Complications Where You Come From, Complications Where You're Bound

 

Yes, I have been out of it again. My original surgery was Feb. 28, '08, and that same day surgery turned out to be four days at Yale-New Haven Hospital. My "bleeding out" complication began March 13, and I was at Yale 5 days that time. I should have had surgery to open it up then, but my surgeon sees people all Friday and obviously didn't want to disrupt his schedule-or his weekend-with a complications surgery, so he decided to have his residents keep packing the wounds and sent me home. Within a day or two

 

Over the next few days, the holes through which I was supposed to be draining got larger, and continued to pass red blood, so I called my primary care physician (who I had met once only). She looked at it and referred me to a local surgeon, since by then I was clear I was NOT going back to Dr. T. in New Haven. I met the new, local surgeon at 4:30 Friday afternoon, and by 5:30 I was checking into L&M (our local hospital), scheduled for surgery the next morning!

 

I like doctors who are willing to treat aggressively, if I ask them to! This surgery was really debriedment, the stripping off of skin and infection, leaving me with a large hole in my right side, in front of my hipbone. And I do mean large-about 7 inches by 2 1/2 inches and fairly deep, too, with a 3 inch tunnel which runs under the skin towards my belly button.

 

I came home Sunday, and went back into the same routine of having a Visiting Nurse in daily to pack the wound. After a week, my wound vac arrived. You can Google it if you are really interested, but briefly, it is a two part system. The first part is fitted to the wound and sealed. The second part is a machine from which one side plugs in to an outlet and the other side into the sealed wound, causing negative pressure. It sucks the pink liquid out, and helps the wound heal quicker. Like in two months, as opposed to eight months if I'd stuck with Dr. T'homson's regime.

 

Am I angry? You betcha. I am enraged at Dr. T's treatment of me when I went back to Yale in mid March. I even suggested surgery several times to his residents, but they blew me off, as they did when I said I had a second tunnel. Eventually, when I am feeling better, I will write a stiff letter to Dr. Thomson, with copies to the head of surgery at Yale, and to Dr. Bell, my gastroenterologist, who recommended him.

 

Meanwhile, I am into my third month of being homebound, and feeling pretty much as if I am starting all over again at the beginning. Winter has gone, spring is busting out all over (to coin a phrase) and I am not supposed to leave the house without a minder because I am so weak-from surgeries, blood loss, lack of exercise, etc. I have been out (alone) to see my daffodils and little blue star flowers and crocuses, but there will be no working in the yard this year, alas.

 

Lonely? Sorry for myself? Yup, definitely, due to too many days spent alone, stuck in the house. I am tired of TV and reading and eating the same food over and over (luckily I froze a lot ahead of time). I know that this too shall pass. My wound van will have me healed in another month or two, and I will actually be looking forward to my former life of physical therapy, regular therapy, doctors' appointments and walks around the neighborhood.

 

I will certainly survive. I always do, no matter what life throws at me. I can hardly believe that I am writing this, but I am already beginning to think about whether to have my next surgery-on my left shoulder, and absolutely necessary in the long run-in the autumn, or wait for winter! Such is life. It just keeps going, and I have to go with it.

 

Blessings, Margo

Tags: More Complications, More Surgery, Wound Vac, Stuck at Home

Complications, Complicatios All Around

 

I have spent the last week and a half dealing with, and meditating on, the "small problems" which sometimes accompany surgery. I had one (a small problem) a week and a half ago that sent me by ambulance first to my local hospital, then later in the day, again by ambulance, to Yale new-Haven Hospital where I had my original surgery done Feb 28th.

 

I had figured I'd already had my "small problem" when same day surgery turned into a four day stay in the hospital, with the addition of four units of blood transfusion. (And, thank you, one and all, who donate blood. I really do appreciate "the gift of life.") I had returned home, lived carefully through the next week or so, had my two week check up with Dr. God, the plastic surgeon, and returned home exhausted but thinking I was healing.

 

(Now if you are really squeamish about blood and gore, either skip or skim the rest of this.)

