I'll take a breather and post photos from our last 2 trips to PEI. Here are 2 from the trip with the kids, both taken in Cavendish.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
And now for something completely different
I'll take a breather and post photos from our last 2 trips to PEI. Here are 2 from the trip with the kids, both taken in Cavendish.
Monday, September 7, 2009
blurring days
Monday overall
Not much to report on Monday. Even the low-level, low-commitment projects didn't get done.
I did get to watch the President's speech to the AFL-CIO, which was fiery and stirring.
Otherwise, a lot of resting, some actual sleeping, and reading .
Word games
We played two games of Scrabble, one late morning and one late afternoon. They were probably the two best back-to-back games we played. Both were squeakers, and right down to the wire. In the first game Nick had great words, including hording and a couple of stinkers ("unplant"? "birna"?) That game ended 402-396 in my favor. In the second game the highlight was Nick's 7-letter word -- siltiest. The lead kept going back and forth between the two of us. At the very end I was barely ahead, just by 4 points. Nick went out with a 3-letter word (ora), got one point from me and the game ended in our first-ever tie: 348-348.
We played the first game outside, because I wanted to experience some of the exquisite weather. The second one we played in the living room, and during both I got up and paced every few turns so I that I didn't sit for too long.
Arts and Letters
I finished more of the Fed book, enough that I can now put it away and feel like I've read it. Today I'll start a new one: "The Battle for America 2008" by Dan Balz and Haynes Johnson. They were featured last night on PBS The Newshour and it looks interesting (and less of a hagiography than Richard Wolf's "Renegade", which I read up in Canada.) I'll read and then report. (vs. "we report, you decide." Indeed.)
Pain report
Lots of pain yesterday, more than I anticipated. It's not so much at the incision site as deep aches in my thigh, hip, butt, leg and knee. The pain has a stretching quality that reminds me of a bad menstrual cramp or a labor pain. I felt more of it yesterday, either because the pain worsened or because the drugs weren't helping as much (or I was waiting too long to take them). When I take enough of them to dull the pain I find it harder to hold a thought. I can originate a thought, just can't hold on to it for very long.
The kids: part 1
Spoke to Matt from Amherst and he sounded better. More hopeful, more encouraged. Bought himself a new bike (actually a used one but a vintage model in good shape.) He's going to ride around campus and get his bearings. He met two of his apartment-mates. Both are partiers (one was filling the fridge with beer, the other reeked of weed) but all he needs to do with them is peacefully coexist. He'll find his own friends. I'm confident that he can make new friends; he's much more facile socially than he used to be. His first class is "Fixing America's Foreign Policy." As an outsider that seems a presumptuous course title. Shouldn't there be a pre-requisite like "Understanding America's Foreign Policy"?
The kids: part 2
Liv did some back-to-school shopping with Jon and Joe. Not traditional school supply shopping, more the Manhattan/LaGuardia/artsy back to school shopping -- a few key items of clothing and accessories. Gues the notebooks and pens will wait. I used to love back-to-school shopping when the kids were little. Loved checking the items off the list, organizing and labeling them, seeing an array of fresh supplies. When they were very little they enjoyed it too, it was only later that their dread of school clouded the joy of brand-new school supplies. The apple store fixed her MacBook (no charge) and I ordered a new ipod (her last one beat the dust, in the proud tradition of our family). So now she's set for school. She did try about a month ago to dupe me into a new phone. She was entitled to an upgrade but the phone she picked out was still about $400, and that was with the discount. I demurred, and even Jon agreed that she didn't really need a phone that advanced or that expensive.
Today, and some random musings
Nick's going into the city this morning to deal with criminal histories, so he'll be gone til about 11 or 12. Then Joe comes over so they can review cases, which means that Nick will be here all afternoon. He won't have the same kind of free time he's had the last few days, but I'll take what I can get.
