Monday, January 23, 2012

I'm an Open Blog

Someday I would love to say, "I'm an open book!" and actually mean it...meaning I actually wrote a book, but for now, I'll have to say, "I'm an open blog," or even truer (is that word, Lynnette?), "I'm an open Facebook post."

It is true, though. I'm one of those people that has no problem telling people my problems (within reason, of course). I don't understand why some people are so secretive about things. I suppose if I had an STD I wouldn't go shouting it from the rooftops (and for the record, that will NEVER happen here, but if Tim and I ever divorce, well...you'll know why.....), but normal everyday issues...who cares? 

The other day I was trolling through Hobby Lobby and ran into someone I know. She asked how I was doing then sheepishly (please don't be offended by that word, but I couldn't think of anything else) asked if Xanax really worked for me. Then she said, "Your blog has actually helped me, because I was suffering in silence and then I read your blog, and you're talking about it like it's normal." Ok, so maybe she didn't use those words exactly, but I can quote, "YOUR BLOG HAS ACTUALLY HELPED ME....". That's right, my loyal and trusty readers....I'm helping people!!! 

Honestly, though...had I not blogged about it, she would still be suffering in silence. She might still be suffering, but now she's suffering on my blog...hehehe. 

Anyhoo...since I'm such an open Facebook, I will now explain what's been going on with me the last week...which, turns out, was pretty much normal stuff magnified by...guess what? ANXIETY!!!! 

**CAUTION: THIS BLOG IS ABOUT TO GET VERY GRAPHIC!! IT MADE TIM BABY BARF...**

After my surgery I had very little bleeding. Very, very little. Honestly, hardly anything. Like only a little pink when I went pee. That is, until last Monday, when I went potty and there was more than just a little pink...It was bright red and twice as much as I had done for nearly 2 weeks. That was the day I drove back into Crazy Town for my week long vacation! Whoop!

I got on the phone and called, who else? My sister! Because she knows EVERYTHING. Have I mentioned that? She's a teacher, so she must know everything, right? (Oh, and her husband is a super cool cop who leaps out of helicopters, but that's another blog...) Well...she said, "Did you call the doctor?UM, NO!! Because you were suppose to say, "Oh yeah, that's normal." But she didn't, so I called the doctor. The nurse says, "I'm sure that's normal but I'll let you talk to him." I wait...tick-tock. Then she comes back, "Um...he wants to see you." My response? "Are you serious? SHIT." Yeah, I said that...to the nurse. I called Tim and he came home to take me, because by time he got here I was awfully drugged. Not really...I was a nervous wreck, even drugged. 

When we get there, he has to "check me". You know what that means. I think I started crying at that point. And I'm pretty sure during that exam, I nearly ripped Tim's hand off and shoved it up/down Dr. Kim's...I mean, um...well, use your imagination here. (Sorry....but I warned you it was going to get graphic). After the exam, he tells me everything is normal and then shows me this little plastic thing he found while on his "journey". It was the plastic ring he used to tie my tubes 4 years ago. He was laughing and said, "Look, Kimberly. I found this in there. I don't know why it was there. I think that's funny." HA. HA. YEAH. Hilarious. 

For the next several days, it was on and off. I was a wreck. What was doing wrong? I had no restrictions. I specifically asked him if I needed to slow down and he said, "NO. Keep doing whatever you're doing." Everyone that has had this surgery, except my superwoman sister, has told me I need to slow down and rest. But doctor says, no. Keep going. So...honestly...as much as I love other's advice, I'm sticking to the man with the medical license.  But I was still a mess. I, for sure, thought I had ripped open a wound inside and was bleeding internally. 