 

The next day I woke up in a large pool of my own blood and gore. Luckily the Visiting Nurse was due soon, so I sat, keeping pressure on both sides of my wound until she arrived. And quietly panicked, even while she efficiently took over. She cleaned me up, put pressure bandages on me, called the ambulance and promised to put out extra food for Roxy as they wheeled me away.

 

Emergency Rooms are very boring-hurry up and wait alone-and I had not had the wherewith of mind to grab a book. Four hours later the ER doc at my local hospital told me the obvious-I needed to go to Yale-and eventually another ambulance came to take me away. I was still bleeding, but quite well bandaged by then, thanks to a passing nurse. Yale ER is much crazier than my local hospital. I waited 2 hours for their ER doc, even though my surgeon's residents knew I had arrived. They turned up two hours after the ER doc and gave me the lie that "this is just one form of a normal problem, don't worry, it'll stop by tomorrow morning" then disappeared, after sticking gloved fingers into the three holes out of which I was bleeding. Two hours after that I finally got the pain med the ER doc had ordered, and was moved out into the hall to wait for a room.

 

I was actually one of the lucky ones because an hour later a bed opened on the surgical ward, and they put my name on it. By the time I was wheeled up to it, the hospital was full, leaving many others to spend the night down in the ER. Unfortunately, I arrived at the change of shift, so I spent two more hours, lying in my own blood and clots, desperately needing a bedpan. Help finally arrived at 1:00 AM, in the form of a horrified nurse, who cleaned me up, called for the on-call doc, demanded something be done, and (when told this was a variation of normal and they wanted me to pass the clots) said (to me) no way was this normal, nor was I going to bleed out on her time. She put on pressure dressings (not what the resident doc had wanted), and handed me heavy pain meds. Bless her, her name was Melissa, and I am deeply grateful to her.

 

The next morning, the whole pantheon of residents and interns and hangers-on appeared at my bedside to reiterate the lie, this is all part of normal, as they again tried to pull clots out my holes with gloved fingers. I needed to be lightly dressed to draw the clots out, they said, not to worry they had it all in hand...while I, going on no sleep at all, tried to form intelligent questions about all the blood I was losing along with the blood clots. They hushed me, placating me until I felt stupid, and left while I was still trying to explain about the amount of blood I was losing.

 

Twenty minutes later, it was clear their light dressing were not a good solution, for once again I was passing a huge amount of bright red blood along with gigantic clots. Luckily, I am not squeamish. I rang for my (new) nurse, demanding that she call them back. She freaked a bit at the amount I'd bled in 20 minutes, cleaned me up, called them back, then left the room to have a heated argument outside my door, explaining that at the very least I'd need two units of blood to make up for what I'd just lost. Two residents returned half an hour later, when I had once again bled through the pressure bandages, and the chief resident said, quietly, "Oh, I didn't realize it was bleeding this much, this isn't normal at all, in fact it's almost unheard of for someone to bleed two full weeks after surgery." This out of the mouth that had been assuring me (lying to me) about "variations of normal" for 15 hours!

 

I was enraged, and said so. Four units of transfused blood and nearly eight hours later, the word came down from on high (my surgeon, Dr. God, who did not put in an appearance until three days later) that they would not do surgery, hoping that packing me would staunch the bleeding, but not stop the clots, which needed to drain out. That was Friday morning.

 

By Monday I was threatening to die of terminal boredom, so they sent me home Tuesday, feeling as weak as I did when they sent me home the first time. I did manage to keep a happy front up to Meg, and all the rest of the family because my mother, poor woman, was back in the hospital in Littleton, CO, due to "confusion caused by her meds" and uncontrollable diarrhea. She ended up having back surgery the day I came home, to fix a couple of her ruptured discs, in hopes this might help with her other problems. The family has been all riled up over her situation, so I downplayed mine.

 

And, indeed, mine is no longer acute. I have a visiting nurse come daily to put in a drain in one bad hole (I can do a lot of medical things to myself and others, but simply cannot use a sterile Q-tip thingy to stick a couple of inches of gauze drain into a hole in my side) Today I go back to Dr. God, who will look down his patrician nose at me as assure me (as he did the day before I started bleeding) that all is well, and I am on my way towards healing.

