To be completely honest, my memory of this hospital stay is hit or miss. I went into surgery praying they would use my port, but then they "didn't have the right needle". Emory University Hospital. Didn't have the right needle!? The same hospital the CDC sent Ebola patients. Rrright!? We made a deal, as long as the IV could be switched to port after surgery. It took 9 pokes before they even found a vein. Then as each vein failed during surgery, they had to find another. I awoke from surgery with an IV line in my wrist, elbow, and neck. Ever had an IV in your neck?
The most.
UNCOMFORTABLE.
IV placement.
Ever!
[Not even going to mention the super fun part when they removed the neck IV and the adhesive from the tape pulled my skin off.]
They were nice enough to start my IV drip for pain early, so I awoke from surgery in much less pain than usual. (I'm usually in non-existent tears "screaming" barely a whisper 10...it's a TEN!) By that evening I was able to comfortably sit in a bed side chair, and the next day I was out walking working hard toward a quick recovery.
And then it happened...
In every caregiver story, there is a moment that occurs that scares you to death. It's the moment you truly realize you hold someone else's life/death decision making powers. This was Fred's moment. And most of this comes from Fred...
The second night I fell asleep around 8:00 pm. The nurse tech came in an started taking my vitals. She notes my O2 levels dropped dramatically to around 35%. Normally they don't want O2 to fall below 90%. My right lung had collapsed. Fred quickly went to get help. I was hooked up to high capacity oxygen and moved into the ICU, where I awoke to another barrage of needles. I counted 26 pokes. "We only poke twice." Per nurse! (I can only imagine the call for backup and a line of nurses, 26/2 = 13 nurses.) I was out of it, I completely forgot I had been through surgery, and kept asking them (terrified) if this would change my surgery date.
By the time the ICU doctor started asking the basic questions I was still out of it. Typical who is President, where did you go to school, do you have pets/what are their names. Snuggles & Seven. No...Seven & Dexter (Snuggles had passed a good five years ago). I looked at Fred terrified and in tears.
Fun story. This doctor is the sister of an old high school friend. The Laird sisters have unmistakable piercing blue eyes. I could recognize that, but not recall my pets names. I think asking if she was who I thought she was put her at ease medically.
My stay in ICU continued with more tests until they finally found the collapse was caused by a clot in my right lung. Just earned myself six months on blood thinner meds. After three days in ICU, I was moved to a regular room with regular nurses. In prison terms, general population. And in hospital terms, I'm pretty sure the experience is the same.
I was going to go into a bitter diatribe about my stay and care in "general population", but I prefer not to go there. If you're stuck at Emory, you want the specialty floor & nurses. In general, my stay at Emory taught me to fight. I will not be poked another 26 times in a row while someone searches for a vein and refuses to use my port. It taught me I know my body better than anyone else, and it's okay to refuse meds. I will not take ridiculous meds that I know do more harm than good.
Of course, when you're drugged, the fight gets harder, and that's where always having someone present to help you fight becomes necessary...
At one point our AC went out at home, and Fred had to leave to get it repaired before I was released. Enter our dear friend J. A friend that had her own health issues she had been fighting through the last two years (TWO YEARS!), but she dropped everything to stay with me while he was away. And fight we did! When the doctors made their rounds the next morning, I told them I was leaving that day and didn't care if it was AMA. I couldn't put up with the nursing staff one more day.
Usually I don't make such a ruckus, and later apologized to the doctor. I explained the nurse care was frustrating, and the doctor really didn't seem too surprised. The day I was released, the nurse was fighting with the doctor in front of me. I mean, I don't know hospital policy, but fairly certain that's a no-no. In the very least it's classless, but a testament to the care I received in GenPop.
