Only Human...

Turns out that not getting any sleep the night before the operation was actually a really good thing, coz when I was brought to my room to wait to be called... I actually fell asleep, so I was sleeping instead of laying there panicking and freaking out. The panicking and freaking out only started when they came to bring me down to theatre, and as soon as I was laying on the operating table with the needle in my hand - they gave me a relaxant and I suddenly became one of the many defiant toddlers who have just discovered the power of the word 'NO' that I see at work every day. I had started to panic and was feeling like I couldn't really breathe so the nurse told me that they were going to start putting the anesthetic into my arm and I would go off for a nice sleep..... my response... "I will not". She then followed with "You're gona go off for a lovely rest now" my response "No, I'm not!" Even as I could feel my arm burning from the liquid and my face was beginning to burn and I could feel myself losing control of my eyelids... I was adamant that I was not going to go to sleep and I'd really much rather just go home...... and then I woke up... almost 4 hours later.

Yep, I spent 4 hours in theatre and the pain was bad when I woke up, but the worst part was the tube in my throat had gotten stuck and I had locked my teeth around it so they had to wake me up completely so that I would open my mouth wide enough for them to remove the tube, that was the most awful sensation and my throat was in bits after it.
They gave me the maximum doses of morphine and once I had stabilised, they brought me back to my room where I sent a few text messages in between dozing in and out of sleep.

Patrick was back to see me before I knew it and he reiterated my own surprise at how good I was feeling in comparison to previous surgeries. I didn't know it at the time but it was due to the amount of pain medication that they had given me and the fact that I was breathing 100% pure oxygen through the tube in my nose.

Dr. Hayes came around to see me later that evening and he said that it couldn't have gone better, he was very happy with how it had all gone. He showed me pictures of both of my tubes. The right one was tiny and perfectly formed, the left one was swollen and mangled and looked more like brains to me than a fallopian tube - it really was no wonder I had been in so much pain with it. he then informed me that even though I wasn't feeling too bad right then, that I could expect to have an awful amount of pain in a few days time and to really not expect much ease from it for 6 to 8 weeks, and realistically I can expect to not be pain free for about 6 months. I kept telling myself that once that passes it should make a huge difference to how I feel and how I am.

I spent a few days in hospital and I really wasn't too bad even when I got home. It was really only the following Thursday, 6 days after the surgery (which also happened to be my 30th birthday) that I really started to feel miserable. Gordon came to visit me in the morning, he took my pulses and said that my liver points were screaming at him. He warned me that the points he was about to put needles in would really hurt, but they would only hurt for a minute or so and then it would disperse... and he was right. He used points in the upper part of both of my feet and good grief did they hurt, but just like he said... they stopped hurting after a short amount of time.

It was actually quite nice to just sit there and chat with him, it was very relaxed and I felt that it really was an amazing session. Gordon finished up and left after about an hour and I instantly felt really sleepy, I was completely zonked. I don't really remember but I think I may have dozed off for a bit... and then... it happened - I started to cry, I don't know why I was crying, all I know is that I couldn't stop crying. I cried for the best part of four hours, inconsolably an emotional wreck, I just could not stop crying. I think it was a combination of being exhausted coz I hadn't really been sleeping and having the full extent of the pain finally hit me, and the fact that I was spending my 30th birthday laid up, unable to move, completely miserable. I finally started to come round and could feel myself finally be able to stop crying... and then there was a knock on the door... It was only a delivery man with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers from all of the people I work with, and cards that all of the children at work had made for me... and well... that started me off again and I was a sobbing, emotional mess for pretty much the rest of the evening.

A few days after I had gotten home from hospital, I had noticed that I was getting a funny kind of pain in my left leg. I kept brushing it off as just being a bit crampy from not being active, until the night before Christmas Eve (well really 3am on Christmas Eve), the pain in my leg got quite intense and my foot was feeling numb and swollen. I instantly got a feeling that I had a blood clot in my leg and needed to go and have it checked out immediately (At 3am on Christmas Eve). Really, it was just as well that I did, because it turned out that I had developed a rather small clot just below my knee on my left leg. They weren't too worried about it because of where it was located and the risk of it travelling was low, but not wanting to take any chances with a deep vein thrombosis, they put me on daily Innohep injections to keep my blood thin and to prevent the clot from growing. So, I am injecting myself daily into my already swollen and bruised stomach.

Its been just over 2 weeks since the surgery and I have really struggled with the pain this last week. I am acutely aware of the amount of cauterisation that had to be done internally, because the pain I feel is the pain of charring and searing and burning and it hurts, my gosh does it hurt. It stabs deep inside me every time that I move, and I realise that I had seriously underestimated the severity and intensity of this recovery. 
We went to my Mum's house for dinner on Christmas day, a short 2 mile trip and sitting up for about 3 hours meant that by the time I got home, I was unable to move, I was crippled with pain and I spent most of the following day just vomiting with some kind of stomach bug, it was just horrible. I was beginning to feel better by the next day and soon I was able to tolerate food again.

