Yesterday I got behind on my pain meds and found out just how much they are helping. My epidural bag went empty so my nurse got all of the other stuff sorted out and then went to put an order in for a replacement. I waited patiently for an hour, watching SPECTRE, and fell asleep for another hour or so. When I woke up the incision was throbbing and the hole in my side where the drain comes out was angry and tender to the touch. I called the nurse’s station and they hurried over with the new bag and a shot of Dilaudid to get me back on top of things. I’ve been very pleasant with all of my nurses, even the brusque ones (Dugan’s rule: you are ALWAYS pleasant with cops, teachers, waitresses, and nurses–anyone who has the power to throw you in jail, yank on your pee-pee, or spit in your food) but I admit to being frosty with her after that.

At about 7:30, when the night nurse and I were just getting up to speed, the cramping in my guts produced one mighty bed-rumbling fart and we both celebrated with a high-five. This means I move to what they call a clear liquid diet, which is beef broth and jell-o mostly, and as exciting as tax returns. I’ve been living on sugar-enhanced saline since the surgery, and while my blood sugar is right where it should be, there’s a gaping maw in my stomach where a cheeseburger needs to be. It also means the IV drip in my hand comes out, which leaves just one connection to the pole: the epidural drip.

Still no word on when I’m getting out of here.

I’ve got a neighbor on my floor who sounds like he’s in bad shape. Every day, at least twice a day, he’ll suddenly start moaning and calling out Help, and if someone isn’t there in under a minute, things start beeping, which means he’s pulled some wires out and is thrashing around on his bed. I called the nurse for him yesterday when I heard him ramping up and they got him calmed down before the alarms started. I think he may be doped to the gills and delirious, but I hope he comes out of it soon.

Last night was a little milestone that took a lot out of me (literally): the catheter is gone. They decided to schedule the removal for midnight, for some unknown reason. My overnight nurse Chesa has been my favorite by far, so I was relieved that it would happen on her watch. We made a plan so that I’d get a shot of dilaudid at 11 and then we’d take care of business at 12. At 11:30 though, my moaning neighbor started up again, shit started beeping, and they scrambled all the available nurses to deal with him. At 12:45 two nurses I’ve never met came in and I immediately understood what was happening: the older nurse was training the younger, who had never done this before. OH HELL NO. I let them prepare all their stuff and get ready, and after the fourth time the young nurse banged my junk around, I looked at the older nurse and said through gritted teeth, “Excuse me, but I’d prefer if you handled this from here on out.”

And, frankly, once she took over, it was pretty smooth sailing.

A post shared by @idiotking on Dec 22, 2017 at 5:46am PST

This leaves a couple of other tubes I still have to deal with: there’s a vacuum attached over the incision on my stomach, which is helping gather all of the remaining fluid in my stomach cavity and sending it to another tube nearby which is attached to a squeeze bottle. This is where that fluid collects every day. They were talking about taking the vacuum off today, which sounded like a Big Deal. Turns out, it was not. A nice man named Peter came and within five minutes had the plastic wrap and the carpeting peeled off completely. The incision looks lumpy and misshapen, but there are no visible stitches–those are all inside. Peter put some glue on the outside, bandaged it up, and cheerfully told me we were done.

The pain team came in and talked about removing the epidural soon, once I’m able to take more fluid by mouth. I have no idea what to expect there, but what I’ve been able to feel is a piece of plastic stuck to the small of my back. And I’m up and walking to try and jumpstart my GI tract so that I can begin taking colored liquids and move to solid food. Nothing has happened yet, and I’m getting impatient.

Overnights here are the worst because there is no actual rest; someone is in the room every two hours to take vitals, clean up, or check blood sugar. And I can only sleep on my back because of the incision. I just want to get home and get into my own bed. I miss my people and my house and my food.

Overnights seem to be the hardest part of this gig so far. I’m on about five different medications which are all competing with each other on how to make me feel the most stupid. As a result, they are messing with my sleep patterns and I’m up and down the whole night. They’ve got saline going in my arm and a slow drip of some kind of pain med through the epidural. When I hit the button for that stuff it feels like someone is spritzing ice water down my back and then things get groovy. But the side effect of that one is how it messes with my vision; my eyes jump around a lot and I can’t focus up close on anything. Last night I asked for something to help me sleep so they gave me some benadryl and that put me down for about two hours before I woke up again.

I want them to show me how to get cleaned up because I’m getting pretty ripe. I think they’ve been waiting until all of the major tubes come out  (the one I haven’t talked about  is the drain in my midsection, which has been collecting less and less but will not feel good coming out).

Yesterday I did two laps around the ward at 1 with Jen and another two at about 6 after she’d left. I wasn’t worried about passing out like I was on the first day and that was encouraging. They want me up and moving so that my GI tract will start functioning again; apparently when I start passing gas my intestines are waking back up. Today I did three laps in one shot, and I’m going to get up and do another three in a few minutes. I’ve never wished for farts before, but I am now, because I’m getting hungry.

I’m laying on a hospital bed on the fourth floor of the Weinberg Center under several blankets. My left hand is a mass of tubes and tape (the arterial line in my right hand came out last night) and I’ve got more tubes in other places plus an epidural, which was the first line they used to get the ball rolling, and the last thing I remember before waking up in the ICU.

I made it through with fewer complications than they were expecting. The mass wasn’t sticking to or growing from any major organs. It was self-contained and freely floating about my abdomen which meant that it was a lot easier to remove. They did radiation treatment while I was open, and removed my gall bladder for good measure. I’m thanking my lucky stars because all of that meant they didn’t need to set up an ostomy of any kind.

Now there’s a large scar running up my stomach, sealed with what looks like black indoor-outdoor carpeting. At first I didn’t notice it all that much, because I was still coming off anesthesia. Later in the day I went from the epidural to Tylenol to Dilaudid as the pain got more severe; there was a point when my breathing was so shallow as to be useless. The Dilaudid helped back off that pain and I was able to breathe and speak somewhat normally. I was also able to get up and walk a loop of the ICU, which was one of the boxes I had to check to be admitted to the main floor up here. The other was getting the gastric suction tube removed, and I hope I never have to do that again. Think of the sharp pain you get at the pool when water gets up your nose but this time it doesn’t go away, and then add the sensation of plastic scraping all the way up your windpipe from somewhere down by your legs.

Overall, it could have been much, much worse. Jen has been with me the whole time and told me that everyone has been checking in on the situation and sending love. I like to think that love counted for this outcome.

P.S. I’ve got pictures of the baby. Who wants to see? Use the comment box below with a viable email address.