SECOND SURGERY - PART SEVEN
Later that afternoon, they began to prepare me for my second surgery. This one seemed so much different than the first one - I mean the preparations. Man, I did not want to have to endure another surgery, and it seemed as if I would have to start all over in my recover/hospitalization. It seemed that everything I had gone through for the past eighteen days was going to be reset - I'd pretty much be starting over. I mean, with a full-blown surgery, and this one in a vastly weakened state, how could it not be a total reset?
I wanted to be better. I wanted to be able to walk around (that was the goal right in front of me). I desperately wanted to go home, and that was nowhere in sight. Mother was getting visibly exhausted by the day, and you could see it. In fact, I called home - my sister, Carrie and I told her that I thought Mother ought to come home. Carrie politely reminded me what I already knew. Mother would not leave Pittsburgh without me. She would stay the duration, and nobody on Earth could talk her into anything else. Still, I worried about her.
As I wrote before, when we had first arrived in the ICU just after my first surgery on June 12 (It was now June 30), one of the ICU nurses told us that some, if not the majority of patients have psychotic episodes due to all of the IV alarms, lake of sleep, the pain and pain medications and not being able to eat… patients simply "wig out" after a period of time. I had experienced some hallucinations already, and had been caught talking to people who were not there. In my case, I believe this was due mainly to the morphine. I had been in Pittsburgh eighteen days, had undergone one massive surgery, had almost bleed to death and I had been in ICU about 80% of the time I had been in the hospital. The IV alarms were maddening, but I had gotten used to them pretty well. Regardless, I had had strange mental deformations and symptoms of temporary psychosis already.
As the day progressed and I languished in the proposition that I was to have surgery again, I think something popped in my head, and I entered early full-blown psychosis. Everything seemed strange, and out of place. I felt extremely paranoid. Eventually, they came for me, began the sedation they usually administer just before surgery, and they moved me to an operating room. Even though I am reasonably sure this wasn't true, looking around from my bed as they strolled me to the OR, it seemed as though we were moving down an infrequently used, secret corridor. It was jammed with various, unusable medical equipment ready to be discarded… and when we reached the OR, it didn't look like a regular OR. In stead, it looked and seemed like a secret laboratory. Of course, all of this were distortions in my mind. It has simply been to long, too painful and stressful and I had finally gone slightly bonkers.
I remember two surgeons, one of which was Dr. Chaudhury pacing at the foot of my bed. They were waiting for something or somebody, probably Dr. Bartlett. Having Dr. Chaudhury there made me feel more comfortable, but I was still certain that we were in a secret laboratory instead of a legitimate hospital OR, and that the procedure I was about to undergo was also a secret. It was frightening to me, and I had no doubts that I was correct, but what could I do about it? My delusions seemed absolutely real. But I had to accept my fears, not only the real ones associated with a second major surgery within three weeks, but also my unfounded fears springing from the psychoses I was experiencing.
Eventually, Dr. Bartlett arrived, and the other surgeons appeared relieved and anxious to get started on me. The moved me from the regular hospital bed to something that seemed to me to be a very narrow rail… Like an extra wide train track… It was just another distortion in my head. Somebody, I am assuming the anesthesiologist
said "We're going to put you to sleep now", and they certainly did. He didn't no more than get the words out of his mouth, and I was gone.
Moments later which was actually about five hours, I woke in a darkened and quiet room. I was alone, and I could not breath. At first I panicked. I noticed a large machine to my right front, and I thought to myself, I must be on a ventilator. After a couple of very shallow breaths, (The ventilator was breathing for me) I was concerned that it simply was not sufficient respiration to keep me from suffocating. I immediately went into deep meditation to calm myself down - and I realized that no matter how uncomfortable this was, I could endure it. The doctors and nurses saved my life just a few days before from bleeding to death, so they probably would not let me suffocate. . I was in the room alone (ICU) and I could not move to press the nurse call button. Through my meditation, I had to trust that I'd be okay. Each and every moment was a conscience of deliberate act of the next thing.
I did not know how long I'd have to remain in this state - five minutes, five hours or five days, but it was excruciating. Within just a few minutes, two nurses came into the room and I was hoping they were going to remove the ventilator and that is what they intended to do. Apparently, I had awoken to early from the anesthesia and was not suppose to experience the horribly uncomfortable operations of being ventilated.