Liv will be in last-day-of-summer-break denial, but maybe the exigencies of the situation will get her to finish her summer reading. It's Malamud's "The Assistant" -- great book but she doesn't like it. That's expected, she rarely enjoys the books assigned. Oh well. The English major genetic inheritance stops with me; neither of the kids is a great reader. Matt's gotten better and now carries a book wherever he goes. But neither was the kind of voracious, insatiable reader I was when I was a kid -- I read everything: cereal boxes, shopping lists, books, magazines, newspapers, anything I could get my hands on. The kids have always made fun of my English major but they also appreciate it when it comes to book reports, essays and anything having to do with reading and writing. So it was a useful major from their point of view, mockery aside. I've always been glad that I studied literature and linguistics. I believe -- and I've told the kids this a million times -- that college isn't trade school, and that they shouldn't view it as merely a way to get skills to land a job. College should teach you how to think, and to know what educated people know, so a liberal arts major is desirable (I use that word deliberately because Matt used to make fun of me when I used it. Never sure why, but the word always struck him as funny.)
If nothing else, this recovery time gives me time and opportunity to muse. My thoughts may be narcotic-impaired but I still enjoy them.
Not much to report on Monday. Even the low-level, low-commitment projects didn't get done.
I did get to watch the President's speech to the AFL-CIO, which was fiery and stirring.
Otherwise, a lot of resting, some actual sleeping, and reading .
Word games
We played two games of Scrabble, one late morning and one late afternoon. They were probably the two best back-to-back games we played. Both were squeakers, and right down to the wire. In the first game Nick had great words, including hording and a couple of stinkers ("unplant"? "birna"?) That game ended 402-396 in my favor. In the second game the highlight was Nick's 7-letter word -- siltiest. The lead kept going back and forth between the two of us. At the very end I was barely ahead, just by 4 points. Nick went out with a 3-letter word (ora), got one point from me and the game ended in our first-ever tie: 348-348.
We played the first game outside, because I wanted to experience some of the exquisite weather. The second one we played in the living room, and during both I got up and paced every few turns so I that I didn't sit for too long.
Arts and Letters
I finished more of the Fed book, enough that I can now put it away and feel like I've read it. Today I'll start a new one: "The Battle for America 2008" by Dan Balz and Haynes Johnson. They were featured last night on PBS The Newshour and it looks interesting (and less of a hagiography than Richard Wolf's "Renegade", which I read up in Canada.) I'll read and then report. (vs. "we report, you decide." Indeed.)
Pain report
Lots of pain yesterday, more than I anticipated. It's not so much at the incision site as deep aches in my thigh, hip, butt, leg and knee. The pain has a stretching quality that reminds me of a bad menstrual cramp or a labor pain. I felt more of it yesterday, either because the pain worsened or because the drugs weren't helping as much (or I was waiting too long to take them). When I take enough of them to dull the pain I find it harder to hold a thought. I can originate a thought, just can't hold on to it for very long.
The kids: part 1
Spoke to Matt from Amherst and he sounded better. More hopeful, more encouraged. Bought himself a new bike (actually a used one but a vintage model in good shape.) He's going to ride around campus and get his bearings. He met two of his apartment-mates. Both are partiers (one was filling the fridge with beer, the other reeked of weed) but all he needs to do with them is peacefully coexist. He'll find his own friends. I'm confident that he can make new friends; he's much more facile socially than he used to be. His first class is "Fixing America's Foreign Policy." As an outsider that seems a presumptuous course title. Shouldn't there be a pre-requisite like "Understanding America's Foreign Policy"?
The kids: part 2
Liv did some back-to-school shopping with Jon and Joe. Not traditional school supply shopping, more the Manhattan/LaGuardia/artsy back to school shopping -- a few key items of clothing and accessories. Gues the notebooks and pens will wait. I used to love back-to-school shopping when the kids were little. Loved checking the items off the list, organizing and labeling them, seeing an array of fresh supplies. When they were very little they enjoyed it too, it was only later that their dread of school clouded the joy of brand-new school supplies. The apple store fixed her MacBook (no charge) and I ordered a new ipod (her last one beat the dust, in the proud tradition of our family). So now she's set for school. She did try about a month ago to dupe me into a new phone. She was entitled to an upgrade but the phone she picked out was still about $400, and that was with the discount. I demurred, and even Jon agreed that she didn't really need a phone that advanced or that expensive.
Today, and some random musings
Nick's going into the city this morning to deal with criminal histories, so he'll be gone til about 11 or 12. Then Joe comes over so they can review cases, which means that Nick will be here all afternoon. He won't have the same kind of free time he's had the last few days, but I'll take what I can get.
