today, the grocery store, tomorrow, the world?
the past week has not been what i'd imagined it would be. i thought i'd get my lungs checked out, feel groggy for a couple of days at most, and be back to normal by the weekend at the latest. i hope i've not grown too presumptive with my plan-making. it had taken me a long time to reach this point. luckily, the fact i can look at a computer screen and concentrate long enough to type this is sign of my recovery thus far. i haven't even been able to really enjoy a magazine so far, for want of sleep and comfort. but i digress...
following a weekend of glamping at raystown and barbequing at the dolskovci's, i came home last monday night to prepare for the next day's surgery. i had ridden my road bike a fast 18 miles earlier in the day and enjoyed a great ride - feeling fit, loving the warm air, and the beautiful place i call home. preparing for surgery involved packing an overnight back and eating a large bowl of cocoa-crispies (whole foods version, which i deemed tasty) for a last meal before midnight came and took away the privilege of eating and drinking. i went to bed happy and woke up with the birds with time to kill. i vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, and put away laundry. and then it was time to face the music and head to penn.
mom was my partner in crime for the day and she performed beautifully, flawlessly, as always. she refused food and drink as long as i was with her even though i told her to please indulge. she laughed the same way i did as we took the parking ticket into penn tower, where we used to park for chemo etc. before the new building opened. "your ticket is bein prin-ed". chuckle. like hearing the voice of an old friend. we drove to the roof and after sampling a couple of parking spots found one we liked and headed into the dragon's lair. or castle. oh, ok, hospital.
we went to admissions and while i was worried about being ten minutes late, 10:55 instead of 10:45, we learned, in fact, i was scheduled for 12:15 surgery. they tell you to come that early because of traffic. mind you, they withhold food and drink - even water - as well. i wish there was a way to get back at them. i just can't think of it.
we sat in the waiting room and played our usual game, "name their story", which basically involves scoping out every single person who comes and goes from the huge room and make up the tale of what is going on with them. of course, the people coming in through admissions aren't on stretchers or anything, we are not talking diagnosing serious things here, more like, "is that old couple from new york? they must be". "no, they are obviously from new jersey and don't get out much". we overhear him say, "this place is so BIG", and i must be right, they cannot be from new york, no one from new york would ever remark on the size of a hospital. everything is big there.
we wait and wait and read and i start to pace and sit again and pace, and finally we go upstairs sometime around 1:30. we wait upstairs for another twenty or thirty minutes, and then it is time for me to go get changed. after being promised mom will be there when i get my iv placed, i head over and get settled, cracking jokes with the nurse helping me. another nurse comes to place the iv. i ask her if she is good at it, because i have very bad veins (which i do, and i've had professionals tell me this again and again. she gives me lip "oh, it is our job we do this 50 times a day and we're all good". i start crying. i'm hungry, i'm totally dehydrated, and i'm in a fucking hospital gown and ridiculous grippy socks and i am crying, because this bitch didn't just smile and say "yes, i am good at it". she gets me to settle down after she realizes i do have pretty crappy veins and finally she lets me show her the vein in my bicep that has been old faithful lately. a little lidocaine and i can't feel anything and the iv is placed and she's got my blood everywhere, which makes me grin inside because now she has to clean it up. that part doesn't phase me - it is the actual sticking, the veins exploding, the noodling around that gets me.
the anesthesiologist comes in (who will be referred to as "a" because that word is too long to type more than once) and by then mom is there, who is also crying because i was crying, and the "a" probably thinks we are nuts. we review the highs and lows of propofol and renifentanyl (no guarantees on spelling there, or names) and i am like "get this show on the road". it is 3:00 when i am wheeled into an ice-cold operating room, ice-cold but built like a space ship, with monitors and screens and arms and lines everywhere. it is brand-new and everyone loves them. my nurse in the room, my favorite character of the day, really, piles blankets on me and swaddles me up as best as she can and lets me know she'll be there the whole time. then it is lights out and i awake an hour and a half later telling the "a", "oh, my, god, i was, dreaming in SPANISH in there, CRAZY".
