We have now settled into a daily routine for my care and maintenance, and we are both getting back into the swing of things with our jobs.
Terry has started her fall schedule of school programs with HealthMPowers and I've been to my office a few times, soon to start getting ready for fall classes.
The biggest and best development has been my ability to inject my water and liquid food directly into the PEG tube, which takes only about 15 minutes per "meal." I use a product called IsoSource, which looks like a very light and thin chocolate milk and has a neutral kind of flavor that I can get a hint of in the feeding process. Interesting stuff--it provides me with all of my caloric and nutritional needs, but with none of the enjoyment of eating food. There is also no food prep or cooking to do--which I also miss. Just pop open the little containers, pour the IsoSource into a large cup, draw it into the large syringes, and inject it into the tube. I also miss being able to share the same meals with Terry, and going out for dinner--which we did 2-3 times a week.
To help a little, I've done a bit of cooking for Terry recently, which gives me some of the enjoyment of meals at home, but it's a far cry from the real deal of prepping, cooking, and eating the same meal together.
It looks like I'll be eating only Liquid Chicken for at least another month. I have my next swallow test in 3 weeks, and even if I pass it, it will be a very long and gradual progression from 100% IsoSource to a sustainable level of oral eating.
As always, it sure beats the alternative, so no whining from this boy. I'm getting stronger every day and ready to gear up for my last full year of work.
Mike
Friday, July 31, 2015
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Cancer Revenge, Big Time
As I was completing my treatments in 2009 I composed a list of things on a Cancer Revenge list--things that I wanted to get back onto my life that cancer had taken away. So far, only one thing on that list has not happened--being able to SCUBA dive again. I was close to getting back to diving last year, but the jaw resection put a hold on that. I have not given up on the idea of diving again, but if it's going to happen, it's going to be at least another year off.
The items on the list are important by themselves, but the real purpose of the list is to acknowledge that life can go on after cancer, and that a cancer survivor can get back to many, if not all of the things they enjoyed before getting their membership card to Cancer World.
For many years Terry and I have enjoyed going up to the North GA mountains to spend time at Jeff and Deb Rupp's' cabin, and then their ostentatious Rupp River Resort. At some point we decided that we'd like to keep our current home as our primary retirement residence, but also have a place of our own up in the mountains.
A couple weeks before the June surgery we spent time looking for such a place in the Ellijay area. After looking at 15 or so properties we still had not found the perfect place--until Terry did some searching on her own. So, two weeks ago we took a day trip to look at a place that looked liked "it"--and lo and behold, it was "it." We put in a bid, which has now been accepted and we hope to close in early September.
Yes, this IS way better than us! But, more importantly, it is another way to say that "Living well is the best revenge" against the Prairie Dogs, chemo, radiation, ORN, surgeries, Nurse Kimee, and straight catheters.
While enjoying our first deck time in several weeks last evening we tossed around some ideas of what to call the new place. Of course, I lobbied for "Terrapin Station," and Terry thought that was a good one. Then, she asked, How about calling it "Good Vibes"? Perfect! It ties in a lot of things that helped us get to a place where we could get the house and enjoy our time there in the years ahead.
So, Good Vibes is now prominent on our Cancer Revenge list.
Mike
The items on the list are important by themselves, but the real purpose of the list is to acknowledge that life can go on after cancer, and that a cancer survivor can get back to many, if not all of the things they enjoyed before getting their membership card to Cancer World.
For many years Terry and I have enjoyed going up to the North GA mountains to spend time at Jeff and Deb Rupp's' cabin, and then their ostentatious Rupp River Resort. At some point we decided that we'd like to keep our current home as our primary retirement residence, but also have a place of our own up in the mountains.
A couple weeks before the June surgery we spent time looking for such a place in the Ellijay area. After looking at 15 or so properties we still had not found the perfect place--until Terry did some searching on her own. So, two weeks ago we took a day trip to look at a place that looked liked "it"--and lo and behold, it was "it." We put in a bid, which has now been accepted and we hope to close in early September.
Yes, this IS way better than us! But, more importantly, it is another way to say that "Living well is the best revenge" against the Prairie Dogs, chemo, radiation, ORN, surgeries, Nurse Kimee, and straight catheters.