Saturday morning, Ella wakes me up about 4am for a drink. As I was headed back to bed, I thought, man...I've either really been sweating or I peed my pants. What I wouldn't have given to have peed my pants!!! Now, when things like this happen to me, it gets ugly. Really ugly. I was trying really hard to remain calm while getting clean clothes to put on, but I started losing that uphill battle. I called Tim as I sat down in the floor of the bathroom. Picture this....Me, in an old, ratty t-shirt (I was wearing a sports bra, so don't go there...), cute lacy panties and knee high wool socks....trying desperately NOT to pass out. Tim came in there and was trying to coach me through. A few other things happened, that I'll spare you from, but the main thing is...I didn't pass out!! It seemed like an eternity of breathing, wanting to barf and feeling the blood drain from my face, but made I through. Holler. 

So, I took a pill and went back to bed waiting for my sister to get up. Yep...I did it again...I called my sister. I did call the doctor (after I called her) and he wasn't in and there was another doctor on call, but the bleeding had pretty much stopped by then. So, I toughed it out. We had a dinner to go to that night and I really, really wanted to wear my new dress and cute shoes. I was going to that dinner for goodness sakes!!

Remember earlier in the week, when I started bleeding? I posted that I had to make a trip to the doctor on Facebook. I learned my lesson after that, because that night at the dinner, EVERYONE and their MOTHER was asking me how I was doing. I felt like poo, but I was trying to be cool. "I'm great. Fantastic! Thumbs up! Thanks for asking!" And I looked flippin' amazing. No, really. I did. I should have taken a picture of myself. My makeup and hair looked amazing and I was lookin' H-O-T in my new dress and shoes. I appreciated all the concern, really, but considering I was going through an ordeal that very day and was trying just trying to make it through the night....It was getting on my nerves (no offense to you people who checked on me...this was one of those, "It's not you, it's me" situations). 

The next morning I got up and all was well with the world. Tim was making breakfast and the girls were all still in the pj's and parked in front of the TV like good little children. I sat down and started blogging, when I felt a little gush. (Unfortunately I know that feeling, because I hemorrhaged after I had Ella. You should have seen the clots I was passing...) I got up and went to the bathroom, where I passed a clot about the size of a golf ball. Holy shitaki mushrooms!! That's it...I was going to die, right there on that toilet. Somehow I managed to get upstairs where I hollered to Tim to start fanning me while I called the doctor...who I once again couldn't get a hold of. I got, "if this is an emergency you have the option to call 9-1-1 or go an emergency room." Comforting, right? Good gracious.

We made the decision to go to the ER in Visalia. I desperately wanted to shower because I still had on my makeup from the night before, which wasn't quite as amazing as it started out. One of my eye's lashes were all matted together and I had pulled my bangs back into a couple bobby pins and slept like that. It's wasn't pretty. But Tim wouldn't let me. Oh. My. Gosh. I was mortified. When we got there, they took me right back, but it was a good 2 hours before we saw the doctor. At one point I had Tim get me a wet paper towel and some hand sanitizer so I could give myself a make-shift bath. Which, is actually pretty funny because I saw all the other people that were there, and I'm certain none of them showered before they came in. 

Sidebar: I've come to the conclusion that only crazy people visit the ER. Crazy people and gang members. One guy was having his infected stab wound looked at. One woman was screaming, "help me! Help me!!" Another woman was throwing up and you could hear her throughout the entire hospital. While they were taking me back to my room...I saw a guy wheeling a body out. I'm forever traumatized. Oh, and I can't forget the guy from the county jail...in shackles. As if my own reason for being seen wasn't enough....Xanax? Why, yes, please! 

Anyhoo...in the 2+ hours I waited for the doctor I had 2 IV's (one in each arm because the first one wasn't in right...) and had to pee on a potty chair...and cried off and on about 100 times. 

Then the doctor came in...a woman, which was a breath of fresh air, however...I think she may have been a lesbian, which, while there's nothing wrong with that, was a little awkward. I'm kidding. Once again, I got "checked". Good gracious. An IV in both arms and now this? If it weren't for my children, I would have been begging the Lord to take me home. (Note: I realize what I went through is nothing compared to what so many people deal with on a daily basis. Just want to make that known.

Anyway...short story, long (whoa, big surprise!)....I'm fine. I went to the doctor today and after he chewed me out for not calling him directly and I chewed him out for not giving me his cell phone number (yeah, that's how our relationship works), and he checked me, yet again, I'm perfectly fine and everything is normal....and I now have his cell phone number. 