Liv will be in last-day-of-summer-break denial, but maybe the exigencies of the situation will get her to finish her summer reading. It's Malamud's "The Assistant" -- great book but she doesn't like it. That's expected, she rarely enjoys the books assigned. Oh well. The English major genetic inheritance stops with me; neither of the kids is a great reader. Matt's gotten better and now carries a book wherever he goes. But neither was the kind of voracious, insatiable reader I was when I was a kid -- I read everything: cereal boxes, shopping lists, books, magazines, newspapers, anything I could get my hands on. The kids have always made fun of my English major but they also appreciate it when it comes to book reports, essays and anything having to do with reading and writing. So it was a useful major from their point of view, mockery aside. I've always been glad that I studied literature and linguistics. I believe -- and I've told the kids this a million times -- that college isn't trade school, and that they shouldn't view it as merely a way to get skills to land a job. College should teach you how to think, and to know what educated people know, so a liberal arts major is desirable (I use that word deliberately because Matt used to make fun of me when I used it. Never sure why, but the word always struck him as funny.)
If nothing else, this recovery time gives me time and opportunity to muse. My thoughts may be narcotic-impaired but I still enjoy them.
Projects
They're not much, because I can't do most of the stuff I usually do when I have time at home. Normally I work out, do household stuff, sometimes play guitar. With all of that off limits, it's a short and sedentary list of what's available to me. Here's the current plan:
That's about it. Not a particularly ambitious agenda. I'd love to do some baking, but too much bending, lifting and standing involved. Working out is sadly out of the question. Maybe a bit of on-line shopping with Liv, and perhaps I'll return to reading the daily political blogs, which include Politico, HuffPo, Daily Kos, Wonkette. I lost my taste for them and for most of the news over the last week, and while we're both saner since we left the 24-hour news cycle I wouldn't mind dipping a toe back in the water.
I missed one key project: appreciating Nick for everything he's doing and for the loving way he takes care of me. I try to thank him at every opportunity but I'm not expressing it well or often enough. There's no one on the planet who could do for me what he does, and no one else I'd even allow to try. He is the best, in every way and by every measure.
- write a thank-you note to the nurses and staff at 8 Wollman, Lenox Hill
- post more photos from our trip to PEI with the kids
- read
- read
- read
- cuddle with Nick
- check my email for a response from Roy, the brilliant Celtic fiddler in PEI who we've now seen 4 times (we emailed him to let him know that we're huge fans, and also to see -- in a bit of vague future planning -- if he performs at weddings)
- write
- respond to emails
- sleep
- read
- play Scrabble
- take short walks
- rest
- cuddle with Nick
That's about it. Not a particularly ambitious agenda. I'd love to do some baking, but too much bending, lifting and standing involved. Working out is sadly out of the question. Maybe a bit of on-line shopping with Liv, and perhaps I'll return to reading the daily political blogs, which include Politico, HuffPo, Daily Kos, Wonkette. I lost my taste for them and for most of the news over the last week, and while we're both saner since we left the 24-hour news cycle I wouldn't mind dipping a toe back in the water.
I missed one key project: appreciating Nick for everything he's doing and for the loving way he takes care of me. I try to thank him at every opportunity but I'm not expressing it well or often enough. There's no one on the planet who could do for me what he does, and no one else I'd even allow to try. He is the best, in every way and by every measure.
