Day 12 - Internal & External Hell

I'm beginning this post with a few lyrics from Aimee Mann's song "Real Bad News:"

"You don't know, so don't say you do --
You don't.
You might think that things will change,
But take my word --
They won't
You paint a lovely picture,
But reality intrudes
With a message for you
And it's real bad news"

I start with those because at this point I had thought things had changed for me, but, I got the bad news that they hadn't really.

This day really starts the night previous, when I got the newsflash that they were considering opening my body back up to fix a problem that had become apparent and do some exploring into seeing what was going on:

Exploring and surgery are not words I prefer to hear together. Last time I'd heard those words, my father ended up dead on an operating table.

To say I was alarmed at this news, would be an exaggeration. I immediately got on the horn to my mother who had abandoned my ass only a few days prior. I had to beg her to come back to ensure things would be okay. She was hesitant to come back, and I could tell she was trying to weasel out of doing so.

I spoke to my uncle who is a doctor, and had him speak to some people. But, I wasn't satisfied, and I lay in bed most of that night annoyed and frustrated. And, scared out of my ever lovin' mind.

My aunt came in and spent the night in my room on a very uncomfortable bed, but not-a-bed thing. I was THAT upset.

Back to Day 12 morning and shortly after waking up, a man came sauntering into my room looking all fancy in dress pants, a dress shirt, and a tie. Mind you I had never seen this man before. EVER. EVER!

He said hello and introduced himself as "Dr. blah blah blah." Okay I thought. What do you want?!

He informed me that they were going to wheel me into surgery "this morning" and he wanted me to sign some forms.

YYYYYYYEAH. This poor bastard made a grave mistake because I lost my mind. I started bawling like I had never bawled before; Not even at my father's funeral, which I didn't bawl at, I was just in total shock (think I still am in a way). There was some serious nasal discharge going on. I used a whole mini box of crappy hospital tissues :)

To say the least, the doctor was caught completely off guard, and he was eventually made to talk to my uncle and explain to HIM why he wanted to do what he wanted. In my rage, in my frustration, and in my fury, I knew enough that I wouldn't sign anything until I got the answers I wanted.

I knew my uncle would get the rational questions and technical questions asked and answered sufficiently, and moreover he could explain to me what was going to happen and provide his opinion.

Eventually, things got answered, I was mollified and shortly thereafter I signed the two papers necessary to open my stomach back up. I called my mother to say it was on, and before I had time to notify anyone else, I was wheeled out of my room.

The last thing I remember before going dark was being in the operating room, which was totally cool. By that time, I had mentally processed the problem, rationally realized WHY this needed to be done and I was relaxed.

Their big mistake was NOT telling me WHY and WHAT they were going to do the night before. I needed more lead time to process the event. I would have been largely fine.

When I awoke later in the day, I remember sitting in my room and asking to get the damn catheter taken out and checking out how much swelling I gained back. I had made some great progress on taking the swelling down and I was going to be pissed if I gained all that back. I had only gained a tiny amount, which was good.

I got a report on how things went, what they did, and that the bloodwork was already looking much better. I felt better too.

This was the very last major hurdle to the path of exodus from the hospital. This was the worst day of the 3 weeks for me personally. It marked the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end.

Further updates on days will come later.

Boston, thy love ye

I love my chosen city, Boston.

It was reaffirmed today:

Boston has history at seemingly every turn.

Boston has multiculturalism.

Boston has some great higher academic institutions.

Boston has a kicking sports scene.

Boston is big enough to qualify as a big city.

Boston, however, is small enough to make it feel almost quaint.

Boston has character.

Boston has an energy.

Boston has some old architecture that reminds you of the wars fought.

Boston has some modern architecture that reminds you of today.

Boston holds historic Fenway Park.

Bostonians have a funny accent.

Boston has some great food options.

Is Boston perfect? No.

Boston still has the Italian mafia (don't let anyone dissuade of of such a notion).