 

Yeah, in rereading this, I can see how angry I was, and still am, although it has dissipated some with time and less pain. I am no less susceptible to post-surgical problems than anyone else, but part of my rage was at their inability to understand that I was really in trouble, though several nurses backed my story up. These residents and interns will soon be out there as full fledged doctors, not listening to their own patients. And Dr. God only got second hand reports during the time I was really bleeding. He turned up the day before I left to inform me they had it all under control now. (Duh, I could have told him that.)

 

I did have several wonderful nurses, who took on the docs for me, demanding they get back up to see me, right now!, and others who just took really good care of me. My first 18 hours there were pretty scary; I was discounted and placated and lied to and ignored (nobody should lie bleeding heavily for two hours, despite speaking twice to a nurse and ringing the bell several times, and I did make a formal complaint about it). The scary thing is that we have one of the best medical systems in the world, and I am grateful to live here. I am also thankful to have good insurance and a fair amount of "consumer savvy" due to the number of surgeries I've had. (Too many!)

 

Whine, whine, piss, piss, moan, moan. I actually am quite grateful to be through the worst of all this, and though I am still exhausted and in pain, I am beginning to perk up and take a small bit of interest in the world of J-Land again. I'll be around a bit more, and am looking forward to reading journals again.

 

Blessings, Margo

 

Tags: Post Surgical complications, blood and gore, misery and recovery

Post Surgery, Briefly

 

Thank you, everyone, for your care, concern and blanket of love. I went into surgery more relaxed than ever before. I had every confidence in my choice of surgery, the surgeon, the hospital and my own preparation, which included all of you who were so kind to wrap me in that blanket of love in whatever way seemed right for you. Damned good thing!

 

The surgery was, indeed a success, but not an easy one. They carved out eight pounds of skin and trapped fat, took out Meg's C-section scar, found and fixed a small hernia at the bottom of my pouch, and generally marched through my abdomen like the Calvary coming to my rescue. Alas, there was a bit of collateral damaged. I lost over 800 cc of blood, took forever to come out of anesthesia, had blood pressure that kept threatening to bottom out, and ended up with four  units of blood over two days.

 

So I got to spend an extra day or two at Yale/New Haven Hospital, miserable, but healing well, and finally made it home early this evening. Yes, despite the unexpected setbacks, I am well enough to be home alone four days after surgery.

 

I will write again later this week, when I have recovered a bit more. Meanwhile, Thanks again, everyone, I truly did feel peaceful and blessed as I lay on a gurney, wrapped in a powerful blanket of love.

 

Blessings to all,

Margo 

Tags: Abdominoplasty, post surgery,

Bring out the Blankets of Love

 

This afternoon I FINALLY heard from Yale-New Have Hospital, about the time to arrive for my abdominoplasty. Robin and I are to arrive at 6:30 AM, which means the surgery is probably scheduled for 7:30 or 8:00 AM. I am going to ask if you will wrap me in a blanket of sky-blue love from, say, 7:17 to 7:45 AM EST.

 

I am as ready for this surgery as I'll ever be-soon I am going over to Meg's so she can(reluctantly) take some before pictures. She's not thrilled because of -euww-seeing her mother half naked, but I told her if she could take dead bodies out of cars as a firefighter, surely she could click a half a doze pics of me in bra and panties!

 

And I get to see Myla again, too, O Happy Day!

 

I still have a lot of organizing to do. I always pack a book, though I know it will be weeks before I read and retain info again. I've got three pairs of night garments because I don't know exactly how the drains will work. I have a list of people to call and e-mail

 

I am very grateful to Robin, who is a massage therapist in the Cancer Center in our local hospital. I know she will be the best advocate I could have, so I don't have to hold it together on my own.

 

And give thanks for all of you who have promised to pray, meditate, etc., holding me in my sky-blue blanket of love so I can let go and go with the flow of the surgery and the beginning of healing afterwards.

 

Blessings to all of you, Margo

 

 

Tags: Surgery time, Sky-Blue Blanket of Love

Banishinhg Anxieties

 

As February draws to an end, we finally begin to get more winter weather. I'm not sure which goddess is in charge of weather. I think perhaps Demeter, because she  caused permanent winter when mourning for her daughter Persephone, kidnapped into the underworld. All I know is that I could wring her neck, as we are in the middle of a typical storm.

