looked like small loaves of bread and my legs looked like fat tree trunks.
When they repacked the wounds, they stuffed them with black chunks of spongy material that looked like the insulation around air conditioner window units' insulation. It felt like brillo pads and baby porcupines when they stuffed it into my wound. It hurt for about five hours after it was stuffed full of that crap. I learned to ask for an oxy pain killer about half an hour before they did the wound dressing change--it didn't stop the pain, but it made it more bearable.
I don't remember the time line exactly, but at some point, they took me down to radiology to check the drainage bulb that was in a pocket where infection had been removed. They adjusted it then sent me back to my room and told me I could eat. When I got there, I had a little cup of Italian ice. Immediately after I ate it, an order came up from radiology to hold all food as they had found something amiss in my kidney.They called it something like "pseudo aneurism," and they felt it had to be dealt with immediately. Because I had eaten, they could not give me anesthesia. They said I had to remain absolutely still for the whole procedure. They put something up into my kidney through the artery in my leg. The kidney had veins in it that were swollen and twisted. The blood supply to these had to be cut off, and it was a very delicate operation. The doctor kept encouraging me by saying I was doing great and that he was very impressed at how well I was doing. It took a long time--about two hours. And I didn't move a fraction of an inch the whole time. They said I had to be perfectly still and flat on my back for two hours after the surgery too because there was a risk of bleeding from that artery--and if it started bleeding, I could bleed out in minutes.
After a very long time, I began to feel anxious and I had to pee desperately. I told the doctor both things, and he and he said they'd put me on a bed pan when I was back in my room. They used a sling thing to lift me from the transport cart onto the bed and brought me a bed pan--but I had been so anxiety ridden about being absolutely still that I couldn't relax my bladder enough to pee. And I had to pee so bad that I was in agony. After putting me on the very uncomfortable bed pan which was more like a dish pan than a bed pan, everyone left me there alone for a very long time. It had to have been at least half an hour that I lay there in agony.
I started to cry because it hurt so bad. No one came to check on me. Finally, I started sobbing and FINALLY someone came. There was a really nice male nurse that was so kind all the time. He came in and said he would call urology and have someone come up and catheterize me so they could just TAKE the urine and put an end to the suffering. It was so good to have it taken out.
Sadly, having started crying, I couldn't stop. I don't know how long I cried, but it was a very long time.
I am not normally a big crier, so I felt terrible about it, but I couldn't stop. One of the nurses brought me some stupid aroma therapy bullshit that was supposed to be calming. All it did was make me feel nauseated. They were really pushing the damn aroma therapy for everything from nausea, calming, and sleeplessness there. I thought it was dumb. A good massage would have been much more effective.
Most of the people who worked with me were wonderful, but one night nurse was a complete asshole. "Godiva" and I called her Nurse Rat Shit. I was having a difficult night--a lot of pain and anxiety and I could not fall asleep. I felt like I was going to throw up. She helped me into the bathroom, then set me on the edge of the bed and left me there for about an hour. I wanted to lie down, but could not do it on my own. Eventually, I became so overwrought and depressed that I had another massive crying jag. I never saw Rat Shit again. She abandoned and ignored me. Finally a very sweet nurse came in, hugged me, held my hand, and gave me some pain meds that helped me sleep. I hope Rat Shit has someone treat her with the same lack of compassion and respect with which she treated me. Rotten old bat.
A lot of other stuff happened while I was there, but I can't remember it all.
There was a big issue about finding me an extended care facility where I could get physical therapy to prepare me to return home, good wound care, supervision, and everything else I needed. Most places rejected me due to my weight. Finally the Waseca hospital which specializes in wound care accepted me. I had to get a medical transport to take me from St. Mary's to Waseca. The guy transported me in the back of a bumpy, smelly, crowded converted van strapped in a wheel chair. It was horribly uncomfortable and cost me $300. It took an hour and 20 minutes to get from Rochester to Waseca.
When I got there, they told me I had to sit on this weird looking, extremely uncomfortably commode that rolled over the toilet as the toilet supposedly could only support a 200 pound weight. That fucking thing cut the circulation off to my legs and was insanely uncomfortable to sit on. I spent the first three hours in that facility sobbing and offering to replace the toilet as I knew I could not sit on that thing every time I had to pee. Finally, the physical therapists came in, looked at it, and declared that this particular toilet had been recently installed and would easily support my weight since it was attached to the floor instead of coming out of the wall. That was better.