coming out of the shroud of anesthesia (there's your one time on that word, too) for me is like being as funny in real life as i think i am in my head and saying it all out loud, all the things i usually can't come up with right away, i am witty and funny, and hilarious. i want ice chips because the ventilator makes it feel like someone shoved a shoe box down my throat. i get a BONUS, ice chips (two cups!) and ginger ale (two cans!) and recovery goes well. the doc comes to see me and he tells me he thinks it has gone well, i did a very good job, he only had to take a couple of samples of lymph nodes and they were barely swollen and he doesn't think there's cancer in them, but he'll be in touch with the report. and he couldn't get a sample of that shit in my lung. that's not what he said but that's what it sounded like to be. "i couldn't get a sample of that SHIT IN YOUR LUNG". ok, groovy, doc, this was rad, i wanna go home, page mi madre, por favor.
mom comes, she laughs at me, and takes two memorable photos which are on her camera (which means the general public will never see them, not because i don't want them to, but because that thing is like a black hole). one is at a distance and the other is close up, and both are of me in my gown and blankets, sitting, cans of ginger ale at my side, stupid socks on, and i actually look pretty ok. i'm out of there by 5:45 or so and while a nurse takes me out via wheelchair (best decision of the day) mom brings the car around and we are astounded by the lack of traffic on the way home. i fall asleep and jerk awake, expecting the recovery room, but it is MOVING very FAST. i'm sure i say funny things. i make a couple phone calls and slur my speech. ah, outpatient surgery.
dad has waffles going (my pick) by the time we get home and gorilla dog greets me. i sit to eat and as i pour syrup on the waffles, i laugh and giggle and say something i really wish i could recall now, not because it would still be funny, because it would be so strange, and soon i head to the shower and to bed.
i wake with a very sore throat (standard) and not much hunger (also standard). i eat some cheerios, i shower, i nap, i eat more cheerios, i nap, dad and i walk the dog, and just when i think i should be feeling better than i am i realize i am running a temperature. not a high one (standard). but we'll keep an eye on it. i'm still not really supposed to be driving because of how late my surgery ran, so i decide to spend another night at chez dols. i barely rest at all, tossing and turning, very uncomfortable, headachy (which i attribute to the tylenol i took to break the fever; tylenol gives me headaches). finally i sleep on the floor for a bit and pray for daylight.
daylight come and me wanna go home. but not HOME home. back to my former, pre-bronch body. wtf happened? i have a high temp and am now coughing. i'm so uncomfortable, have no appetite, want no one to touch me, i want to cry but can't. i feel awful. and i am not just being a baby about this. this was to be my day back on my feet. chop chop. next, please.
over the day's time i get a chest x-ray that might show some pneumonia, or just SHIT (right?), and a blood test with slightly higher than normal WBC's, which may point to said infection. i start a strong antibiotic and continue the tylenol. i sleep a bit, drink some gatorade, eat an orange push pop, and generally can't think of a time i've ever felt worse, and you, dear reader, know i have been in some bad places. mind you, the tests, performed locally at chester county hospital, nearly killed me, walking to and from the car. i was happiest in the car and moving with the windows down. i pretty much don't eat anything else because i've noted that food makes me throw up, at least on a couple of occasions through the rest of the day. make it stop.
a fitful night sleep, and it is more of the same for friday, no appetite, achy, blah. but then saturday i start coughing. REALLY coughing. exorcise the demons coughing. all the muscles in my back are taught, my intercostal muscles on my right side are screaming. i'm uncomfortable in all positions except one - on my left side, upper body rotating forward to keep the right lung from sinking too low, causing more coughing. eventually my hip hurts, too. this is way too much work. not what i signed up for. no way. sunday is more of the same, except finally, sunday night, i let my body just cough. COUGH COUGH COUGH. COUGHING. shit is coming out of my lung - so much, i think, i must have coughed the real SHIT out by now. two hours later i lay down on my side and sleep for a little while. i wake, cough, repeat.
but today, monday, maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel. i am indeed hungry again. for junk, like soup and jello, but also fruit smoothie and cheese. and pudding. and lime popsicles. so i've stocked up - my big adventure today, other than washing the sheets, was heading to the grocery. it was a half-hour outing. it was successful. i got to use my sexy voice with the check out boy (all the coughing has caused me to lose my voice). there has been some coughing, forceful at times, but also a nap and i even watched some of "black hawk down". i have had the attention of a gnat lately. so those things, plus this treatise may just be signs of my emergence back into the living world. i still can't climb stairs fast or go for a ride, but hopefully, maybe it will come this weekend? i'm sure the docs will want more tests this week and to meet, but i don't have news there.
