Poop: It IS That Simple!

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you already know it's been quite an interesting few days for me. As I wrote in my last post, on Wednesday I saw my surgeon and had a bunch of fluid drained from my Lump of Doom, and ended up in a lot of pain, more pain than I'd had before he drained the silly thing. Well, I woke up Thursday morning feeling okay, despite the fact that the Vicodin prescribed by Doc Basil's office hadn't done squat for the pain. But I figured, get up, shower, go to work (where I always have fun) and you'll feel better. If the pain didn't go away, I was going to call and see if I could get a different prescription (nothing like a little drug-seeking behavior, eh?).

Anyhoo, I got to work and pretty much knew after an hour or so that something wasn't right. The pain was still there, I felt barfy and sweaty and just...wrong. I spent the next 45 minutes trying to get help from my doctor's office, to no avail. I got transferred between two offices and about four different people before one of the nurses/assistants told me, "If you're in that much pain you should just go to the ER," and HUNG UP ON ME. I called Hubs in tears and asked him to come get me; the pain was so bad I knew I couldn't drive. My awesome-sauce boss, who is like a combination super-mom and big sister and more all rolled into one, told me to get the hell out of there and take care of myself.

Hubs loaded me into the Jeep and I got back on the phone, finally reaching the office manager at Doc Basil's practice. Unlike pretty much everyone else I talked to, she actually sounded like she gave a crap. She conferred with another doctor and told me they thought I might be having an allergic reaction to the Vicodin, and that I could either come to the doctor's office the next day or go to the ER immediately. By the time she said that, we had already reached the hospital, so the decision was already made. I was in so much pain at that point, I really didn't care.

And oh, that pain. I like to think that I'm pretty tough, after a C-section and two abdominal surgeries, but this pain brought me to tears. It felt like someone was trying to push open the left side of my ribcage from the inside out, and someone else was stabbing me in the belly at the same time. I described it to Hubs as labor pains plus a gall bladder attack, just without the baby and the gall bladder.

We walked into the (nearly empty) ER and I explained to the receptionist what I thought was going on. The triage nurse checked me over and I was taken back almost immediately. Out of my work clothes and into the old familiar green hospital gown. Here we go again, I thought. Hubs was trying to keep my spirits up by making me laugh -- "Hey, hopefully they admit you so we don't have to pay the ER copay!" but by the time the ER doc came back to examine me, I was sobbing. I had started throwing up (and managed to pee all over myself in the process, lovely!) and I was just, for lack of a better or more descriptive term, DONE.

They started an IV (thank you, Paramedic Student, for being quick and managing to put the line in my hand without hurting me!) and gave me pain meds -- Dilaudid, otherwise known as HOLY SHIT THIS STUFF IS STRONG -- and had me sipping on a big bucket of ginger ale laced with CT contrast solution (not bad, it tasted like a Seven & Seven). My mom showed up so Hubs could go get Kid from school, and not long after he left they wheeled me off for a CT scan.

Within an hour I had my diagnosis: ANOTHER HERNIA, plus a bowel obstruction. Seems my intestines decided to bust through my abdominal wall yet again, and this time they wanted to play Twister. The bowel obstruction had caused a whole bunch of loveliness to back up into my stomach, making me nauseated and beyond uncomfortable.

(I have to pause here for a second to say that this speed of service is EXACTLY why people go to the ER instead of seeing a regular doctor. In a few hours, the ER had treated my pain, given me all the necessary tests, and identified the problem. So why does the same process take WEEKS when you see a regular doctor?! Our healthcare system is effed, people. EFFED. But that's another post for another day.)

Of course I still had my iPhone with me, so I texted Hubs and Smith to tell them the news. Smith, remembering our last conversation, was pretty triumphant:


Poopy system, indeed!

Hubs, on the other hand, was angry. Why was this happening again?! My mom was angry, too -- I was terrified for Doc Basil. I think if he had showed up at that point, my mom would have either punched him in the face or clawed his eyes out. Me? I just wanted it fixed. I didn't really care why it was happening, I just wanted it to stop.

Before Hubs could even make it back to the hospital, they were prepping me for surgery. At my mom's request, a different surgeon (we'll call him Doc Hamburger) was doing the procedure. He explained that, because my intestines had twisted, there was a chance that he might have to do a bowel resection -- meaning, if the intestinal tissue was damaged or dead, he'd have to cut it out. He wouldn't know until he got in there.