 

Of course I choose to live in South Eastern, CT. Our winter storms tend to be the snow, sleet, rain, then when night falls everything freezes over. Finally, it is likely to snow some more, so the roads look just snowy, but have glare ice underneath. Now, I have always worked jobs in medical facilities that never closed, so I got pretty good at leaving early and driving slowly and carefully. These days I seem to be retired, so why should I care?

 

Usually I don't, but yesterday I had two vitally important doctors' appointments-vital for the surgery. Without them, there will be no surgery. One was the second half of a stress test, required by my cardiologist. The other was an appointment with my new PCP, required by my surgeon. Both canceled me at by 7:30 yesterday morning. I am blessed in some ways because each was able to get me in on Monday, after I freaked and explained my situation, but I am cutting it REALLY close.

 

I do not seem to be worried about the surgery, or its aftermath, but I am doing a lot of totally unnecessary free floating anxiety about what I need to do between now and Thursday. I had scheduled my appointments much earlier in the month, but because of storm, doctor's sick children, and scheduling mix-ups, too much has come down to the last week or so. Of course, I do know it's all my control issues rising up to grab me by the head to throw me off balance. And perhaps some unconsciously denied anxiety about the surgery itself.

 

Now that I have written this down, perhaps I can work onchanging my thinking. After all, I do know the only thing I have control over is myself, what I choose to do and think. And Demeter, like all archetypes, is not interested in me or any individual, just is creating her own pattern of energy. Who can control the gods and goddesses, anyway? (Actually, now that I think about it, lots of religions seem to try, from the Hindus marching their statues down the streets on festival days to the Catholics who ask intercession by Virgin Mother-another archetype- to the Buddhist who does good deeds to improve his karma, to me with my little altars and shrines all around my house.) 

 

So yesterday, I let it all go, using one of Peggy Huddleston's suggestions (She is the developer of the Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better that I am using.) Her suggestion is to take 30 seconds and go to your "place of relaxation" in your head-any place that is relaxing for you- and get away from the worry. I go to a hammock by the Tobyhanna River in the Poconos. When I return, I've got a better handle on the unimportance of whatever anxiety I have. Thank Goddess, it works for me. I just have to remember to do it more!

 

It is difficult to look at how much I let myself suffer, when I have tools that work to change the situations that make me crazy. But I am learning.

 

Blessings, Margo

Tags: Winter Storm, Anxieties, Peggy Huddleston's tools

Asking for Help

 

I am writing this entry to ask for help, something I am still learning to do in my life. I will get to what I need shortly, but first I'd like to catch up.

 

January was a reasonably slow month, mostly spent fighting my own doctor's office and workers comp for physical therapy, with a few assorted appointments thrown in for "excitement." February has taken off like a rocket and I am now lock stepped into a race with time as I count down to surgery on February 28. I have had to fight with most of the doctors' offices to squeeze me in, because I need their OK's for the surgery. This process is always necessary and always exhausting.

 

Then I have to force myself to actually get to each place at the appointed time. Between now and then I have appointments with my pain treatment specialist, my cardiologist, my surgeon, a brand new personal care physician, my therapist, three appointments with my physical therapist, and three with my personal trainer. I'm exhausted just contemplating all this! Each doctor's appointment is stressful, especially meeting my new PCP and saying, "Hi, you don't know me, but please clear me for surgery!"

 

And, of course, there is the surgery itself. I have chosen-and fought the system-to have an abdominoplasty. This is essentially a very extensive tummy tuck. Since I lost the 220 pounds, I have been left with literally pounds and pounds of hanging skin and fat, which cannot be exercised or dieted away. Every time I get out of the shower and see myself in the mirror I smile wryly and think of the Elder Statesman in the Babar series-I am wrinkled from my breasts to below my knees!

 

Of course I know I am lucky to be here, healthy enough to look in the mirror at all, and the point of the gastric bypass was health, not beauty. Butone does end up with a new kind of deformed body and new medical problems-rashes and infections where the skin hangs down. Hence the need for an abdominoplasty.