Boston's politicians (specifically Speakers of State House) are consistently busted for corruption.

Boston can be cold.

Boston's metro is an old, antiquated system that is costing a fortune to SLOWLY upgrade.

Have I mentioned the Italian Mob yet? Wait...whoops!

Day 11 - Good News, Bad News

On the floor of the hospital I was on, Mondays could be a big day. It marked the end of a nice, restful weekend for the nurses/doctors, and the beginning of another week in the rounds of keeping people alive to the best of their ability.

For me, I woke up with an optimism about my condition and the progress I had seen made in such a short amount of time. Between the fresh shave & bath that the wonderful Ted gave me on Friday, and the drop in swelling in my legs, I felt invincible. I didn't let the TINY little fact that I couldn't walk without a walker nor utilized my legs to take any steps get in the way of this invincibility.

In medicine, things can get messy, and mistakes get made even in the best of circumstances and with the best of intentions.

A mistake, was made.

Early Monday, the team came by during rounds and seemed to indicate things were looking good, but there was an issue with the procedure that had been performed. In layperson terms, there was a tube/vessel that was supposed to carry and transfer bile to the lower intestines. It was still so swollen from the required stitches to connect it during the surgery, that it couldn't do it's job effectively.

So, during the procedure Friday, they snipped a tiny cut into the opening to let it start working. Meanwhile, they microscopically bandaged the cut as best as you can in that situation and hoped the cut didn't start bleeding again.

Well, something happened, and there was an issue. Some other things may have been messed with during the procedure, which I was NOT made aware of until this time.

This was when I began to lose control. The next three days were the most trying days of my stay.

A hold pattern was instituted that morning to wait and see how things looked. SO, I had my Monday breakfast, and needled the nurses gently when they came into check on me.

This also marked the first day I had Beth as my nurse. Oh, wonderful Beth. She was an awesome nurse who laughed when I cracked cheesy jokes, gave me virtually whatever I asked for (more on that later), and she treated me with dignity and respect, even when a certain area of my body needed to be cared for.

By mid-morning I began noticing some stomach discomfort. In my infinite wisdom, and my positive attitude at the progress I had made, I brushed it off to needing to train my stomach for serious food again. This despite having been eating serious fruit and other "soft" foods.

The pain, as I ate my lunch, only got more intense. I refused to be concerned. I ate dinner, and the pain was still there. It was determined I would probably need to go in for another scoping. That was completed late Monday, and it was determined that there was no bleeding from the cut.

This, was the good news. The bad news was that there seemed to be a ginormous ulcer that had magically formed in my stomach. Moreover, there were some other things they were looking at. But, what they didn't tell me at that time, and what they should have, would make the next day the toughest day emotionally for me of the entire stay.

It was the lowest I think I have ever been. At my most human, and at my most pathetic.

Day 12 will begin at approximately 9:00 with a doctor making the tactical mistake of walking into a minefield.

The retard within...

So, since a CERTAIN feels the need to try to eliminate the R-word, I feel it's time to write this post.

Early on in my life, I was diagnosed with a disorder. Part of that disorder was thought to be possible symptoms of mental retardation.

For the record: Every doctor, person, mule, and pigeon I have asked about this little notation on some medical literature I made it into (Yes, I & the fam was written up in a medical journal. No, it doesn't pay well.) I was rebuffed and scoffed at.

I still wonder how much of that is accurate. I have mental/cognitive issues. I am convinced of this. I hold a Bachelor's of Arts and I'm working towards a pretty nice Master's, so it's possible I did too much crack as a baby.

But, I have issues keeping track of highly intensive cognitive things. I would have been a lawyer, yeah I said it, if I felt I had the cognitive acumen to accomplish such a feat.

There are times I don't make the simplest connections, or I totally blank on things JUST said to me in passing conversation.

I don't think I'm a retard, but I think there are days where I may revert to something close to resembling one.