After four days in an induced coma I woke up in the ICU, with Terry bedside. I'm sure others were there, but don't remember who or when. After my head cleared a bit and the doctors and nurses stopped poking at me and left me alone, I asked Terry for the small whiteboard and pen so I could communicate with her. I had the full trach tube in, so could not talk.
One of my first questions was, "Was I on a plane?" Terry gave me a strange look. In my fentynal and dilaudid-driven dreams, I had a clear memory of something having gone very wrong during the surgery and I had been taken to another city on a med-evac plane. The only three people on the plane, other than the pilot I hope, were me (on an operating table), Dr. Roser, and Jeff Rupp--a close friend of mine. Once we landed in god-knows-where, I was taken to a holding area in the airport, and was being tended to by Shelly Linens, one of my department's sports medicine faculty!
I was absolutely convinced that I was not in Atlanta anymore, and my next question was "What went wrong?" The answer was that some things had gone wrong--the infection and a-fib, but I was assured I was still in Emory hospital and in good hands.
I was on fentynal patches during treatment in 2009 and had terrible nightmares from it--to the point that I was afraid to go to sleep. This time it was scary in a different way, but I felt safe once I knew what was going on.
So, remember, fentynal is not for kids...
mike
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