Oh, and for everyone that keeps telling me I need to take it easy, again, I asked him if I needed to slow down and he said, "NO!" I asked him if I could still go to Vegas (only about a dozen times) and every time he answered, "Yes. Go to Vegas and have lots of fun." So....I can paint, do laundry, vacuum, lift, drive, and party it up in Vegas, because Dr. Kim said so. But I don't want to...


Tuesday, January 10, 2012

My Date with DiVinci

Long time no blog, I know. I've been busy! I thought after all the kids got into school life would be free and easy. HA! I thought wrong. Oh, how I miss my bonbons. Anyhoo...


If you're my friend on Facebook, and care read about my whining, you know that on Wednesday, January 4th, at 7:30am, I went under the knife for a hysterectomy. But it wasn't just any knife. It was the DiVinci Robotic knife. Here's my story....

For years I've suffered with pain on my right side. I lived with it for YEARS. Y-E-A-R-S. Did I mention this has gone on for YEARS? Considering it has been YEARS, I figured if it hadn't killed me by now, it wasn't going to, so I just lived with it. And it was really annoying. But, at my last "physical"...(you know...that physical, the one that all of us women look forward to every year so much that we mark the date on the calendar with hearts and flowers, just like we do the anniversaries of our first dates, first kisses and wedding anniversaries ), I talked to the doctor about it and told him I was over it. After discussing my options, we decided that a hysterectomy was the best for me. Rip it out!!!

My sister had it done and couple years ago. In fact, she was the first patient at St. Agnes to have it done. She was a model patient, too, of course, because she has an extremely high pain tolerance. (I wanted to say she had the pain tolerance of something really strong and mean, but I couldn't think of anything, besides an ox, and I was afraid that would offend her. She's sensitive that way). When I say model patient, I mean that literally...She became a spokesperson for the Di Vinci robot. Interviews, photo shoots, videos, banners, newspaper articles. Yeah, really. (She drew the line at TV commercials and freeway billboards, though.) When the doctor was going over all the details with me, he actually made me watch her video interview. I laughed through the whole thing. I couldn't help it (sorry, Sissy). Anyway...she talked about how she rested the first day and didn't use pain meds. The second day she drove her kids to school and went to her son's basketball game (can you say cu-cu?), then was up that weekend cooking for company and skiing three weeks later. Yeah, she's pretty much superwoman. She makes it look soooooo easy. (They didn't bother to ask me about all the phone calls I got from her crying and whaling in pain. But I understand. It might ruin the whole "It's so easy my husband could do it..." vibe she's giving off.

So anyway, the videos are watched. Packets are read. Papers are signed. Insurance is approved. Date is set and........sigh...the date arrives.

After a wonderful night sleep (note the sarcasm), I went in for pre-op preps. I showered and shaved that morning. That was before I knew they were going to "scrub" me down with these horrible anti-bacterial wipes! Seriously? I thought I was going to go through the roof. Number 1, they were flipping' cold. Number 2, they were ANTI-BACTERIAL. In fact, I think they might have even been Clorox or Lysol wipes. It was insane. Mean, actually. Even worse? There were 2 male patients that were having to be shaved all over then "scrubbed". A. Gross!! B. OUCH! What the hello kitty? If they feel this is completely necessary, they need to figure out a way to either warm the wipes or do it after you're out, because, honestly...it's cruel. 

Then they put these things on my legs. Leg compression things to keep the blood flowing while I'm out, to prevent blood clots. Innocent enough, I guess. The nurse described it as, "a massage". A massage? Apparently she's never experienced it, or she's never had a real massage. Poor, misguided little nurse girl.  I'm slightly (ok, that's an understatement) claustrophobic. To me it felt like an ancient torture device, if I knew what an ancient torture device felt like. Between the antibacterial scrub down, the leg contraptions and the loose bowels causing me to run to the bathroom on the other side of the pre-op room with my gown flopping open every 5 minutes, I was DONE. My doctor had ordered me some calming meds before surgery, but I had to see Dr. Feel Good first....and he was running late. Jerk. And I told him so, too. FINALLY, as I'm being wheeled into the OR they give me something. I calm a little, but still pretty anxious, obviously...since the OR is rather intimidating, especially when there is this huge robotic arm hanging over the operating table and a chair across the room where the doctor will be sitting. More drugs, please? I don't mind if I do!

