A sharp left turn

I know I just disappeared, but I have a very good reason for being absent from the blogosphere for a few days. My life took a dramatic and sharp left turn on Thursday afternoon and I'm now lying in a hospital bed recovering from surgery. Man I go for dramatic, don't I?

So I was diligently working away at home on Thursday morning. I had three good bowel movements in the morning, so I thought I was on my way to feeling better; but my abdomen continued to feel worse. In fact, I hurt from just under my rib cage all the way down to my pubic bone. Every muscle in there hurt, like I'd done 1,000 crunches the day before (after not exercising for a long while) and was paying the price. I couldn't walk upright and even urinating hurt.

At about 11:30 a.m., the pain got worse. By noon, I told Michael I needed to lay down. I'd gotten chilled, was shaking, hurt and Michael said my lips turned blue. He helped me to the couch where I laid slightly curled, covered by a blanket, shaking violently and moaning. After a short while, I was yelling and doing labour-type breathing to get me through the pain. (I'd sent Michael off to a doctor's appointment, assuring him I'd be fine.) But nothing got better during his absence and when he returned at about 1:30 p.m., I said we were going to Emergency.

The drive was painful. I felt every single bump and curve in the road, and walked in all bent over when we arrived at the hospital. After triage, during which I discovered I had a slightly elevated temperature and blood pressure, and a rapidly racing heartrate, I was assessed as an orange. Only red is above. As I sat and waited, I told Michael I'd be really embarassed if the problem was gas.

The resident was awesome and he pegged me right away. He told me I couldn't hide my pain and suffer in silence. I had to tell him everything I was feeling. He put me on strong antibiotics and pain killers, and sent me for x-rays and a CT scan. I'd completed all those tests by about 6 p.m. and discovered I needed immediate surgery to fix a hole in my stomach caused by an ulcer, which they think could have been caused by the steroids. My mouth dropped in shock. Surgery. A hole in my stomach. Holy cow!

To prepare for the operation, I had to undergo many indignities. Catheter insertion, NG tube shoved down my nose into my stomach, nose and anal swabs - all while I was awake. And they had to insert an IV. Since I couldn't eat nor drink properly for a few days and because I've been poked many, many times over the last few weeks because of the clinical trial, my veins were dehydrated and unhappy. They hid, collapsed and shrunk from the needle. As a result, it took three times to find a decent location for the IV.

When I woke from the surgery I had another shock, which in my anaesthesia-laced brain didn't process quickly (to which Michael and Angie can atest). They didn't find a hole in my duodenum (which is just below the stomach and before the small bowel) as they expected. But then again, they couldn't examine the underside because there are tumours there. They did find a 2L pocked of blocked-in infected fluid the pigtail couldn't reach. So they drained that, washed up my stomach, took out the pigtail, put in two new drains and sewed/stapled me back up.

I found out today when my family doc visited, the infected fluid could have killed me in a few days. That freaked out my overloaded brain. I started wondering if I did something wrong. Didn't I keep things clean enough? Was it my fault? Of course, ports get infected. It also let in a pocket of air that shouldn't have been in there. So I can't blame myself, but it makes me wonder.

We still don't know if there's a hole in my duodenum. What I do know is:, I'm really connected - and not in a good way. I have two new ports connected to drainage device, I'm tethered to a bag by my catheter. My stomach contents are being pumped from my NG tube into another bag. I have two IVs through which I'm getting antibiotics, steroids (go figure), drugs designed to shrink an ulcer and all my nutrition. I also have a four to six inch incision in my abdomen.

I can't eat or drink anything except for a few ice chips. They need to assess whether there's a hole in my abdomen. So they're watching my stomach contents for abnormalities and the ascities draining from my abdomen to ensure there's no stomach bile in it. So far, so good. And my temperature, blood pressure and heart rate have all returned to normal. My family doc said I looked good; my colour was normal and I seem to be doing well..

Physically I am doing really well. I can sit myself up and I went for a long walk around the ward this evening. Mentally and spiritually, the process is a bit slower. I'm extremely frustrated I'm tethered to a bed and can't do anything for myself. If it isn't within reach, I can't do it for myself. I can't even put cream on my own feet. I can't just get up and brush my teeth. I rely on someone else to help me get up, wash me, and get everything I need. I know it will get better and my loved ones don't mind helping me, but it's such a hard thing for me to accept.

To top it off, the IVs weren't working properly last night and I couldn't even move my arms for more than 10 seconds without setting off the alarms. In fact, one was so bad, it took nothing to set off the alarm on my machine. And when that happens, a nurse has to come and reset the monitor. So I had to lay in one position all night, with my arms lying straight down by my side. I could use my left hand in an extended position for very short periods of time. Frustration had my in tears most of the morning.

It didn't help Michael wasn't able to be here first thing this morning because of activities with the kids. Then he brought them here to visit, and while I was able to wash my face and brush my teeth with their help, I couldn't do much more. I also had to put on a braver face for them than I actually possessed this morning.

When they left - and they couldn't stay too long - I was stuck in my one position. I sat in my own sweat and stink, setting off my alarm monitors and cried. This afternoon, Michael and Angie helped me wash up and get out of bed for my walk. It's amazing how much more human you feel when you're clean.

The last plan I heard from the surgical team involves my swallowing some contrast on Monday to see if it makes it way into my abdomen. It it doesn't, no hole and I can't start to eat and drink again. Dr. P, my London oncologist stopped in to see me today. I told him about the clinical trial I'm on and that Dr. H from Hamilton has been contacted. Angie and Dr. H chatted on Friday. I've asked he be involved in the coordination of my care.

What I do know is I'm in the place I need to be right now - the hopsital. They're taking very good care of me. I'm sure lots of things will change in the next few days and I'll learn more about my condition and the plans moving forward. But my job right now is to focus on the immediate job of recovering from this abdominal surgery, then we'll to figure out what to do about my cancer treatment.

Back to the old one day at a time mantra.

Tina