the news i do have is, the lymph nodes did NOT have cancer in them and they were unable to access the SHIT in my lung.
the world, i tell you, the world!
following a weekend of glamping at raystown and barbequing at the dolskovci's, i came home last monday night to prepare for the next day's surgery. i had ridden my road bike a fast 18 miles earlier in the day and enjoyed a great ride - feeling fit, loving the warm air, and the beautiful place i call home. preparing for surgery involved packing an overnight back and eating a large bowl of cocoa-crispies (whole foods version, which i deemed tasty) for a last meal before midnight came and took away the privilege of eating and drinking. i went to bed happy and woke up with the birds with time to kill. i vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, and put away laundry. and then it was time to face the music and head to penn.
mom was my partner in crime for the day and she performed beautifully, flawlessly, as always. she refused food and drink as long as i was with her even though i told her to please indulge. she laughed the same way i did as we took the parking ticket into penn tower, where we used to park for chemo etc. before the new building opened. "your ticket is bein prin-ed". chuckle. like hearing the voice of an old friend. we drove to the roof and after sampling a couple of parking spots found one we liked and headed into the dragon's lair. or castle. oh, ok, hospital.
we went to admissions and while i was worried about being ten minutes late, 10:55 instead of 10:45, we learned, in fact, i was scheduled for 12:15 surgery. they tell you to come that early because of traffic. mind you, they withhold food and drink - even water - as well. i wish there was a way to get back at them. i just can't think of it.
we sat in the waiting room and played our usual game, "name their story", which basically involves scoping out every single person who comes and goes from the huge room and make up the tale of what is going on with them. of course, the people coming in through admissions aren't on stretchers or anything, we are not talking diagnosing serious things here, more like, "is that old couple from new york? they must be". "no, they are obviously from new jersey and don't get out much". we overhear him say, "this place is so BIG", and i must be right, they cannot be from new york, no one from new york would ever remark on the size of a hospital. everything is big there.
we wait and wait and read and i start to pace and sit again and pace, and finally we go upstairs sometime around 1:30. we wait upstairs for another twenty or thirty minutes, and then it is time for me to go get changed. after being promised mom will be there when i get my iv placed, i head over and get settled, cracking jokes with the nurse helping me. another nurse comes to place the iv. i ask her if she is good at it, because i have very bad veins (which i do, and i've had professionals tell me this again and again. she gives me lip "oh, it is our job we do this 50 times a day and we're all good". i start crying. i'm hungry, i'm totally dehydrated, and i'm in a fucking hospital gown and ridiculous grippy socks and i am crying, because this bitch didn't just smile and say "yes, i am good at it". she gets me to settle down after she realizes i do have pretty crappy veins and finally she lets me show her the vein in my bicep that has been old faithful lately. a little lidocaine and i can't feel anything and the iv is placed and she's got my blood everywhere, which makes me grin inside because now she has to clean it up. that part doesn't phase me - it is the actual sticking, the veins exploding, the noodling around that gets me.
the anesthesiologist comes in (who will be referred to as "a" because that word is too long to type more than once) and by then mom is there, who is also crying because i was crying, and the "a" probably thinks we are nuts. we review the highs and lows of propofol and renifentanyl (no guarantees on spelling there, or names) and i am like "get this show on the road". it is 3:00 when i am wheeled into an ice-cold operating room, ice-cold but built like a space ship, with monitors and screens and arms and lines everywhere. it is brand-new and everyone loves them. my nurse in the room, my favorite character of the day, really, piles blankets on me and swaddles me up as best as she can and lets me know she'll be there the whole time. then it is lights out and i awake an hour and a half later telling the "a", "oh, my, god, i was, dreaming in SPANISH in there, CRAZY".
coming out of the shroud of anesthesia (there's your one time on that word, too) for me is like being as funny in real life as i think i am in my head and saying it all out loud, all the things i usually can't come up with right away, i am witty and funny, and hilarious. i want ice chips because the ventilator makes it feel like someone shoved a shoe box down my throat. i get a BONUS, ice chips (two cups!) and ginger ale (two cans!) and recovery goes well. the doc comes to see me and he tells me he thinks it has gone well, i did a very good job, he only had to take a couple of samples of lymph nodes and they were barely swollen and he doesn't think there's cancer in them, but he'll be in touch with the report. and he couldn't get a sample of that shit in my lung. that's not what he said but that's what it sounded like to be. "i couldn't get a sample of that SHIT IN YOUR LUNG". ok, groovy, doc, this was rad, i wanna go home, page mi madre, por favor.