I went to that place expecting to be there 2-3 weeks, but instead was there over a month. The people were all super nice. They often stopped in just to chat and see how I was doing. Josh, one of the wound vac experts, was really nice and funny. While he was doing the first wound vac repacking, he sang to me--Johnny Cash and Garth Brooks songs. He and his family do a lot of local concerts for community events. He was really good.
The chair in my room was as hard as a rock and unbelievably uncomfortable. It was agonizing to sit in. My butt was so sore after sitting in it for about three hours that I had to lie in the bed until my butt didn't hurt so bad. The bed wasn't very comfortable either.
It wasn't perfect there. I got UTIs, one of which was an antibiotic resistant one called VRE. (I called it the Venomous Rat-bastard Entity.) It took a long time to get over it. They gave me a blood thinner called Eloquis which caused me to pee blood--not just a delicate pink tinge, but bright red blood with clots in it that made the toilet bowl look like a human sacrifice had been performed over the toilet. I cried every time I peed because they said it was going to get better and it never did until I refused to take it any more. The one doctor lectured me about the possibility of a stroke when I refused it, but I said I would rather die of a stroke than go on like that. I pitched such a fit about it that they finally gave me a CT scan to be sure there was nothing dreadful going on with my kidneys or bladder. Nothing nasty turned up. I was worried because of that pseudo aneurism that they discovered in St. Mary's or the possibility of cancer or some other thing. It seemed like every time there was a bit of good, hopeful news, some other horrible thing came up.
I was low on magnesium, so they gave me a magnesium supplement orally that caused me to have such horrific diarrhea that I was going 15-20 times a day. A couple of times, I didn't make it to the toilet and I crapped on the floor. That was such an embarrassing event that I cried my eyes out. The nurses assured me that this didn't bother them at all. But I hate that they had to clean up my crap. So, I quit eating for about three days--I told them, "What is the point of eating when it runs right out of me immediately?" Then they decided they would give it to me intravenously so it would by-pass my digestive system and not affect me in that way. That worked, but I have notoriously horrible veins for IVs, so I suffered many, many unsuccessful attempts. I was black and blue from the bases of my fingers to my elbows.
I'm going to have to go for a part 3 on my medical adventures as it is time for me to take my night meds now. I'm trying to stay on the schedule from the extended care facility so it does me the most good.
When they repacked the wounds, they stuffed them with black chunks of spongy material that looked like the insulation around air conditioner window units' insulation. It felt like brillo pads and baby porcupines when they stuffed it into my wound. It hurt for about five hours after it was stuffed full of that crap. I learned to ask for an oxy pain killer about half an hour before they did the wound dressing change--it didn't stop the pain, but it made it more bearable.
I don't remember the time line exactly, but at some point, they took me down to radiology to check the drainage bulb that was in a pocket where infection had been removed. They adjusted it then sent me back to my room and told me I could eat. When I got there, I had a little cup of Italian ice. Immediately after I ate it, an order came up from radiology to hold all food as they had found something amiss in my kidney.They called it something like "pseudo aneurism," and they felt it had to be dealt with immediately. Because I had eaten, they could not give me anesthesia. They said I had to remain absolutely still for the whole procedure. They put something up into my kidney through the artery in my leg. The kidney had veins in it that were swollen and twisted. The blood supply to these had to be cut off, and it was a very delicate operation. The doctor kept encouraging me by saying I was doing great and that he was very impressed at how well I was doing. It took a long time--about two hours. And I didn't move a fraction of an inch the whole time. They said I had to be perfectly still and flat on my back for two hours after the surgery too because there was a risk of bleeding from that artery--and if it started bleeding, I could bleed out in minutes.
After a very long time, I began to feel anxious and I had to pee desperately. I told the doctor both things, and he and he said they'd put me on a bed pan when I was back in my room. They used a sling thing to lift me from the transport cart onto the bed and brought me a bed pan--but I had been so anxiety ridden about being absolutely still that I couldn't relax my bladder enough to pee. And I had to pee so bad that I was in agony. After putting me on the very uncomfortable bed pan which was more like a dish pan than a bed pan, everyone left me there alone for a very long time. It had to have been at least half an hour that I lay there in agony.
I started to cry because it hurt so bad. No one came to check on me. Finally, I started sobbing and FINALLY someone came. There was a really nice male nurse that was so kind all the time. He came in and said he would call urology and have someone come up and catheterize me so they could just TAKE the urine and put an end to the suffering. It was so good to have it taken out.