Labor Day Monday
It's early morning on the Monday of Labor Day. I've been home now since Friday afternoon, and here are some of the highlighted events since then:
- my usual driver -- Chaim -- who I request when I use a car service -- took us home from the hospital, even though it was his day off
- Matt was here when I got home with a friend from camp who crashed here til yesterday. Matt asked me if Holly was racist, since he's black and she kept growling at him. I explained that Holly's not a racist, but she is a sexist -- she doesn't like men, unless she knows them (which includes Nick, Matt, my dad, and other men she sees and remembers, which includes my ex-husband). Other men are greeted with growls and barks
- Olivia stepped up while we were gone and took care of everything in a singularly impressive way. She took care of Holly, kept the house in order, checked to make sure all was under control, made the coffee, ran and emptied the dishwasher, brought in the mail and the papers -- everything. She did an amazing job
- Matt was offered a ride up to Amherst by a high-school friend who offered to drive him up to school on Saturday afternoon. But inexplicably and unforgivably he blew him off. First there was a series of vaguely explained delays, then finally by evening he just let him down. Understandably upset, Matt asked his dad to take him early yesterday, which fortunately worked out. Unconscionable about his friend. But he got to school early and safely, and by 11 or so was already in the housing office getting set up. He sounded better from there; he found out he can get apartment-style housing on campus in a single that's part of a larger suite. All this for a mere $1200 more per semester. A bargain at twice the price. Even he said "so far so good", which for him is a major affirmation. Fingers crossed
- the house is filled with flowers, cards, plants, gifts and fresh fruit, and the care and thoughtfulness of the givers means a great deal to me. Thank you John, Bruce, Ellen, Judy, Bob, Mom and Dad, Nikki and Jamie and to everyone who's been calling and emailing
- I've had two sets of visitors. My parents came on Saturday, for about 45 minutes. And they returned yesterday with my favorite aunt and uncle for an hour. Great to see them. The only problem is that I can't comfortably sit for more than 15 minutes, which I did during both visits. After each I needed to lie down and rest for hours. I think I'll spend more of today supine than sitting, and may need to forgo visits for a day or two
- I'm having a lot of post-op pain, not only at the incision site but in my low back, butt, hip and leg, and there's also some numbness in my right calf. I'm sure this is well within the normal recovery range, but if it's not better in a day or so I should probably call the doc (which means I won't actually speak with the doc; that' s not the protocol, but with Kim the always-helpful PA
- I'm almost continually drugged, taking all the pain meds as prescribed which is a hell of a lot of pain meds. 2 percs every 4 hours plus the muscle relaxant twice a day. I'm a little woozy and spacy, especially about an hour after I've taken them. I'm sharp enough to write and email and read, but would never be able to work or be truly productive. That'll have to wait until the pain subsides enough so that I can cut back on the drugs
- I found out during the family visits that my maternal grandmother was addicted to percoset. They wouldn't go so far as to call her a junkie, but apparently she had pills squirreled away in every pocket and every place so she'd never be far from pain relief. I've been told all my life that I resemble my grandmother more than anyone else in the family, and here's another common bond (though I don't see any true addiction coming my way; I don't particularly like the state I'm in on perc
- it's possible though that the pills I'm on now are helping break my addiction to sleeping pills. For as long as I can remember I've taken stuff every night that's intended to prevent migraine. It's a low-level anti-depressant that's supposed to help avert all headaches, and over the years the dosage has been adjusted as my body inures itself to each level. I started at 10 milligrams and today I'm at 100. Though it's not intended for sleep it offers drowsiness as a happy side effect, and I've relied on it for as long as I can remember. But I'm concerned about mixing it with the other drugs (I've tried it and the experience was something I don't want to repeat.) So I've been doing without since I've been home. The good news is that I'm sleeping pretty much as well without it as I did with it, though of course the perc/flex combo is pretty powerful. I'm hoping to continue without it once I'm off the current regimen -- that would be an unintended but welcome consequence of this whole process
- We resumed playing Scrabble yesterday -- first games in about a week. We played three games yesterday. I won 2, Nick 1, but all were good, tight games (though in fairness the scrabble gods smiled at me throughout and Nick was seriously disadvantaged when it came to letters. Didn't stop him much though; he had a seven-letter word (the word was smiling. He's learned to look for key letter groupings like "ing") and a couple of killer plays. He's so cute -- he gets more anxious when he's winning than when he's losing. When he's losing what's happening is what he expects. The winning though makes him tense because he's sure I'll pull out some amazing late-game play that will turn the game around for me. That didn't happen in the last game, though he thinks I threw the game to him. I didn't -- scout's honor -- I just didn't have the letters or the imagination to win the final game. But he's such a great and fun competitor; nothing skirtly about him
- We watched Gran Torino last night. We're completely behind in movies, and hardly saw any in the past year. What we saw a lot of was plays: over a dozen in the winter and spring. We agreed on our two favorites, each with a bullet. They were the new production of O'Neill's Desire Under the Elms (brilliant; the director cut at least a third of the dialogue, added key sections in pantomime and refreshed the entire play) and the revival of Joe Turner's Come and Gone (we saw it exactly one week after the Obamas did, and sat in the two seats directly behind where they sat. The whole audience and staff was still all abuzz about their attendance.) But over the next couple of weeks, with my boundless limitations we may get to catch up on some of the movies we've missed.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Days 2 and 3
Thursday was a day of both adventures and misadventures. After what seemed like an endless night the morning finally came. While the hospital stay was characterized by hustle and bustle and an almost constant stream of people coming in and checking things and doing others, there's a block of time at the hospital that's particularly quiet. From about 3 or 4 in the morning until about 6, nothing happens. No blood pressure checks, no meds, no traffic. I tried to watch TV but the 70s-era TV in the room had missing channels and volume problems. The newspapers were boring. I read and dozed and thought about what would turn out to be the day's parlor game: whether I would be set free and sent home Thursday or not.