 

(Skip the following if you are not interested in specifics) The surgeon at Yale/New Have Hospital will make a roughly X shaped cut from below my breasts to above my pubic mound, cut and tighten my stomach muscles, slice off hunks of skin and fat, then stretch the remaining flesh back together and staple it into a long scar around my waist. I'll end up with drains, pain and a couple of months of healing and exercises on my part to rehab.

 

Now you would think after all the surgery I've had-one biggy a year for the last four years, eleven since 1994-I would not get nervous anymore. Not true, of course. I seem to get more scared each time. I'm not worried about the general anesthesia (if I die, then my time was up, and I'll go on to somewhere or nowhere; I have no control over that) or even of the surgery itself. What I am scared about is the pain afterwards. I have found that any surgery cranks up my normal level of chronic pain, and it can be months before it settles back down to a dull roar. This fear inevitably gets in the way of facing surgery calmly and resolutely.

 

So this time I am using Peggy Huddleston's "Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better " program. This consists of an hour's one--on-one workshop containing guided imagery for deep relaxation and three end results that you choose to enable you to move back to full health easier and faster after the surgery. It works on the principle that a truly relaxed patient is a better patient, and she has tons of medical research to back her up on this. I have had the training given by Peggy, and am authorized to give the workshop myself, which can even be given over the phone. (If anyone is facing surgery, all you need is to buy the book and CD, and I can give you the workshop free, over the phone, as it is one way I am volunteering these days.The book and CD cost about $30.00)

 

A friend led me through the workshop, and I have been listening to the relaxation CD regularly, in preparation, and this is where I need all the help I can get. I need at least 20 people to wrap me in sky blue blanket of love in the half hour before surgery. You can do this with prayer or meditation or picturing me or sending it out across the universe, whatever feels right to you. And then in the first few days after the surgery, you can also hold me up for easy healing whenever you think of me. If you are involved in a prayer group or meditation circle or spiritual meeting, please spread the word. I welcome all denominations, all faiths, anyway one connects with the Light.

 

I do not yet know what time my surgery will be yet, and probably won't until the day before. I'll make an entry as soon as I know so you'll know when to send the love to me. (I know this is a hardship for those who live on the West Coast or out of my time zone, but as long as I am asking for help, I might as well do it big time!) Again the surgery is Thursday, Feb. 28.

 

Phew! I did it. Asking for help is never as difficult as I think it will be, and I am getting better and better about it.

 

Blessings, Margo

 

 

Tags: Asking for Help, Peggy Huddleston's "Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better"

Still Here and Living my Life!

 

"Where the Hell are you?" asks my friend Anne.

 

Alive and well and back in Gales Ferry. It took me a while to process all the experiences of my Road Trip. The short version is that I realized that I am still capable of traveling on my own, slowly, but nevertheless happily. This was a great relief, because traveling is something I love to do. I also discovered that my aloneness (as opposed to loneliness) is not my "fault" -those who knew me from my journal welcomed me wonderfully, treating me like an old friend, or new family member. I appreciate their love (and indeed everyone who reads my journal's love) more than I can say. I realized my aloneness is a matter of life events, over which I have had little control. And I found that I am quite happy to be off by myself, exploring not only the world, but my own response to it.

 

Then I came home and recognized that this is my life. In some way I have been waiting to "get through" this surgery or that rehab for a new life to start. Wrong. My new life started August 7, 2003, (the day I fell at work), took a left turn when Rene moved out, and continues daily. It's not the life I would have chosen, but it is the life I have. I have been sad about this, but have not found myself standing motionless beside Hecate in the depths of the earth. I have simply kept getting up each day and continued moving, sad or not.

 

And, after some struggle, I decided to have an abdomialplasty yet another major surgery. The idea of yet another operation does not thrill me-I have had four biggies in the last five years, and face shoulder surgery-this time on the left-come summer. But I saw the surgeon, gathered the proof of necessity for insurance (which turned me down last time), and let it go over Christmas. I figured it would happen or not. And I was accepted this time. This will require a lot of organization, preparation and more courage than I really want to put out. I am, however, determined to do this surgery smarter and better, preparing better and asking for more help than in the past.