It's been a bit trial and error trying to find a pain killer that suits me and is strong enough to deal with the severity of pain that I am experiencing. I'm a bit odd about taking pain killers, especially opiates, I just don't like how they make me feel, but I think we have finally found a pain killer that seems to be suiting me, its just a matter of getting the dosage correct now. It is a two part drug. The first part is a prolonged release drug that is to be taken twice a day; in the morning and at night. The second part is a fast acting drug that can be taken every 4 hours to top up the prolonged release drug and keep on top of the pain. We are kind of playing with dosages to try and get it to where I need it to be, so that I am getting adequate pain relief without the horrible sensations and side effects.

I had a bit of a melt-down on Saturday night just gone. I think it was a combination of not sleeping, being completely exhausted, perhaps some cabin fever from inactivity, generally being a bit up and down and the painful irony that I am so swollen and bruised that I actually look about 8 months pregnant. I found myself beginning to write, it was angry, pain-filled writing, writing that I told myself I would not put on this blog because I was perhaps embarrassed or ashamed that I could have filled a swear jar with the first paragraph alone. But I think the right thing to do is for me to share it on here, because it is true to me and it is a true representation of what I am actually going through right now and that afterall, is what this blog is all about, so here goes... 

So here I am again, this mother f'n shithole of a place that I continually return to, guided only by my personal struggle to stay alive, to work through the pain - the physical pain. "It will get easier" of course it f'n will, meanwhile put your man parts through the f'n blender and then try to empathise, then tell me that it will be ok, then tell me that you understand, that you feel my pain. You can't f'n feel it, it's mine, it's always mine. 

Surgery after surgery, all leading to and accumulating to be this surgery. I've felt pain, I've felt pain in doses that most people will never experience, I've never felt pain like this. This is pain caused by cauterisation, by burning, by singeing and searing, the vacant space left by the removal of my mangled left tube, it's not vacant. It's filled with burning, the pain is of my charred insides and every time I move, it stabs me, it stabs deep inside me and that f'n hurts!

I was doing so well, it was too easy, I knew it was too good to be true. My mind tricked me into thinking that this was gona be easy, that I could do this with no great problems... Of course that couldn't be the case. My body strikes with a curve ball - a blood clot, of course I need a f'n deep vein thrombosis on top of everything else, of course I need to be injecting myself into my already painfully swollen and bruised stomach every day just so it doesn't travel to my heart or brain and kill me... Of course I do, why wouldn't I.... It's not like I have anything f'n better to be doing.

Am I angry? No, I'm not angry. Anger would be too easy. No part of this is easy. 'Oh just try to relax and take some more drugs'. A junkie's idea of heaven.

Wouldn't it be so easy to let those drugs take my mind to a place where it is easy, where I'm so off my f'n face that I don't feel any pain, instead my days can be filled with rainbows and f'n butterflies and I could live in a hole of blissful obliviousness  - oh how easy it would be.

Maybe I am angry, maybe I'm just losing my mind or maybe, just maybe...
This is all part of the plan. I have no idea who's plan it is, it certainly isn't mine. I never asked for this, I never wanted this and I have no f'n idea what I did to deserve it!

I'd quite like to sleep, real sleep. I'd quite like to not be told that I'm looking a bit better when I'm feeling like my abdomen has been through 12 rounds with Mike Tyson and I look about 8 months pregnant, the f'n irony...!!! It's almost laughable. I wish I could laugh, but it hurts too much. I wish I could have a break from the pain, just a break from it, just enough so that I can prepare myself for it, coz I really wasn't prepared for this. I thought I was, but I seriously underestimated this. I didn't realise that it would be so much, so intense, so inconceivably painful and it's messing with my head because I can't escape it.

I'd like it to just stop for a while....

While I so hard try to keep it together and remain strong through whatever I am going through, sometimes it all does get on top of me, especially at times like this when I am not able to keep myself busy or completely occupied and I really am struggling with the pain and soreness.

I guess it is really just a matter of taking it one day at a time. It is a harsh realisation that I am in fact, only human (well... for the time being... while my super-human powers are temporarily subdued). So... one day at a time and fingers crossed that this will all have been worth it and perhaps, just perhaps... this could possibly be the end of operations for a while. I think the two surgeries I have had within 9 months of each other this year, following all of the previous operations that I have been through... I'm probably set for a few surgery-free years. Gosh I'll hardly know what to do with myself if I am not being sliced open regularly :-)

Pre-Op Freak Out.......