Out of nothing but boredom and lack of control, I changed my clothes in the middle of the night. It was more symbolic than useful (it's much easier for the nurses and docs to do their stuff when the patient is in a hospital gown) but it made me feel a tiny bit better, and like my apparently extraordinary bathroom success impressed the staff. It also made possible another of my misadventures, which I'll get to in a moment.
Mercy's opinion was that I'd be staying another night, and Nick felt strongly that I should. Unsurprisingly, I had every intention of going home. The people closest to the decision were Kim, the ortho's PA, and Alex, the hospital's nurse-practitioner. They came to see me frequently, and were terrific. They also acted as a proxy for the ortho, who never came by, which was mildly shocking. But Kim, Alex and Mercy were great -- attentive, ever-present and thorough. Nick canceled the second night at the Carlyle, figuring that either I'd be released that day or if not he would just go home late at night and come back early the next morning.
When the morphine stopped helping they decided to try something else -- a heavy-duty narcotic called Dilaudid. Shortly after they gave it to me in an injection, I developed a rapid allergic reaction: itching, shortness of breath, tingling in my hands. Nick went to find Mercy who immediately recognized the symptoms as a reaction and gave me benadryl. One more drug, one more set of toxins flowing through my system. The benadryl worked and neutralized the dilaudid. Then they added a new drug to my cocktail, a muscle relaxant called Flexiril which I now take every 12 hours.
The day wore on, and no decision was made, which in and of itself seemed like a decision. By mid-afternoon Mercy was urging me to start walking, which is a recovery requirement. And so I decided to indulge my delinquency, and sneak out for a smoke. I was already dressed (good prior planning) and we were told to go walk. We rode the elevator down, I kept my hospital bracelet hidden inside my sleeve, and we left the building. I managed just a few drags before I started feeling dizzy, but we stayed outside a few minutes longer just because the weather was so beautiful and the air was fresh and fragrant. When we walked back into the hospital and started to walk by security, we were busted by a guard. He told us what we already knew, that I wasn't actually allowed to leave, and because we didn't want to get him into trouble we apologized, feigned stupidity (that was easy) and quietly slunk back upstairs.
Shortly after we got back upstairs Alex came back, told me that he didn't like the way I looked (I took that in the spirit in which it was intended) and said that I should stay that night. By then the fight was beaten out of me and I assented. Nick felt better that the decision was made and wisely chose to stay at the hotel another night.
He had a lot of fun at the hotel. He pretended to be an out-0f-town hick blown away by the big city, here only because his girlfriend was in the hospital. He wisely spoke little, because his accent would have instantly given him away. But he had fun. And loved the hotel and all the excellent service they provided. The only surprise was that he ordered the in-room breakfast Friday morning, and when he got the bill for what was really just coffee, cappucino, juice and some baked goods -- $52. That's the big city for you. And to get to the business center he had to walk through the tea room, filled with ladies who lunch (or more accurately, ladies who drink tea), all well-dressed and well put together. Dressed in shorts, tshirt and sneakers he felt more than a little out of place but enjoyed the juxtaposition.
The bill for breakfast, along with my hospital bracelet, goes in our memory box.
Nick stayed with me till late that night, and ate my dinner so he wouldn't have to go out. That was fine with me; hospital-issue baked tilapia, canned peas and carrots and potatoes au gratin (which were apparently weird but tasty) weren't exactly my meal of choice.
By then I was sanguine about staying. Once the decision was made and the uncertainty was gone it was easier to just settle into the situation. Thursday night was very long too, though less traumatic than the night before.
Next: the return home.
Out of nothing but boredom and lack of control, I changed my clothes in the middle of the night. It was more symbolic than useful (it's much easier for the nurses and docs to do their stuff when the patient is in a hospital gown) but it made me feel a tiny bit better, and like my apparently extraordinary bathroom success impressed the staff. It also made possible another of my misadventures, which I'll get to in a moment.
