I was prepped and wheeled to surgery blind. I wore contacts at the time and I had to wear my glasses, which they took away from me. I could hear people saying, "Hi" to me as I was rolled to the operating room, but I didn't know who they were and it drove me crazy. This was my home away from home and I knew a lot of people there. It was comforting to know I had so much "in-house" support, but I wish I could have seen them :)
The first moment I remember was being in the recovery room. I knew the nurse who was my recovery nurse and she kept leaning on the bed chitty-chatting with other nurses. I couldn't speak, but wanted desperately to tell her to stop. The pain was unbearable and every time she hit the bed it hurt more. More meds! More meds! That's all I could say in my head. The next moment I remember is being wheeled (still blind) into my room. I could see the outline of my Dad and I said, "Hi Dad!" but he didn't respond. I knew he was sad. When the tech's moved me from the gurney to my bed, I am certain that was the greatest amount of pain I have had in my life. I never wanted to make that move again.
I was in the hospital for 10 days...right up to Christmas Eve. My mom had decorated my room for Christmas, as they thought we were going to be spending Christmas in the hospital. I had a tree, Christmas music, friends brought ornaments, which we hung from the IV hook, greenery. My room was happenin'. I do remember it, but not clearly. Most of my hospital stay I was full of pain killers...big ones.
The first day out of surgery, I had morphine shots in my hiney every couple hours, a morphine drip that came regularly and a morphine button I could push. It was by day 2 or 3 that I thought the clock was made out of bacon and eggs and my family instantly called the nurse and told them to get me off the morphine, as I was hallucinating. I was hungry and high...a bad combination :)
My life was full of angels those 10 days. My mom and dad never left my side. They rotated sleeping on the hard couch every night. My sweet friend, Casey, came up to the hospital and washed my hair in my bed every other day. It was the one thing that could make me feel good! Friends took care of my parents, who were an hour from home, by bringing meals to my sister's house. Gratefully, my sister lived a block from the hospital at the time. It was very convenient for my family if my being in the hospital had any conveniences. All my dear, sweet co-workers came to see me throughout the day on their breaks and after work. The nursing staff on the surgery floor were my friends, so they took amazing care of me and my family. My experience from "heck" couldn't have been softened any more than having all the love and support of my friends and family.
As for how I was doing physically, I didn't know or understand. I came out of surgery with a feeding tube, which was awful. It hurt and cramped, but it was necessary for the healing to take place. One of the residents, who was a friend, had the luxury of removing his first feeding tube...on me! They were switching it out and he forgot to let the air out of the bulb that sits on the inside of me to keep it from falling out. "OUCH!" Yes, OUCH! Being at a teaching hospital, I had lots of medical students in my room. They, again, used my case as case studies for each of them, asking me questions about my history, etc. I knew it was a bit unusual for a 25 year-old girl to be having such major surgery. I didn't mind them learning on my body. With my permission, of course, one of the residents gave my friends a run down on my anatomy before and after surgery.
The funniest part was that residents that I worked with on the trauma team, were my residents. An interesting place to be moving from co-worker and friend to patient. And a patient after an abdominal surgery at that. What that means is that every day they have to ask and report if I had "passed gas" as they phrased it. So, every day, a cute resident came to my room and as un-awkwardly as possible asked me if I had farted that day. If it was a "Yes!" it meant that my GI tract had awakened and started working again after being handled in surgery. Every day, it was "No." It became a joke and funny discussion every day. I am sure they thought I was embarrassed and not sharing with them. Until one day, an older resident, who I knew distantly, came to my room and before he could open his mouth, I said, "I did it! I did it! I passed gas!" If it was any other resident, they would have celebrated my victory with me, but him, no. He just hesitated and made the situation more awkward and said, "Well. Good. I am happy for you." Bedside manner...failing grade.
I think I was released on the 23rd with all fingers and toes crossed because it was Christmas. What I know now is that after my surgery, the surgeon found my parents in the waiting room and told them he did all he could. The surgery was taking too long and they had to wake me up. He anticipated that I would be back in surgery in the next month or so. My surgery entailed resecting about 18 inches of my small intestine, an appendectomy, a vagotomy and re-routing my stomach, called a "rue-en-y" which gave me an additional exit hole in my stomach.
I went home with the feeding tube still inserted in case of an emergency, but I was able to have liquids and soft soft food. I had been working hard in the hospital trying to get up and walk each day and more as I neared my discharge date. One thing was for certain. Doing well in the hospital was a far cry from doing well at home. I had no idea how hard going home would be.
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