Shamleless Plug

I'm embarking on a new part of my life that is happier and going in a direction! It's really refreshing.

I was married May 19th, 2012 to a great guy I met at the C.I.A and we're go excited to embark on a life together. He has as culinary degree to match my baking and pastry degree. It's going to be a Good life.

I hope you enjoy my thoughts on food and cooking. I am but a humble baker, who happens to love cooking and embraces the joy of food.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

I Spent A Month There One Night, Part Two

Warning! there's a picture of my scar at the end. It isn't graphic or disgusting,but if you don't want to see my stomach, then I'd be careful.

A transport came to wheel me up to surgery a bit after 9. I begged my nurse to let me go to the bathroom before that happened, and lucky for me, she seemed pleased that I even thought to think to use the bathroom...but how could I not? I was so pumped full of fluid I'd probably be going till the next morning....

Anyway, so after that was taken care of, I gingerly slid back onto the bed, and my parents, whom I must admit had been getting on my nerves slightly,( my mother had been fussy all night, and my dad was on my case about work medical insurance- which working at a small business, most normal people have the understanding and common sense it wont happen, but my dad seemed to be too...optimistic...or do I mean 'pushy'?) came with me. I had been hoping I'd take care of the rest of this myself.

I went slowly through hallways, and into an elevator, which a elderly man who looked like he worked there, asked me if I was nervous, which I gave him a friendly reply of "Nope, not really." my mother added I was more anxious "Yeah, about missing work." I thought.

They brought me into a new section, and I saw someone who looked familiar, who turned out to be my aunt's sister, who seemed very surprised to see me. And then I was into a room to speak to the anesthesiologist, an older guy who had a German accent. He briefed me, and left me with my parents till the surgeon came. A nurse came in, and helped me take off my earrings and get my stuff together. "Is your bra on?" She asked. I gave her a guilty look. "Yes." I said, and struggled to take it off, which I made into a much more difficult process than necessary. "Is your underwear off?" Another guilty look, and an indignant (and silly) exclamation of "My underwear too!?" So now I was pretty much nude in a hospital gown, waiting to be sliced open.

Finally, the surgeon came, and I was parted with my parents. I felt oddly calm as we went down the hall. She chatted me up about the bakery, and what I did there, and I felt I was being very well behaved and calm, like this was just another day at the hospital.
They put me into a bright white room and I looked around with curiosity. People were around, lights above me, a operating table, standard stuff.

They put me right up to the table and scooted me on, I tried to simultaneously move my IV'd arm onto something next to me, figure out what to do with my other arm, and keep whatever dignity I could muster in a thin gown intact.

They began to slide these cuffs on my legs and I was introduced to people who would be assisting my surgery..who's official terms I can't recall.

"Oh wow! You have Cafe au lait spots!" the girl exclaimed, fascinated (as if she'd never seen one before, which is true for most people, even in hospitals, probably) touching one on my calf. "It's a coffee color with softer skin!" I was taken by surprise, and had no other response but "Yeah, I do!" How socially awkward. But I was about to get surgery, so I think it's the best I could do.

That's the last thing I remember. That was slick and terrbily clever....distracting me with my spots while they drugged me up.

The next thing I know, I'm gasping, dry throated, with an oxygen mask half off my mouth, while many voices called "Jennifer! Jennifer!" Ugh. What? I'm in pain and trying to sleep! My eyes slid open with immense effort, and I'm in a yellow room, with monitors, and other people around me. I groan again, and my eyes heavily slid shut. "Jennifer!" They call again insistently. "What!?" I think.

I'm hurting, my throat is dry, and I'm tired. I struggle with my oxygen mask, pushing it off my face. I can breathe just fine. I don't need a mask. I don't remember if the nurse tries to put it back on, but I push it off again. Then a comment is made about putting in ones for my nose, which I guess I could settle with. I gasp, raspy and hurting. Surgery sucks. My only coherent thoughts were "What the hell is going on here? When can I get drugged and when can I sleep?"

I decide the nose plugs simply will not do, and push them off. The nurse, firmly, sternly, but kindly, tells me they need to stay in. I groan, feeling difficult. She asks what's wrong. I don't remember if I asked for water or pain killers first.

But I remember ice chips, and later, (what an embarrassing thing I'm about to admit) I get some kind of pain shot in a fleshy area. And I don't even care! Moon me to whoever the hell you want for all I care! But for the love of God, drug me up enough to make this pain go away! I feel difficult. I note the time, which is sometime after noon, and take note of people around me. Some kinda good looking guy in some kind of blue scrubs and a clip board-who I remember seeing being wheeled in before, an old person near by also in recovery, nurses in bright scrubs.