One of the nurses told me that they were going to remove the tube down my throat and I needed to try to cough as it came up. Slowly it came up, and I did as I was told, and the tube was finally out, and I could breath on my own. RELIEF of this sort was nothing short of a gift from God. I immediately felt total relief. I must have fallen back to sleep because I do not remember anything else of this day. In fact, I remember almost nothing of the next few days in ICU. Four days later, I left ICU and returned to the same room I had had before.
Dr. Chaudhury and Dr. Bartlett came for the postoperative report and I am not sure when that was… probably the same day as the surgery. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember them telling me that it was a good thing that they had opted for the second surgery. Not only were they able to remove the large blood clot and drain the loose blood from my abdomen, but they had discovered that the wound from the first surgery had not been healing properly on the inside. Instead of using staples as before, this time they had used what they called retention sutures. Even though my wound was all the way from my chest bone to my pelvic bone, there were only four, very large sutures. Each one spanned well across my wound and the string material went through a small plastic tube over the top of the incision. Swelling in my belly caused the ends of the sutures (were the strings re-entered my skin) to pull really hard, and they were extremely painful. These four sutures were all that was holding my abdomen closed. The dressing for the wound was very different as well. Twice a day, dampened gauze was basically stuffed into the incision. This was covered with sheets of dry gauze and the procedure was called "wet to dry" dressing. No antiseptic was used. Something about the evaporation of the interior gauze and the pulling of the dampness from the wound by the dry gauze covering kept everything sterile. Mom and I were taught how to redress the wound so we could do it on our own, when we went home. As of this writing, August 17, 2012, I still have the sutures in and I am still redressing parts of the wound, but it is now mainly closed and healed. I will get the sutures out by my Somerset surgeon, Dr. Ritchie next week.
My last week in the hospital was graced by a visit of one of my best friends, Peggy Sherry. She was able to hitch a ride with Phillip Cross during one of his flights on other business. Although I don't remember much about this period of time, I remember Peggy being there and it was very nice. She was also able to give my Mother a much-needed break from caring for me.
The last few days of my hospital stay, and for ten days after being discharged, they changed the "Wet to Dry" dressing to a wound vac. This was an interesting process but a pain in the butt too. It basically worked by stuffing the wound with thick, black foam, then attaching a small diameter plastic tube to the foam. They then covered my entire abdomen with sheets of very sticky clear plastic. On the other end of the tube, they attached a vacuum or "vac" which was about the size of a dictionary. Once turned on, the plastic on my abdomen instantly shriveled up and a vacuum was created under the plastic. Any fluids generated in the wound were removed in this manner.
I had to lug this machine around with me for at least ten days before the wound had healed enough to go back to the "Wet to Dry" method of dressing. Because my abdomen is covered with hair, the daily changing of the foam and plastic was almost pure hell and was so painful. The first time they changed it, I cried. I cried from the pain mind you… Something I had not done even after two surgeries and that painful bleeding episode. The day I no longer had to use the vac was a blessed day.
I was discharged from the hospital a few days later (July 7) and Mother and I went back to our room at the Family House. While I was in considerable pain from the surgeries, at least I was not in the same kind of pain I had during the first stint at the Family House. Before leaving the hospital, they had arranged for me to take a "walker" with me. This helped me get around a great deal. Despite my better condition, life at the Family House was still very challenging. Mom and I shared a small room and we were tripping over each other for nearly a week. But this time I was able to spend more time on the porch and in the basement, which was designed as sort of a living room or den for the patients and their families. . Mom and I were also able to walk 100 or so yards down the street from the Family House every day.
Five days later, on July 12, Mother and I met with Dr. Bartlett and he cleared us to return to Kentucky!! We had already been in contact with our friends pilot, Phillip Cross, the man who had flown me to Pittsburgh a month earlier. Mother and I had been so certain that Dr. Bartlett would allow us to return to Kentucky, we had arranged Phillip to pick us up at Allegany airport that evening. So we happily spent the afternoon packing up our things and preparing to GO HOME!!
(Next up, the flight home, and being home- stay tuned)
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