Mercy's opinion was that I'd be staying another night, and Nick felt strongly that I should. Unsurprisingly, I had every intention of going home. The people closest to the decision were Kim, the ortho's PA, and Alex, the hospital's nurse-practitioner. They came to see me frequently, and were terrific. They also acted as a proxy for the ortho, who never came by, which was mildly shocking. But Kim, Alex and Mercy were great -- attentive, ever-present and thorough. Nick canceled the second night at the Carlyle, figuring that either I'd be released that day or if not he would just go home late at night and come back early the next morning.
When the morphine stopped helping they decided to try something else -- a heavy-duty narcotic called Dilaudid. Shortly after they gave it to me in an injection, I developed a rapid allergic reaction: itching, shortness of breath, tingling in my hands. Nick went to find Mercy who immediately recognized the symptoms as a reaction and gave me benadryl. One more drug, one more set of toxins flowing through my system. The benadryl worked and neutralized the dilaudid. Then they added a new drug to my cocktail, a muscle relaxant called Flexiril which I now take every 12 hours.
The day wore on, and no decision was made, which in and of itself seemed like a decision. By mid-afternoon Mercy was urging me to start walking, which is a recovery requirement. And so I decided to indulge my delinquency, and sneak out for a smoke. I was already dressed (good prior planning) and we were told to go walk. We rode the elevator down, I kept my hospital bracelet hidden inside my sleeve, and we left the building. I managed just a few drags before I started feeling dizzy, but we stayed outside a few minutes longer just because the weather was so beautiful and the air was fresh and fragrant. When we walked back into the hospital and started to walk by security, we were busted by a guard. He told us what we already knew, that I wasn't actually allowed to leave, and because we didn't want to get him into trouble we apologized, feigned stupidity (that was easy) and quietly slunk back upstairs.
Shortly after we got back upstairs Alex came back, told me that he didn't like the way I looked (I took that in the spirit in which it was intended) and said that I should stay that night. By then the fight was beaten out of me and I assented. Nick felt better that the decision was made and wisely chose to stay at the hotel another night.
He had a lot of fun at the hotel. He pretended to be an out-0f-town hick blown away by the big city, here only because his girlfriend was in the hospital. He wisely spoke little, because his accent would have instantly given him away. But he had fun. And loved the hotel and all the excellent service they provided. The only surprise was that he ordered the in-room breakfast Friday morning, and when he got the bill for what was really just coffee, cappucino, juice and some baked goods -- $52. That's the big city for you. And to get to the business center he had to walk through the tea room, filled with ladies who lunch (or more accurately, ladies who drink tea), all well-dressed and well put together. Dressed in shorts, tshirt and sneakers he felt more than a little out of place but enjoyed the juxtaposition.
The bill for breakfast, along with my hospital bracelet, goes in our memory box.
Nick stayed with me till late that night, and ate my dinner so he wouldn't have to go out. That was fine with me; hospital-issue baked tilapia, canned peas and carrots and potatoes au gratin (which were apparently weird but tasty) weren't exactly my meal of choice.
By then I was sanguine about staying. Once the decision was made and the uncertainty was gone it was easier to just settle into the situation. Thursday night was very long too, though less traumatic than the night before.
Next: the return home.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Home
I woke up this morning in my own bed for the first time since Wednesday morning, and now I can start to chronicle the last few days. I'll do it in fragments both because it's easier in my current state to write short bursts than sustained narrative, and because my memory of the last few days is choppy and inconsistent. But I'll start at the beginning.
Day 1 -- Wednesday
The alarm went off at 4:30, but I'd already been up an hour. Everything was done and up to date but still it was a harried chunk of time until the car arrived. I had a little coffee first (I view the no food or beverages dictum as more of a suggestion than a rule), and then we were off to Lenox Hill.
Things went smoothly and efficiently, with no real waiting. Once I was changed and situated in my corner of the pre-op ward, the parade began. Lots of nurses asking lots of questions. Lots of forms to be filled out. Lots of repetition. The visits had a reassuring humdrum quality to them, at least until round 2 started.