So yeah... I'm having surgery in just over 6 hours. It is advisable to get a good night's sleep before any kind of operation or procedure..... so why can't I sleep...??? Oh Yeah.... COZ I'M HAVING SURGERY IN JUST OVER 6 HOURS...!!!

I'm not sure what is bothering me more... the being sliced open OR the fact that they have to use a large metal speculum as part of the hysteroscopy procedure, Ok I know I'm going to be asleep for all of this and won't know a thing about it, but they're gona be sticking something that closely resembles a car jack up my you-know-what... (we all know how well I do with the medium sized speculums they use for transfers)... while slicing me open to complete that and the many other procedures that they have to do.

One of my least favourite parts of any surgical procedure is the clean-room right outside the operating theatre, for one thing, it has a very distinct smell, a memory-provoking smell which I absolutely hate, but apart from that, its the loneliness, I will be alone at this point. I will have to leave Patrick at the end of the corridor and I will be alone... being alone is a lot scarier when you are half blind and can't have your glasses or contact lenses with you, unable to focus on anything, visually or physically, I suppose. 

The anaesthetist will come and talk to me, he'll make some jokes to try and put me at ease, I'll imagine that I politely giggle, but in fact I'll probably look at him like he's bloody insane... how the hell could I be at ease...??? Then the surgeon will come and talk to me, make sure he has everything in order and is 100% clear on what he is to do. Meanwhile, I will see many nurses, each of then trying to reassure me, while also trying to assure themselves and the anaesthetist that I am in fact the right patient, with the right date of birth. They will be fascinated with my story, they always are and it is always a fantastic talking point, a way to keep the conversation flowing while they wheel me in to the operating theatre. It always reminds me of how my childhood image of being abducted by aliens looks (I have two older brothers, who spent the first 8 years of my life thinking up creative ways to scare the sh*t out of me...!!!). The huge round lights, the people wearing masks, all of the equipment..... and then there's the table. They will instruct me to transfer myself from the trolley to the operating table. Every time I feel like point blank refusing, but I do it anyway. The instructions will follow to find the outside of the table at each side and centre myself on the table. They will then tell me to lay back and relax (Relax..... are you freakin kidding me...???). I'll lie back a certain amount, but not fully. I need to be semi-sitting up, I need to be able to see (theoretically) what is going on around me, so they will either give me something to put under my head or they will raise up the head of the table for me. They will keep talking to me, keep reassuring me... while the anaesthetist searches my arms for a decent vein to put the cannula into. He'll have trouble with this because I have terrible veins but eventually he will find one. Once the cannula is in, he will put a relaxant through it and suddenly I will feel like this ain't so bad. Then I will keep talking... and talking... and talking... :-) In just a few minutes, he will tell me that I'm going to be going off to sleep now as he injects the white liquid into my arm... it will burn, my veins will feel like they are on fire. I will lock my eyes with the eyes of one of the nurses and I will fight with complete stubbornness, I am, of course, fighting a losing battle because within seconds I will lose control of my eyes...... and then.... I'll wake up. As I'm coming around I will feel them removing the tube from my throat... that's rather unpleasant, but it is very quick... and I will notice myself talking... and talking... and talking, probably spouting some serious mumbo-jumbo because the nurses are usually laughing.......... and then the pain in my abdominal area will hit me, it kinda takes your breath away when it hits and the nurses will work as quickly as they can to give me some morphine to take the edge off of it. 

And then I will realise that it is all over, and all of that worrying and freaking out was for nothing. I will spend a while in the recovery room and then eventually they will wheel me back to my bed. The transfer from trolley to bed is always a seemingly impossible feat but somehow I always manage it. All I will want to do is call Patrick and let him know that I am out of theatre. I will be on oxygen for a few days after the surgery as I tend to have respiratory problems after anaesthesia, but once that has stabilised, I will want to come home. Several times I have come home too soon after surgery because I just so badly want to get home. I hate being in hospital, I tend to get very down and I miss Lulu something awful. This time I will follow the Dr's instructions on when it is safe for me to go home, I've never had an operation this big before, so I think its best that I follow the instructions I am given.

And that's pretty much that. I will go home and will rest and try my best to keep positive.

I was seriously freaking out for the past few hours, but somehow - writing this has helped to settle my nerves and anxiousness. It has reminded me that none of this is a surprise to me, I know exactly how it is going to play out, I know exactly how it is going to happen and I will get through it.

It's times like this that I find myself being so thankful that I ever started this blog in the first place. Writing helps me and I know that I can turn to writing when I need to and it will help me. Putting words on the screen like this really does help to clarify what is really going on and to get to the root of the emotions I am really feeling, the ones that are being clouded by nerves and anxiousness.

I'm not sure I'll be any more able to sleep than I was an hour ago, but I think having written this will help me to have an easier time tomorrow morning. I know what is going to happen... I just have to get through it... one step at a time.......