They wheel me out into the hallway, I think I saw my parents at some point, and they take me (I think) in an elevator going up, and wheel into what I thought read "Pediatrics"

"What?" I think to myself, "I'm 22-years old, do they know that?" But it sounded calm and quiet. I'm almost all the way down the hall and into a room with a bed, in which I have to get onto myself, they tell me.
"Nooo." I rasp and whine, feeling difficult again "I don't want to move." But they insisted. So slowly inching, I got onto a bed, and was able to not move. A nurse came in, Nurse Mellisa, who asked me a lot of standard questions, and told me if I needed anything to buzz, how often she'd be in to check vitals (which she did as she talked) and put on the pressure leg cuffs on me again. I again fought the oxygen plug, and Mellisa finally pulled it off of me. She left and I was alone with my mother. I don't really remember what was said other than how I felt. She also mentioned going home for a bit, which I insisted on. I just wanted to sleep anyway. Not even TV was luring enough.

I dozed on and off, and my mother left around three. I kept dozing, Dr. Phil or King of the Hill not even being enough to keep me awake, and I woke up again. "Crap" I thought, "I need to PEE." Crap. I considered my options (trying to get up on my own, buzz the nurse, or hold out till the nurse gets back), and finally buzzed the nurse. Who came on intercom and I asked her if I "Could please use the bathroom." She came in, and helped me out of bed and into the bathroom, and saintly gave me my privacy. I honestly can say that I don't remember needing to pee this much this often in my entire life as I did during my hospital stay.

When I finally got myself out, Mellisa was there to help me. I sheepishly asked her if I could please put on some underwear, which she let me, and helped me get back into bed. I dozed on and off for about 20 minute intervals for the next several hours, waking for vitals, water and lame attempts at tv.

When my mother came, she made me attempt to eat, which I really didn't want to, but tried Italian ice, saltines and graham crackers.

The rest of my night is more of the same:dozing, getting up to pee, nausea, pain, and attempts to eat and drink.

I felt lousy, even on medication. I was surprised I wasn't doped up and loopy (and why wasn't I? I hear that stuff is great). I texted and called my boyfriend now and then, to see what was up and when he'd be here, and was pleased to hear he managed to catch and early train. He'd be here by 8:00.

He came to visit, along with my brother and father, and stayed for a bit. It was nice to see him. He didn't say much, but it just felt nice to have him there. He didn't stay very long, which i wish he did, but about the time he left I needed to use the bathroom, again.

The night was the same cycle. I'd sleep for 90 minutes, wake up, use the bathroom, slide into bed, get pain pills and repeat. It was horribly inconvenient. I had to wake up my mother every time and needed her help unplugging the iv and bringing it in with me. I only threw up once or twice the entire night, and it was all water, luckily, so it wasn't too bad.

I finally woke up at about 5 or 6. And knew that I was done sleeping for the night. My mother was up too. I spent some time watching Family Matters before switching to my book on tape on my ipod. I managed to eat yogurt, cherry Italian ice, and apple juice. The new nurse who came in thought that was a very good sign.

Eventually, my iv was pulled out, and I put on real clothes and deodorant, and brush my hair. I felt "better" in the sense that I wasn't groggy or in intense pain. I would be discharged soon and home by noon.

While we waited, we watched "I love Lucy" and made a few attempts at walking up and down the hallway. Which made me exhausted.

When the surgeon came in, I was apprehensive, but ready to go home. She checked out my scar, and told me what I can and can't do, when to make an appointment for a check up and to keep watch on certain other things.

Then she had to take out my iv. Which meant she had to pull the loads of tape that had been on since 2 am the previous day. This is where I was most childish and difficult, shamefully. I wouldn't let her! It HURT! I insisted that I do it, but finally she took it over, leaving me to wince and wither in pain.

I finally got to sink into a wheel chair and start to go home. My mother ran me right into a door frame. x.x I tried to wheel myself around my room before we left, but that movement alone made me sick to my stomach, so I let my mother steer.

My brother and boyfriend eventually pulled up and I eased myself into the front seat and we were on the way home, I was ready to lay downstairs and simply not move for a very long time.

All in all I thought I was a very well behaved patient. I was calm and complacent. Told them everything they needed to know and did it without melting down or becoming too upset. I let them stick me with needles without flinching, crying or fighting. I was friendly, polite and chatty.

Don't get me wrong, the whole experience was bizarre, but not all together "terrible"....well, it was. The pain and nausea was unbearable at times, but I'm alive and healing, and there are worse reasons to be in the hospital.
Recovery time is coming up, sooner or later.

EDIT> I got an infection.


Anonymous said...[Reply]

I hope that you heal quickly. I am happy that I was able to help you last weekend. You looked horrible and it made me feel awful to see you that way.

Matthew Good

Les@SpillingBuckets said...[Reply]

Wow - that's scary! I am glad you are ok now, even if still nauseus and sore.

Get better soon!