While enjoying our first deck time in several weeks last evening we tossed around some ideas of what to call the new place. Of course, I lobbied for "Terrapin Station," and Terry thought that was a good one. Then, she asked, How about calling it "Good Vibes"? Perfect! It ties in a lot of things that helped us get to a place where we could get the house and enjoy our time there in the years ahead.
So, Good Vibes is now prominent on our Cancer Revenge list.
Mike
Coming Out of the Vortex
While I will never leave Cancer World entirely, I am starting to see the exit route out of this current vortex--the one I entered a few weeks before the June operation. Last evening Terry and I did some deck time, and I was able to slowly sip about a half can of Dale's Pale Ale. Terry and I had a nice walk this morning, and I was able to complete my breakfast feeding in about 15 minutes, now that we can inject the liquid food into the PEG tube, instead of depending on the pump or gravity drip. We were able to spend some time this morning working on our new garden, trying to wrestle it back from the bugs, squirrels, and other critters that have tasted a lot more of our produce than we have so far.
So, except for the breakfast gig, this is looking and feeling like any other normal Saturday morning in July--a sure sign that we have turned the corner out of Hell Lite. My online cancer support folks call that the "abi-normal" life of a cancer survivor. I call it Cancer Revenge.
This is not to say that I am back 100%. My left arm and hand are about 75% functional, and at risk for injury, so I have to be very careful with how I use them. My swallowing is getting better, but still a long ways from eating food orally. My speech is still very weak and unclear--I mumble a lot. The new surgical scars around my mouth also cause me to drool some. Some of you might be chuckling, saying that mumbling and drooling are not new for me.
I can buy that.
All signs indicate that my mouth and jaw are healing well, so we are now in another wait-and-see period to know when the next part of my reconstruction can start--the dental work. Probably another 6 months.
Now that the end of this vortex is in sight, it's time to award the winners in the "Get Well Card" competition that Terry started while I was in the hospital. Before I say who won, it needs to be said that many of you are very disturbed people with very twisted senses of humor. That's to say--our kind of folks. Your cards did the trick to give us a lot of laughs at a time when we needed them, and to keep up the idea that one of the best ways to fight cancer is with humor. Thanks.
So, with that, the winners are Greg and Gena, for their card "20 fun things to do when recovering from surgery." The card itself was a hoot, but their added comments put them over the top in the competition.
We will stash this set of cards away with all the others we've gotten in the past 6 years, and use them in a chapter of the book I will be writing about our journeys in Cancer World. I have a publisher for the book, which will be based largely on the blog entries. At some point I will ask anyone on Team Mike who wants to contribute to the book to send something along for a chapter devoted to all the love and support we've been given since all of this started. More on that later.
In the meantime, time to get back to our abi-normal Saturday, and to taking more steps to get completely out of the this current vortex.
Mike
So, except for the breakfast gig, this is looking and feeling like any other normal Saturday morning in July--a sure sign that we have turned the corner out of Hell Lite. My online cancer support folks call that the "abi-normal" life of a cancer survivor. I call it Cancer Revenge.
This is not to say that I am back 100%. My left arm and hand are about 75% functional, and at risk for injury, so I have to be very careful with how I use them. My swallowing is getting better, but still a long ways from eating food orally. My speech is still very weak and unclear--I mumble a lot. The new surgical scars around my mouth also cause me to drool some. Some of you might be chuckling, saying that mumbling and drooling are not new for me.
I can buy that.
All signs indicate that my mouth and jaw are healing well, so we are now in another wait-and-see period to know when the next part of my reconstruction can start--the dental work. Probably another 6 months.
Now that the end of this vortex is in sight, it's time to award the winners in the "Get Well Card" competition that Terry started while I was in the hospital. Before I say who won, it needs to be said that many of you are very disturbed people with very twisted senses of humor. That's to say--our kind of folks. Your cards did the trick to give us a lot of laughs at a time when we needed them, and to keep up the idea that one of the best ways to fight cancer is with humor. Thanks.
So, with that, the winners are Greg and Gena, for their card "20 fun things to do when recovering from surgery." The card itself was a hoot, but their added comments put them over the top in the competition.
We will stash this set of cards away with all the others we've gotten in the past 6 years, and use them in a chapter of the book I will be writing about our journeys in Cancer World. I have a publisher for the book, which will be based largely on the blog entries. At some point I will ask anyone on Team Mike who wants to contribute to the book to send something along for a chapter devoted to all the love and support we've been given since all of this started. More on that later.