 

Then I spent 3 weeks at Christmas in Colorado with my parents, a bittersweet experience, for I realize I am mother's main emotional support. They have moved from their duplex into a very good, very expensive retirement community. Unfortunately, they are not really taking advantage of most of the wonderful opportunities the place offers. My father happily tootles off the Dining Room every evening, where he has the choice of five entrees. My mother orders hers in, where she happily dines alone. The main reason? She is so deaf, even with 2 hearing aides, that sitting at a table with strangers is torture. He doesn't understand her isolation, or particularly care.

 

My father, 85 next month, still claims he is in charge of their health-as he is because he has to drive her to each doctor's appointment. She hasn't driven since her brain and eye surgery in April, because the eye runs in bright light (and Colorado is full of relentless sunlight). I suspect she'll never drive again. My father should not be driving at all, plus he goes into all her appointments, gets impatient with translating for my mother (who can't hear what the doctor is actually saying) and announces that he'll tell her later-then forgets what the doctor had said, leaving her in the dark.

 

And her med. situation scares me to death. Halfway through the visit she gave me one small pill and asked me to go to the drugstore and renew the prescription. She wasn't sure what the pill was, what it was for, just that she took one every night. Or was it morning? Well, most days, because she thought it was a diuretic, and she didn't take it when she has a lot of diarrhea (a side effect of her cancer 4 years ago). And she didn't have the bottle because she empties all her pills into a box with small dividers with scribbled names. Her hand doesn't work well (she has overused it for 70 years, since her left arm was amputated) and pills jump from section to section, making her more confused.

 

Now I am not saying she is incompetent. She just needs someone patient to teach her how to take them correctly. The retirement community has a great medical center, complete with geriatric specialists, many programs, and nurses who could help her, but she thinks she doesn't need them. Luckily her back Dr. has prescribed physical therapy, which she will do there. I hope that will at least get her in through the door. Alas, there is noting I can do to fix the situation.  And when I talked to her last she was unhappy with me because I spoke disrespectfully of my father. I apologized, but the truth is I have little respect and less patience with him, though I recognize she made her choices years ago, and depends on him a lot. they have been married for near sixty years, most of then unhappily.

 

I understand the age and cultural gap between her life and mine, and I wonder what it is like to be married to someone-anyone-for 59 years. Especially someone I didn't really like much, but was used to. I recognize that after the two marriage I seriously and truthfully committed to failed, I have been left alone and struggling. Mom is much better off financially than I because she chose to stay married. And she has someone to visit her daily in the hospital when necessary, and to drive her to appointments, and run interference for her in life.

 

On balance, I think I'd rather live alone than with Geoff or Rene, though I am quite friendly with Geoff now, and still miss Rene's friendship. She made the choice to cut me out of her life completely, and I am still sad-and sometimes angry myself-about this kind of anger and unforgiving behavior that she has exhibited not only with me, but with others she once loved. Water under the bridge these days, I guess, though part of me will always love her.

 

How on earth did I get there? Ahh-living alone, and facing more surgery, verses my mother's choices in her life. Give me living alone. I have learned to run interference for myself-with doctors and workers' comp and surgeries and hospitalizations and all the more mundane aspects of running a life. I have chosen, and at time thrown into, this over staying in an unhappy marriage. This is right for me, I know, but not right for my mother. As a child I used to act as go-between, to try to protect her from my father. It didn't work then, either.

 

I am sure there is some archetypal god/goddess, father/mother/daughter story that covers this place I find myself with them, but I don't know what it is, or I'd be busily meditating away on it, like a cow chewing her cud.  It's probably just as well I don't know such a story because I am going to need my energy to prepare to face surgery and recovery this month. I will be asking everyone's help later, to wrap me in a blanket of love before surgery, and to pass the word on to others who might understand. I'll explain all that soon-which is another way of promising not to disappear for months again soon!

 

Blessings to all,  Margo

 

Tags: Thoughts on Road Trip, This Is my Life, New Surgery, Parental Situalion