They started the now-familiar routine of pre-op procedures: blood draws, questions about religious preferences, discussion of anesthesia. The anesthesiologist told me that because I'd thrown up earlier, they'd have to put in an NG (naso-gastric) tube just in case. They planned to do it while I was knocked out, but it would have to stay in after the surgery. High out of my mind on Dilaudid, I really didn't think about it.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital room (unlike my previous surgeries, I don't remember the recovery room AT ALL) with a tube in my nose. The NG tube. The horrible, uncomfortable, disgusting, NG tube. It was like a plastic loogie in the back of my throat, a loogie that gurgled and hissed and pumped the contents of my stomach out before my eyes. Every time the nurses asked me what I needed or wanted, I pointed at my nose and tried to look pitiful. Every time, they explained, as sweetly as possible, that it had to stay. I couldn't eat, I couldn't drink. I could suck on ice chips, and that was it.

Friday morning, Doc Basil showed up to do rounds. Again, I pointed to my nose. He explained that it had to stay; they were trying to "rest my bowels" by preventing anything from my stomach from having to go through them. I was not happy about this. By this time I was starving, my throat hurt, and I was sick of seeing my own stomach contents pass through a tube in front of my face.


Not a happy camper. Not at all. And why, yes, that IS my bile running through that tube! DELICIOUS!

Doc Basil explained that later in the day, they'd hook my NG tube to a "gravity bag" (basically a drain bag without a pump) and if less than a certain amount of stuff came out of my stomach within a four hour period, the tube could come out. I was ecstatic. He also told me that I could have Chloraseptic (for the raging sore throat I'd developed) and LifeSavers (I guess just to be nice). I was still really grumpy, hungry, and tired; it'd been nearly impossible to sleep the night before, between the NG tube, medication and IV changes, and constant checks of my vitals. I couldn't even get out of bed to pee. All I could do was lay there and try to rest. The morphine shots helped, but only knocked me out for about thirty minutes at a time. Oh, and do you want to hear something funny? Morphine makes me nod out like a junky. My head lolls over and I start drooling. I can only imagine what I looked like, drool pooling in the little well behind my clavicle.

So eventually they hooked up my gravity bag, and I was staring at the clock, waiting for that magical four-hour mark. My mom and Hubs took turns staying with me, comforting me, trying to calm me down (I had threatened to yank the tube out myself, I was so sick of it). Several of my friends offered to visit and I turned them down -- I didn't want anybody to see me like this!

As the magical hour of tube-removal approached, a nurse came back to my room and told me I had visitors. My mood had improved considerably by that point (yay drugs!) so I told the nurse to send them in. It was one of my best friends and her husband, and I was so happy to see them. They brought flowers, and a book, and Sudoku, and lip balm, and most importantly, smiles. Their visit got me through the last stretch, that never-ending hour before the NG tube was removed.

So the tube came out, and the relief I felt was beyond amazing. My throat was still hurting like crazy, but that awful, nagging loogie was gone! I could turn my head without pain! I would (hopefully) be able to sleep! And -- dare I say it -- I might be able to have BROTH in the morning! My spirits were lifted and I felt a million times better.

Saturday and Sunday passed like most of my other days in the hospital: rounds in the morning, reading through the day, hospital food, friends coming to visit, more reading, finally peeing alone (adios, catheter!), morphine injections, IV fluids, Heparin injections in my belly, ridiculous bedhead from plastic pillows...



They worked me up to solid foods by Saturday at dinner time. My mom and Hubs were there with me through all of it, bribing the nurses with coffee and hot chocolate from Starbucks, brownies from the Farmer's Market, sandwiches from Tropical Smoothie. More friends visited -- Smith's wife brought me tea on Saturday night, Smith came to hang out on Sunday -- more flowers came. I finished the first three books of Stephen King's Dark Tower series (how lucky was it that I had picked up a ton of books at Book Exchange on Wednesday?). I watched no TV. I did laps around the ward with my IV in tow. We agreed on Monday for my discharge date. The usual stuff.

Mom brought me home yesterday, after a quick pit-stop at Starbucks and a trip to the Target pharmacy. She made me lunch and stocked my fridge with groceries. She made sure I took a shower, and before she left told me that if I didn't stay upstairs, in bed, that I'd be in serious trouble. I took my pain meds and curled up for a nap. Being in my own bed was HEAVEN.

Last night was pretty normal. Hubs made tacos and I managed to get downstairs for dinner. Kid, who'd been with his grandma pretty much all weekend, was his usual sassy, chatty self. I missed him so much!

So that brings us to today...a fairly normal Tuesday, save for the fact that I'm in bed blogging instead of working. I'm on orders to rest and do as little as possible for the next two weeks. I'm thinking there will be a lot of writing, a lot of reading, and that's about it. Call, text, or come by -- I'm not going anywhere for a while.

Thanks to everyone who expressed their love, concern, and support. I received a ton of emails, Tweets, Facebook messages, and phonecalls over the weekend, and every single one of them helped me feel better. I love and appreciate all of you -- both my "IRL" friends and those I know only online. You guys are awesome!