In the meantime, time to get back to our abi-normal Saturday, and to taking more steps to get completely out of the this current vortex.
Mike
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Out of Nose Jail
Monday's procedure to take out the nasal feeding tube and insert the PEG tube went well, followed by an excruciatingly boring stint in the hospital until we were discharged yesterday at 3:45 pm--to get to, you guessed it--a 4pm appointment with Dr. Roser.
I have been able to tolerate a huge number of things in the past 6 years that would make most people throw in the towel--pain, swelling, straight catheters,chemo, radiation, and much more. All along the only things that have made me shrink and squirm have been the insertion of anything into my nose or into my throat. So, you can imagine how much discomfort I was in for 4+ weeks with the nasal feeding tube pushed down my esophagus and dangling out of my left nostril. I could feel every inch of it, and a hundred times wanted to yank it out for just a few minutes of relief. The only thing that kept me from doing that was knowing they would have had to insert a new tube in its place to keep me fed and hydrated.
At the very end of the procedure on Monday, as I was being weaned off the sedation and starting to hear things around me, I heard the doctor tell someone to take out the nasal tube, and a few seconds later it was gone. My body wanted to give out a big yell of relief, but of course my brain and my body were not working together at that moment when I was released from "Nose Jail." So, a silent "Thank you" was made, and Terry and I celebrated my release once my head had cleared in the post-op room. We can now actually kiss again (still no puckers for me), rather than do our improvised forehead and nose rubbing.
In the hospital I was still attached to other tubes and IVs, so was still not feeling totally unconstrained. But, I left the hospital with only the new PEG tube in my stomach, and as I walked over to Dr. Roser's office, it felt like a set of heavy chains had been taken off my body.
We devised a torso wrap that would protect the PEG tube while I was in bed, and that allowed me to have my best night of sleep since June 18. I didn't have to sleep on my back, or use the wedge pillow to prop me up. We went out for a short walk this morning, the first without the nasal tube--and it felt really good. Once our oppressive heat spell breaks, I want to do a lot more of that.
But, "It's always something..." and there are a few problems with the PEG tube and accessories. We don't have the proper connections for a faster kind of feeding, so it's still very slow and tedious. Hopefully they will be delivered today. Until then I need to be tethered to the feeding pump for over 4 hours a day. I can still do some things while feeding--like this blog entry, but my daily planning still revolves around that tethered feeding procedure.
But, I am enjoying my release from Nose Jail, and after a good night's sleep feeling the best I have since the start of Hell Lite almost 5 weeks ago.
Mike
I have been able to tolerate a huge number of things in the past 6 years that would make most people throw in the towel--pain, swelling, straight catheters,chemo, radiation, and much more. All along the only things that have made me shrink and squirm have been the insertion of anything into my nose or into my throat. So, you can imagine how much discomfort I was in for 4+ weeks with the nasal feeding tube pushed down my esophagus and dangling out of my left nostril. I could feel every inch of it, and a hundred times wanted to yank it out for just a few minutes of relief. The only thing that kept me from doing that was knowing they would have had to insert a new tube in its place to keep me fed and hydrated.
At the very end of the procedure on Monday, as I was being weaned off the sedation and starting to hear things around me, I heard the doctor tell someone to take out the nasal tube, and a few seconds later it was gone. My body wanted to give out a big yell of relief, but of course my brain and my body were not working together at that moment when I was released from "Nose Jail." So, a silent "Thank you" was made, and Terry and I celebrated my release once my head had cleared in the post-op room. We can now actually kiss again (still no puckers for me), rather than do our improvised forehead and nose rubbing.
In the hospital I was still attached to other tubes and IVs, so was still not feeling totally unconstrained. But, I left the hospital with only the new PEG tube in my stomach, and as I walked over to Dr. Roser's office, it felt like a set of heavy chains had been taken off my body.
We devised a torso wrap that would protect the PEG tube while I was in bed, and that allowed me to have my best night of sleep since June 18. I didn't have to sleep on my back, or use the wedge pillow to prop me up. We went out for a short walk this morning, the first without the nasal tube--and it felt really good. Once our oppressive heat spell breaks, I want to do a lot more of that.
But, "It's always something..." and there are a few problems with the PEG tube and accessories. We don't have the proper connections for a faster kind of feeding, so it's still very slow and tedious. Hopefully they will be delivered today. Until then I need to be tethered to the feeding pump for over 4 hours a day. I can still do some things while feeding--like this blog entry, but my daily planning still revolves around that tethered feeding procedure.