Healing Needles From Healing Hands

Sooo... its been just over 5 weeks since I had surgery and I am just now finally starting to feel a bit better. About 3 weeks ago, I started getting the most awful, really debilitating migraines. I was getting them every day, they were coming on very early in the morning and lasting 8-9 hours.

After the last visit with Gordon, I really was taking it easy and in all honesty... with the migraines I was getting, I really wasnt able to do anything, just lifting my head off the pillow was a very painful  experience.

Patrick called Gordon 2 weeks ago to give him an update on how I am doing and to tell him how bad the migraines had gotten. Gordon then did something that I never would have imagined... he offered to drive up here and treat me at home. I genuinely could not believe that he was willing to do that... but he was... and the following Saturday, Gordon arrived at my house equipped with needles and alcohol swabs. He put needles in my feet and in my face, one in the middle of my forehead and one in either temple. He left them in for about 30 minutes and then removed them. He then told me that he would come back up the following week to treat me again.
After he had taken those needles out... I was physically unable to do anything, the only way I can describe how I was feeling is 'completely zonked'. I fell asleep right after he had left and slept deeply for a few hours... and I slept really really well that night too.

I didnt notice much difference in the frequency and severity of the migraines in the next few days and at one point, the pain got so bad that I actually passed out with it.
Gordon came back up here last Friday and repeated the process he had done the previous Saturday. When he had removed the needles, he produced 'press needles', they look like little thumb tacks. He put two in each foot in the grove between my big toes and my second toes, He then put one on the inside of each ankle. These tacks are to be left in and changed every 48 hours.

Almost immediately I felt my head clear. I was migraine free until Sunday evening (but I was out and about on Sunday, so may have overdone it a bit), We changed the tacks on Sunday evening and once that migraine had cleared, my head didnt bother me again until yesterday, but the severity of yesterday's migraine was a lot milder than what I had been experiencing for the previous 3 weeks.

I guess I just can't believe that he went to that trouble for me... It takes over an hour to drive from Cork to here, but it just goes to show once again, how different this experience has been from our previous experiences. Now, our case is not just a number on a chart to be referenced only on invoices, Gordon Mullins actually cares about his patients and for the past 10 months, he has gone through every step of this journey with us and he is the source of all of our hope.

We went to see Gordon in Cork today and he commented on how much better I was doing, he said that I was beginning to be myself again, and he is right, I am. I am feeling much better and am ready to start getting out again.

As I lay on the table and he was checking my pulses, he said something that really put a lump in my throat. He said 'Well done on coming out the other side', He went on to say that 99.9% of people would most likely have taken the Prozac (which has been almost pushed on me several times since the surgery) but I wouldnt take it. It was amazing to me how willing Dr's were to write perscriptions. I'm sure there have been times over the past 5 weeks where it must have seemed that I was hovering on the borderline of depression... and perhaps I was, it would seem almost natural, taking into account my history and what I have just been through, but to me... I was just having bad days and having been in this situation many, many times before... I know that bad days happen and as time goes on they become less and less frequent.
I always remember what Gordon said to me after my very first visit with him... 'Remember, its just a bad day, And remember its not about the bad day, but how quickly you come out of your bad days, thats the improvement.'

In other news, my cat had three beautiful kittens 10 days ago. Two of them were healthy, but the third was delayed and when she was born, I suppose the mother cat thought she was dead and didnt really bother with her. I had to cut the cord and stimulate her to take her first breathe... which she did. The little one wouldnt latch on to the mother and the mother appeared to have no interest in her at all. We began feeding her with a syringe and she was doing really well. We rang the vet the day after she was born to be told that there is nothing that could be done and we might be best to just 'let her go'... Not on my watch...!!!

We continue to syringe feed the little one every couple of hours and she lasted well for 4 days, but when Patrick checked on her on Thursday morning, she was dead. It is impossible for me to describe how devestated we both were, I guess I dont think we were devestated about the kitten so much as what that kitten represented for us, this tiny little being who depended completely on us. Patrick buried the little one and I genuinely do not think I have ever seen him so upset.

The other two kittens were doing well... until one of them developped kitten flu. We were able to get her a powdered antibiotic but she has also stopped feeding from her mother and we are having to syringe feed her now also. The poor little thing has lost so much weight and is so weak she cant hold her head up. To be honest, we werent really expecting her to still be alive when we got back from Cork today, but she was. She is hanging in there, just barely, it will be an absolute miracle if she pulls through.

So, I'm thinking about venturing into work for a bit tomorrow, so long as the migraines stay away. I feel like I have rested completely for long enough and although I will ease myself back in to my usual hectic schedule, I do feel like it is time for me to start getting out again. I am assured that it is ok for me to do this, so long as I listen to my body and know when enough is enough.