mom comes, she laughs at me, and takes two memorable photos which are on her camera (which means the general public will never see them, not because i don't want them to, but because that thing is like a black hole). one is at a distance and the other is close up, and both are of me in my gown and blankets, sitting, cans of ginger ale at my side, stupid socks on, and i actually look pretty ok. i'm out of there by 5:45 or so and while a nurse takes me out via wheelchair (best decision of the day) mom brings the car around and we are astounded by the lack of traffic on the way home. i fall asleep and jerk awake, expecting the recovery room, but it is MOVING very FAST. i'm sure i say funny things. i make a couple phone calls and slur my speech. ah, outpatient surgery.
dad has waffles going (my pick) by the time we get home and gorilla dog greets me. i sit to eat and as i pour syrup on the waffles, i laugh and giggle and say something i really wish i could recall now, not because it would still be funny, because it would be so strange, and soon i head to the shower and to bed.
i wake with a very sore throat (standard) and not much hunger (also standard). i eat some cheerios, i shower, i nap, i eat more cheerios, i nap, dad and i walk the dog, and just when i think i should be feeling better than i am i realize i am running a temperature. not a high one (standard). but we'll keep an eye on it. i'm still not really supposed to be driving because of how late my surgery ran, so i decide to spend another night at chez dols. i barely rest at all, tossing and turning, very uncomfortable, headachy (which i attribute to the tylenol i took to break the fever; tylenol gives me headaches). finally i sleep on the floor for a bit and pray for daylight.
daylight come and me wanna go home. but not HOME home. back to my former, pre-bronch body. wtf happened? i have a high temp and am now coughing. i'm so uncomfortable, have no appetite, want no one to touch me, i want to cry but can't. i feel awful. and i am not just being a baby about this. this was to be my day back on my feet. chop chop. next, please.
over the day's time i get a chest x-ray that might show some pneumonia, or just SHIT (right?), and a blood test with slightly higher than normal WBC's, which may point to said infection. i start a strong antibiotic and continue the tylenol. i sleep a bit, drink some gatorade, eat an orange push pop, and generally can't think of a time i've ever felt worse, and you, dear reader, know i have been in some bad places. mind you, the tests, performed locally at chester county hospital, nearly killed me, walking to and from the car. i was happiest in the car and moving with the windows down. i pretty much don't eat anything else because i've noted that food makes me throw up, at least on a couple of occasions through the rest of the day. make it stop.
a fitful night sleep, and it is more of the same for friday, no appetite, achy, blah. but then saturday i start coughing. REALLY coughing. exorcise the demons coughing. all the muscles in my back are taught, my intercostal muscles on my right side are screaming. i'm uncomfortable in all positions except one - on my left side, upper body rotating forward to keep the right lung from sinking too low, causing more coughing. eventually my hip hurts, too. this is way too much work. not what i signed up for. no way. sunday is more of the same, except finally, sunday night, i let my body just cough. COUGH COUGH COUGH. COUGHING. shit is coming out of my lung - so much, i think, i must have coughed the real SHIT out by now. two hours later i lay down on my side and sleep for a little while. i wake, cough, repeat.
but today, monday, maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel. i am indeed hungry again. for junk, like soup and jello, but also fruit smoothie and cheese. and pudding. and lime popsicles. so i've stocked up - my big adventure today, other than washing the sheets, was heading to the grocery. it was a half-hour outing. it was successful. i got to use my sexy voice with the check out boy (all the coughing has caused me to lose my voice). there has been some coughing, forceful at times, but also a nap and i even watched some of "black hawk down". i have had the attention of a gnat lately. so those things, plus this treatise may just be signs of my emergence back into the living world. i still can't climb stairs fast or go for a ride, but hopefully, maybe it will come this weekend? i'm sure the docs will want more tests this week and to meet, but i don't have news there.
the news i do have is, the lymph nodes did NOT have cancer in them and they were unable to access the SHIT in my lung.
the world, i tell you, the world!
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