But, I am enjoying my release from Nose Jail, and after a good night's sleep feeling the best I have since the start of Hell Lite almost 5 weeks ago.
Mike
Friday, July 17, 2015
What A Long, Strange Day it Was
To make a long story short, the plan to take out the nasal tube and insert the PEG tube didn't happen today. All along we were under the impression that it would involve a full OR set up and a general anesthetic protocol, as it did the last time I had a PEG tube inserted. They have to take extra precaution to make sure I have a backup air supply during the procedure.
When we arrived at Emory around 11 this morning, we were not taken to the OR admit area (Sign #1). Rather, we were taken to a sort of catch-all area for minor surgeries--mostly out-patient jobs. Rather than being seen first by an anesthesiogist, we were seen by someone from the radiology department (Sign #2). He asked a long series of questions that didn't make much sense, and some of our answers caused him to consult with someone else 3-4 times (Sign #3).
Terry asked a tell-tale question about how I would be intubated during the procedure (that's the air supply issue) and he admitted that I would be under only mild sedation--not general anesthetic (BIG Sign #4). That led to more consultations and an eventual decision that this had to be done in the OR and under general anesthesia. That's the first good news of the day.
The next good news was that they could do that correct procedure today, followed by some news that it would be several hours before an OR and anesthesiology team could be available. That was around 1 PM.
Five hours later we were informed that they had a heavy schedule of emergency procedures in that OR, and that mine would be postponed to a later date. So, we finished up our business there, I got dressed, and we headed home.
The procedure has been placed on the schedule for 6:30 Monday morning, so we have a definite time, place, and surgical team for it.
The long day of non-events was worsened by the fact that I had not eaten since dinner last evening, and that Terry was freezing her ass off in the holding area.
The whole thing appears to be a bad series of poor planning by the surgeon (who should have known the signs), and the unanticipated need for so many emergency procedures while we waited for our turn.
So, postpone those Good Vibes until Monday morning, and we'll keep you posted once this gets done.
Mike
When we arrived at Emory around 11 this morning, we were not taken to the OR admit area (Sign #1). Rather, we were taken to a sort of catch-all area for minor surgeries--mostly out-patient jobs. Rather than being seen first by an anesthesiogist, we were seen by someone from the radiology department (Sign #2). He asked a long series of questions that didn't make much sense, and some of our answers caused him to consult with someone else 3-4 times (Sign #3).
Terry asked a tell-tale question about how I would be intubated during the procedure (that's the air supply issue) and he admitted that I would be under only mild sedation--not general anesthetic (BIG Sign #4). That led to more consultations and an eventual decision that this had to be done in the OR and under general anesthesia. That's the first good news of the day.
The next good news was that they could do that correct procedure today, followed by some news that it would be several hours before an OR and anesthesiology team could be available. That was around 1 PM.
Five hours later we were informed that they had a heavy schedule of emergency procedures in that OR, and that mine would be postponed to a later date. So, we finished up our business there, I got dressed, and we headed home.
The procedure has been placed on the schedule for 6:30 Monday morning, so we have a definite time, place, and surgical team for it.
The long day of non-events was worsened by the fact that I had not eaten since dinner last evening, and that Terry was freezing her ass off in the holding area.
The whole thing appears to be a bad series of poor planning by the surgeon (who should have known the signs), and the unanticipated need for so many emergency procedures while we waited for our turn.
So, postpone those Good Vibes until Monday morning, and we'll keep you posted once this gets done.
Mike
Thursday, July 16, 2015
There is a Plan, but it Ain't Free
Slowly but surely a plan has now been made to rid my body of all but one tube. We met with Dr. Wadsworth yesterday. He took out the trach and covered it up with a small bandage that should not be needed after 10-14 days. He also declared the left arm healed well enough to not need the splint or bandage. But, I do put on a bandage when I'm out of the house so I don't scare anyone who might see the big scar. He is very pleased with all parts of last month's procedure and think I'm healing very nicely.
There is also a plan to take out the nasal feeding tube and replace it with a direct tube to my stomach (called a PEG tube). I will not be able to eat orally for several weeks, so this will allow me to expand my food options beyond the liquid food. But, that progress comes with a price. The PEG tube will be inserted tomorrow, but I will need to stay overnight in the hospital so they can be sure it's working properly and can tell me how to get a green chili cheeseburger through the tube.