So...then I got some good stuff. Funny thing, though, I remember everything. I remember Dr. Feel Good getting ready to do my spinal and telling me I was skinny (FYI: no longer a jerk after that comment), and Dr. Kim (the greatest doctor ever) asking me about all my mom's grand kids and me trying to explain to him that if my brother has 2, and my sister has 2, and I have 3, that makes 7 and he says, "so there's 6?" And me replying, "Holy poop balls, Dr. Kim...I'm having second thoughts about you operating on me right now!!" 

Next thing I know, I'm trying to wake up in recovery. OMG...I hate that feeling. I feel so out of control, and when I get that feeling, we all know what happens...Panic attack. I've some how managed to learn to control it, mostly. I can't control my heart rate, but I can control my reaction. I lay perfectly still, eyes closed, and try to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. I told the nurse I needed something and she tried to call the doctor, who couldn't be reached (Dr. Kim was briefly on my poop list while he was unavailable) to get an order for Xanax, because I already take it, for AN HOUR AND A HALF, before she says, "well, we do have some medication I can put in your IV if you want to try that..." I calmly answered, "Yes, please. That would be great." As soon as she was out of the room, I yelled, "It took her a freakin' hour and a half to figure that out?!?!?!" I may, or may not have embarrassed Tim with that little outburst and I may or may not really give a poo. 

How do you handle pain? I handle it pretty well, I think. I think I probably whine more when my pain is less than I do when it's really bad. They have these pain scales for you to gage your pain on. 1 being no pain at all (with a smiley face), 10 being unbearable pain (with a very horrible sad face, that's red and sweaty). How do you know what unbearable pain is? I've given birth without medication, with contractions off the charts. I would think that would be considered unbearable pain, but I managed it. Considering I have anxiety like I do, I think I handle such situations pretty well. They kept asking me how my pain was and well, it was pretty bad. I felt like I was giving birth without pain medication again, and quite frankly, I wasn't enjoying it. "So, Kimberly, on a scale from 1-10, how bad is your pain?" Me, "8 or 9." Nurse, "8 or 9? Really?YES, BIOTCH!!! Are you laying here in this bed? Did you just have some robot rip your uterus out through a tiny incision in your abdomen? I THINK NOT!!! MY PAIN IS A FRICKIN' 8 OR 9!!!!! After several vials of IV drugs, I gave up and said forget it. Just give me a Xanax or 2 and I'll call you in the morning! 

At some point, Dr. Kim decided I didn't need any more IV meds and that I could take Oxycontin. The nurse came in with several pills and said, "This is your Zoloft, Xanax and Oxycontin." Whoa. Really?!?!? Won't that kill me?!?!?! I was having my own little Pharm party right there in the hospital! Whoop! Holler!! Seriously scared the crap out of me (ok, not literally because, unfortunately, it was several days later before there was any bowel movement), but I took it anyway. I think I'll save the Oxycontin for the druggies. I didn't feel any better after taking it. I took it twice then opted for the Tylenol/Advil/Xanax combo instead. So, we can look at that one of two ways: 1. I'm an idiot and really enjoy pain, or 2. the pain really was bearable with just Tylenol/Advil/Xanax. Haha! The truth is, my friends, most things are bearable with Xanax. 

Evening came and it was time to decide to stay in the hospital or go home. I wasn't actually going home, I was going to my sissy's house, where Tim, the 3 girls, and my niece and nephew were waiting for me. Hum......eenie, meenie, miney, may...in the hospital I will stay! Yay!! 