Sadly, having started crying, I couldn't stop. I don't know how long I cried, but it was a very long time.
I am not normally a big crier, so I felt terrible about it, but I couldn't stop. One of the nurses brought me some stupid aroma therapy bullshit that was supposed to be calming. All it did was make me feel nauseated. They were really pushing the damn aroma therapy for everything from nausea, calming, and sleeplessness there. I thought it was dumb. A good massage would have been much more effective.
Most of the people who worked with me were wonderful, but one night nurse was a complete asshole. "Godiva" and I called her Nurse Rat Shit. I was having a difficult night--a lot of pain and anxiety and I could not fall asleep. I felt like I was going to throw up. She helped me into the bathroom, then set me on the edge of the bed and left me there for about an hour. I wanted to lie down, but could not do it on my own. Eventually, I became so overwrought and depressed that I had another massive crying jag. I never saw Rat Shit again. She abandoned and ignored me. Finally a very sweet nurse came in, hugged me, held my hand, and gave me some pain meds that helped me sleep. I hope Rat Shit has someone treat her with the same lack of compassion and respect with which she treated me. Rotten old bat.
A lot of other stuff happened while I was there, but I can't remember it all.
There was a big issue about finding me an extended care facility where I could get physical therapy to prepare me to return home, good wound care, supervision, and everything else I needed. Most places rejected me due to my weight. Finally the Waseca hospital which specializes in wound care accepted me. I had to get a medical transport to take me from St. Mary's to Waseca. The guy transported me in the back of a bumpy, smelly, crowded converted van strapped in a wheel chair. It was horribly uncomfortable and cost me $300. It took an hour and 20 minutes to get from Rochester to Waseca.
When I got there, they told me I had to sit on this weird looking, extremely uncomfortably commode that rolled over the toilet as the toilet supposedly could only support a 200 pound weight. That fucking thing cut the circulation off to my legs and was insanely uncomfortable to sit on. I spent the first three hours in that facility sobbing and offering to replace the toilet as I knew I could not sit on that thing every time I had to pee. Finally, the physical therapists came in, looked at it, and declared that this particular toilet had been recently installed and would easily support my weight since it was attached to the floor instead of coming out of the wall. That was better.
I went to that place expecting to be there 2-3 weeks, but instead was there over a month. The people were all super nice. They often stopped in just to chat and see how I was doing. Josh, one of the wound vac experts, was really nice and funny. While he was doing the first wound vac repacking, he sang to me--Johnny Cash and Garth Brooks songs. He and his family do a lot of local concerts for community events. He was really good.
The chair in my room was as hard as a rock and unbelievably uncomfortable. It was agonizing to sit in. My butt was so sore after sitting in it for about three hours that I had to lie in the bed until my butt didn't hurt so bad. The bed wasn't very comfortable either.
It wasn't perfect there. I got UTIs, one of which was an antibiotic resistant one called VRE. (I called it the Venomous Rat-bastard Entity.) It took a long time to get over it. They gave me a blood thinner called Eloquis which caused me to pee blood--not just a delicate pink tinge, but bright red blood with clots in it that made the toilet bowl look like a human sacrifice had been performed over the toilet. I cried every time I peed because they said it was going to get better and it never did until I refused to take it any more. The one doctor lectured me about the possibility of a stroke when I refused it, but I said I would rather die of a stroke than go on like that. I pitched such a fit about it that they finally gave me a CT scan to be sure there was nothing dreadful going on with my kidneys or bladder. Nothing nasty turned up. I was worried because of that pseudo aneurism that they discovered in St. Mary's or the possibility of cancer or some other thing. It seemed like every time there was a bit of good, hopeful news, some other horrible thing came up.
I was low on magnesium, so they gave me a magnesium supplement orally that caused me to have such horrific diarrhea that I was going 15-20 times a day. A couple of times, I didn't make it to the toilet and I crapped on the floor. That was such an embarrassing event that I cried my eyes out. The nurses assured me that this didn't bother them at all. But I hate that they had to clean up my crap. So, I quit eating for about three days--I told them, "What is the point of eating when it runs right out of me immediately?" Then they decided they would give it to me intravenously so it would by-pass my digestive system and not affect me in that way. That worked, but I have notoriously horrible veins for IVs, so I suffered many, many unsuccessful attempts. I was black and blue from the bases of my fingers to my elbows.
I'm going to have to go for a part 3 on my medical adventures as it is time for me to take my night meds now. I'm trying to stay on the schedule from the extended care facility so it does me the most good.