So, time again for more Team Mike Good Vibes to help me through the tube insertion procedure and to give me the calmness, maturity, patience, and overall state of mind to endure yet another night in the hospital without going freakin' bonkers.
Hint, send more Good Vibes for the latter stuff...
If that fails, send Valium--lots of it.
mike
There is also a plan to take out the nasal feeding tube and replace it with a direct tube to my stomach (called a PEG tube). I will not be able to eat orally for several weeks, so this will allow me to expand my food options beyond the liquid food. But, that progress comes with a price. The PEG tube will be inserted tomorrow, but I will need to stay overnight in the hospital so they can be sure it's working properly and can tell me how to get a green chili cheeseburger through the tube.
So, time again for more Team Mike Good Vibes to help me through the tube insertion procedure and to give me the calmness, maturity, patience, and overall state of mind to endure yet another night in the hospital without going freakin' bonkers.
Hint, send more Good Vibes for the latter stuff...
If that fails, send Valium--lots of it.
mike
Monday, July 13, 2015
On Hold in the Vortex
No word yet when the PEG tube will be inserted. We were told it would be this week, but that seems to be a fading chance.
The trach is scheduled to be taken out on Wednesday, but that could be pushed back to be done the same time as the PEG tube--they might need the trach in to use as the breathing airway for the PEG tube procedure.
It's been really hot here, so there have been few opportunities to get out for walks in the mornings, before the heat and humidity make that impossible. And, with needing about 5 hours a day for feeding and wound care, I am housebound way more than I'd like to be. In fact, I'm bored shitless in the current vortex of Cancer World. I can work a little, but my typing is limited due to the splint on my left arm.
What I really need is a very large "Breaking News" story on CNN--one that will last and stay interesting for several days.Where's the OJ trial when you really need it?
Once the PEG tube is in, and the trach comes out, I'll have more options, but for now, I am stuck in a long cycle of "Ground Hog Days" here at home.
More when the cycle changes...
Mike
The trach is scheduled to be taken out on Wednesday, but that could be pushed back to be done the same time as the PEG tube--they might need the trach in to use as the breathing airway for the PEG tube procedure.
It's been really hot here, so there have been few opportunities to get out for walks in the mornings, before the heat and humidity make that impossible. And, with needing about 5 hours a day for feeding and wound care, I am housebound way more than I'd like to be. In fact, I'm bored shitless in the current vortex of Cancer World. I can work a little, but my typing is limited due to the splint on my left arm.
What I really need is a very large "Breaking News" story on CNN--one that will last and stay interesting for several days.Where's the OJ trial when you really need it?
Once the PEG tube is in, and the trach comes out, I'll have more options, but for now, I am stuck in a long cycle of "Ground Hog Days" here at home.
More when the cycle changes...
Mike
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Flunked the Swallow Test
I was not able to pass the barium swallow test--too much liquid is getting down my airway, posing a potential aspiration situation. The solution is to have a stomach feeding (PEG) tube inserted so I can take my liquid food safely and easily. The good news is that the dreaded nasal tube will come out, but that is offset by what will be a long delay in getting off the liquid food. Perhaps several weeks.
Once the stomach tube is installed, I can start PT to strengthen my swallowing muscles. There is some chance that I won't ever get back to a safe and functional level of swallowing, which will lead to more difficult decisions down the road.
This is a real setback. Not so much for just failing the swallow test, but because it raises questions about quality of life down the road. I just can't imagine life without green chili cheeseburgers, or even something as simple as a DQ Blizzard--but I am now a long way from even thinking about eating those things again.
As has been typical for 6+ years, setbacks like this one get me down at first--so be sure to send some extra Good Vibes our way. But also true to form, we will get our game faces on and do everything in our power to work through this new challenge, and then hope for the best. As always, it sure beats the alternative.
More soon, once I have figured out how to get a Gin and Tonic down the stomach tube...
mike
Once the stomach tube is installed, I can start PT to strengthen my swallowing muscles. There is some chance that I won't ever get back to a safe and functional level of swallowing, which will lead to more difficult decisions down the road.
This is a real setback. Not so much for just failing the swallow test, but because it raises questions about quality of life down the road. I just can't imagine life without green chili cheeseburgers, or even something as simple as a DQ Blizzard--but I am now a long way from even thinking about eating those things again.