Actually...nay. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I thought it would be nice to have a night in the hospital (remember my earlier blog about the hospital resort I have dreamed up?). Say what you want, but I don't get to rest when my kids are around. I love them to pieces and they make me smile, but they're hooligans. And I have only myself to blame. That being said...Oh. My. Stars. And. Garters. I should have gone home. Between my extremely grouchy, whiney, rude roommate, Pearl and the IV they had flowing through me causing me to pee, and I'm not exaggerating here...AT LEAST 20 times during the night, I wished, every single agonizing minute that I had chosen home. 

I actually had two IV's. One hooked up and one just dangling off my arm, with a huge needle that had blood backing up and that was hecka painful. Then, there was the one that was hooked up. It wasn't just hooked up to an IV bag....it was flowing like a waterfall. It was turned up so high, that I had to pee every 10 minutes. I'm NOT KIDDING. At one point, from about 10-11 I was up at least 6 times. They told me not to get up without help, but I called and no one answered. I even called their little cell phones and the one that finally answered was rude and told me she's get to me when she could. I had to pee lady, and I just had surgery in the same area...I was in pain. I couldn't wait. So, me and my little IV pole went for a little walk to bathroom, praying every time that I didn't pass out or fall...at least 20 times that night...and I'm not exaggerating. Seriously, not exaggerating. Oh, and finally after my not hooked up, dangly IV hose thingy narrowly missed the pee water 15 out of 20 of those times, I got smart and tied it on my arm. Why was that hose even there?!?! I just woke up with it. It was never used and gave me a huge, painful bruise on my arm. 

Needless to say, when Dr. Kim (the greatest doctor ever) came in, he said, "Why is she still have an IV? Take that out. She not need that." (It's written that way, because that's how he talks. Love my Dr. Kim. You should hear him cuss. It's hysterical!) Then he reminded me that he told me I would be more comfortable at home. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Then showed me pictures of my innards and how I had scar tissue binding my ovary, tube and my bowels. (I know...you just threw up a little). Nice, huh? He also told me that it was most likely scar tissue from my appendix and that will probably come back. Yay. More good news. Best news yet, though...I got to go home.

Isn't there a rule that you have to be wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair? I thought there was, but I suppose I could be wrong...because the nurse said, "do you want a chair or can you walk?" So I walked out. Nearly passed out on the elevator, but I did it. Woohoo!! I was on my way to my sister's house. Tim had taken the girls home and because I had to see the doctor the next morning, I opted to stay the night at my sister's so I didn't have to ride home and back. He came up to see me then came home to the girls and my sister took amazing care of me. She didn't rub my feet though, which was disappointing. I would think that a really good sister would do something like that, but she didn't. Oh well...beggers can't be choosers.

I'm currently on the road to recovery. Slower than I imagined, actually. The spokesperson for the Di Vinci robot said she was up in about in 2 days...not moving really slow and still feeling like her insides are going to fall out her bottom every time she stands up, despite the fact those insides are no longer inside. She set the bar really high. But the truth is, I can drive and lift at my discretion. After about 30 minutes of being up, I want to lay down and by 7pm, I want to drug everyone and put them all in bed, especially myself, but that's not really anything new. Tomorrow will be a week since the surgery. I suppose, considering I had my uterus, cervix, one ovary and tube removed, as well as some scar tissue cleaned up, I'm getting along pretty good. If you saw me out and about, you'd never know I'd just had major surgery. In fact, I find myself telling random people, just to get some sympathy! 

I feel bad, because there are so many women who still suffer from abdominal and vaginal hysterectomies when there is this amazing technology out there allowing them to recover in 1/2 the time. The cost is still the same...the doctors just need to do some training, but I guess they just don't want to. Why else would they insist their patients go through such surgery when there's an easier way. If you're in need of a hysterectomy, call me. I'll give you the amazing Dr. Kim's number and he'll have you back on your feet in no time. Not as quickly as the spokesperson tells you, but pretty quick, considering.

Short story long...that was My Date with Di Vinci the robotic arm, in the OR at St. Agnes Medical Center.