As has been typical for 6+ years, setbacks like this one get me down at first--so be sure to send some extra Good Vibes our way. But also true to form, we will get our game faces on and do everything in our power to work through this new challenge, and then hope for the best. As always, it sure beats the alternative.
More soon, once I have figured out how to get a Gin and Tonic down the stomach tube...
mike
Monday, July 6, 2015
Mixed Bag from the Doctor's Visit
Well, we had hoped to see the nasal tube, trach, stitches and staples go away today, but fell short of that goal. The stitches and staples all came out, quickly and painlessly. Rather than take the trach out, they put a cap on it to see how I handle fully breathing on my own for a week. If all goes well, it will come out next week. The big disappointment was the nasal feeding tube. They could not do a barium swallow test today because that lab was booked all day. They tried a swallow test using a camera at the end of a scope, but I could not tolerate the scope and the test had to be aborted. They have scheduled a barium test on Wednesday, so two more days of the dreaded nasal tube being there. But I can drink small amounts of water, to help me strengthen those muscles in the meantime.
Bottom line--disappointed but not discouraged.
More soon.
mike
Bottom line--disappointed but not discouraged.
More soon.
mike
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Need Team Mike Good Vibes for Tomorrow
As we've learned, progress in my healing is not measured by time. It's measured by the removal of various "leftovers" that remain in or attached to my body following each surgery. Some of this year's leftovers have been removed alreday, but three big ones are scheduled for removal tomorrow--the dreaded nasal feeding tube, the trach, and the countless stitches and surgical staples in my arm, neck, jaw, and mouth.
The stitches are not in question for tomorrow--they are ready for removal. However, the status of the nasal tube and trach depend on on well I do in a standard swallow test. If I do well on that, those things come out and I can start the progression of eating orally, even though I will have very limited options for weeks to come. (I even paid attention to a TV ad for Ninja blenders yesterday).
So, please send your very best Good Vibes that things go well tomorrow and I will walk out of the doc's office tube-less, trach-less, and stitch-free.
Mike
The stitches are not in question for tomorrow--they are ready for removal. However, the status of the nasal tube and trach depend on on well I do in a standard swallow test. If I do well on that, those things come out and I can start the progression of eating orally, even though I will have very limited options for weeks to come. (I even paid attention to a TV ad for Ninja blenders yesterday).
So, please send your very best Good Vibes that things go well tomorrow and I will walk out of the doc's office tube-less, trach-less, and stitch-free.
Mike
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Coming Back from Hell Lite
I described last year's procedure, hospital stay and home recovery as pure Hell--something that I hoped never to go through again. So, I've been trying to come up with a summary description of this year's experience, and have decided to call it Hell Lite. I know that is a mixed metaphor, but it does seem to fit, so I'll go with it.
While this procedure was every bit as long as last time, nearly 12 hours until they rolled me into the ICU, I was not put into an extended coma and managed to avoid seeing those terrifying 6-legged lizards (and Jeff Rupp, for that matter) in my sleep. I did dream that I was handed down the task to write the next book in the Lord of the Rings saga, but every time I thought about the existing books part of my memory was taken away from me. Still trying to sort through that dream, but at least it was mercifully short.
I was in ICU from late Friday until late Wednesday--again shorter than last time. And, like last time, all but one of the Emory nurses were great. The bad apple this time was not another Kimmee (who, as you may recall, scanned my billing band while I was using that same arm to urinate), and I had her for only one shift. Other than that, nothing but superlatives to say about the nurses this time. One of them, the ICU head nurse, has a good friend in common with us, and she is a GSU Nursing Alum.
Every day started and most days ended with swarms of young residents giving me a once-over to report back to Drs. Wadsworth and Roser. Dr. Roser himself came by twice on almost every day.
While being told before that I could be in the hospital for up to two weeks, as early as Tuesday we got hints that I could be discharged by the weekend. For us, that meant Sunday, but as the week went on, someone said "maybe Friday." We were doubtful at first, but it did in fact happen. As I was walking on the main floor that morning, one of the residents told me that I got the fastest discharge ever by Wadsworth for this surgery.
OK, back to Hell Lite. Last time they took my entire left fibula--this time they took a chunk of bone and tissue from my left arm, so not only was the "donor" wound smaller, I did not have to heal well enough to support my weight and walk--and had no leg cast to deal with. There were no surprises in the OR, like last year's major infection and A-fib, so I had no complications to deal with beyond the planned surgical wounds.
I got moved out of ICU late on Tuesday, and walked to my new room on my own. So, just two more days there, and all the chips fell into place for a Friday discharge. I did come hone with a nasal feeding tube and trach, which have demanded a lot of attention, but nothing like the IV-antiobiotics a year ago.
But, this stay was not without a "signature" event in Hell Lite, and served to motivate me even more to bust out ASAP. During the procedure I had a Folley catheter inserted which sent my liquid waste directly to a collection bag. The Folley cath was removed on Monday, on schedule, but I was not able to urinate after that for 24 hours. That caused me to need a straight cath inserted (you figure out the details) manually by "that" nurse. The way she went about her business made it a totally humiliating experience. When she left the room, she warned me that it would have to be done again, and until I could pee on my own. Fast forward 12 hours and I still haven't peed, so a different nurse comes in to do the cath again--while two other nurses are also attending to me for different things. Rather than wait, she starts her work and knows I am mortified by the scene in my room. Once she inserts the cath, she tries to calm me, gives me a wink and says "You can get your dignity back when you've left the hospital, but my advice is to take more of the meds that will help you pee on your own." So, I ordered a double shot of FloMax right after and peed on my own about 8 hours later.
The rest was Wadsworth discharge history.
mike
While this procedure was every bit as long as last time, nearly 12 hours until they rolled me into the ICU, I was not put into an extended coma and managed to avoid seeing those terrifying 6-legged lizards (and Jeff Rupp, for that matter) in my sleep. I did dream that I was handed down the task to write the next book in the Lord of the Rings saga, but every time I thought about the existing books part of my memory was taken away from me. Still trying to sort through that dream, but at least it was mercifully short.
I was in ICU from late Friday until late Wednesday--again shorter than last time. And, like last time, all but one of the Emory nurses were great. The bad apple this time was not another Kimmee (who, as you may recall, scanned my billing band while I was using that same arm to urinate), and I had her for only one shift. Other than that, nothing but superlatives to say about the nurses this time. One of them, the ICU head nurse, has a good friend in common with us, and she is a GSU Nursing Alum.
Every day started and most days ended with swarms of young residents giving me a once-over to report back to Drs. Wadsworth and Roser. Dr. Roser himself came by twice on almost every day.
While being told before that I could be in the hospital for up to two weeks, as early as Tuesday we got hints that I could be discharged by the weekend. For us, that meant Sunday, but as the week went on, someone said "maybe Friday." We were doubtful at first, but it did in fact happen. As I was walking on the main floor that morning, one of the residents told me that I got the fastest discharge ever by Wadsworth for this surgery.
OK, back to Hell Lite. Last time they took my entire left fibula--this time they took a chunk of bone and tissue from my left arm, so not only was the "donor" wound smaller, I did not have to heal well enough to support my weight and walk--and had no leg cast to deal with. There were no surprises in the OR, like last year's major infection and A-fib, so I had no complications to deal with beyond the planned surgical wounds.
I got moved out of ICU late on Tuesday, and walked to my new room on my own. So, just two more days there, and all the chips fell into place for a Friday discharge. I did come hone with a nasal feeding tube and trach, which have demanded a lot of attention, but nothing like the IV-antiobiotics a year ago.
But, this stay was not without a "signature" event in Hell Lite, and served to motivate me even more to bust out ASAP. During the procedure I had a Folley catheter inserted which sent my liquid waste directly to a collection bag. The Folley cath was removed on Monday, on schedule, but I was not able to urinate after that for 24 hours. That caused me to need a straight cath inserted (you figure out the details) manually by "that" nurse. The way she went about her business made it a totally humiliating experience. When she left the room, she warned me that it would have to be done again, and until I could pee on my own. Fast forward 12 hours and I still haven't peed, so a different nurse comes in to do the cath again--while two other nurses are also attending to me for different things. Rather than wait, she starts her work and knows I am mortified by the scene in my room. Once she inserts the cath, she tries to calm me, gives me a wink and says "You can get your dignity back when you've left the hospital, but my advice is to take more of the meds that will help you pee on your own." So, I ordered a double shot of FloMax right after and peed on my own about 8 hours later.
The rest was Wadsworth discharge history.
mike
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