Round 2 included visits from the anesthesiologist (a very good person to know), a neurobiologist (that was unexpected, more to come about him) and finally the ortho. The ortho was reassuring and said a couple of things that made me feel better. First, he said that this is the least aggressive of the spinal surgeries he does, and that a simple laminectomy (or as I later heard it called "a one-level lami" )with a small cyst removal was straightforward. He also said that my thinness was a distinct advantage and would make the surgery easier for both him and me. The anesthesiologiest had a dry sense of humor, which I always appreciate.
It was the neurobiologist though who struck me, both in the simple fact of his presence and involvement and then because of his personality. He was short and squat and bearded, and a little too chipper and hyper for that hour of the morning (the other guys had a better approach; neither sepulchral nor solemn, just a little quieter and more in tune with the occasion.) He chattered on about how he always works with this doc, and how the insurance would work. Those two facts could not have been less interesting to me at the moment. What was more interesting was his role: he'd be monitoring my brain, spinal cord and nerve function throughout the surgery, and that made perfect sense to me.
Shortly after the last visit it was time to go. I was wheeled out of there in a wheelchair, and Nick came along as far as they let him, then we said goodbye and the nurse and I went on to the OR.
I was awake a long time in the OR before they put me out, long enough to take in the room (I like to look at labeled cabinets and drawers and shelves see what they keep. I didn't recognize most of the stuff, until I saw a box marked "drill bits." I stopped reading labels after that. The other thing I saw that struck me was a radio labeled "Ortho Spine Radio." It took me a minute; my first thought was that spine surgeons had their own radion station and I wondered what kind of stuff they broadcast, music to drill by, tutorials - yes, of course that's not what the label meant.)
There were so many people in there; the anesthesiologist, dr. brainwave, the PA, nurses everywhere and finally the ortho. Huge room with tons of equipment and staff. I made a lame joke asking if all this attention was for me, and that they needn't bother. The brainwave guy was prancing around putting electrodes all over me, and humming and whistling. I liked the anesthesiologist better; he chatted quietly with me and made a few wry comments. The ortho told me again that this would be straightforward and all would be fine. He'd go in, clear the lamina from the spinal canal, excise the small cyst, close up and be done.
From there it fades to black. I awoke many hours later in the recovery room. The surgery had taken longer than expected; closer to two hours than one, and I was out for hours after. The first face I saw when I woke up was Nick -- nothing in the world beats that. He'd obviously gotten the report on the surgery before me, and he brought me up to date. I heard what he said as though I were in an echo chamber. I had a hard time processing and remembering what he was saying.
The best laid plans, and all that. Apparently the ortho was shocked when he opened me up, because he found things that neither the MRIs nor xrays showed (so much for the great value of imaging studies.)
The tiny cyst turned out to be enormous (in his words he keep taking it out and it kept coming and coming.) There was a badly herniated disk. And strangest of all (at least to me) there was a bone fragment; apparently a piece of bone from my spinal column had broken off and was just kind of floating in there. He told Nick that he couldn't imagine how much pain I must have been in, and that he was astonished at what he found. The nerves apparently were also very much affected; whenever he went anywhere near the nerve the lines on the monitor were off the charts (ok that's not a technical description but it's the best I can do) and he used steroids just to calm the nerves.
So a much different surgery than planned, certainly a more involved and complex one.
I got the private room I requested, which was a blessing. Nick was there from the moment I was brought in until he left late that night Matt came by, which was great. I have no memory of what we talked about except that he said the TV in his hospital room last fall was way better than mind, and he was right. I'd told him that if he wanted to see me he should wait til Thursday; I'd either be home -- that was the plan -- or still in there but less out of it one day post. He chose to ignore my direction (for a change) and that was perfectly fine with me.)
I was hooked up to IVs, and they gave me morphine by injection every few hours. I did little but sleep.
And pee. This became a bit of a cause celebre. I was full of fluids from the IV drip, and was given one of two choices when I had to go: a bedpan, or an accompanied trip to the bathroom with a nurse. I took option 2 at first. But after Nick left and the night wore on I had to go every 10 or 15 minutes. So I decided that there was a third way. I was not going to bother the nurses every few minutes -- they had enough to do. And a bedpan was out of the question. So I just started taking myself there, using the IV set up as a walker. It wasn't too hard, but all the nurses and docs were shocked the next morning that I did this, and was able too. If nothing else, I am as stubborn as all get out.
My bathroom prowess -- combined with my unexpectedly complex surgery -- made me a bit of a celebrity patient on the floor. (It didn't hurt that many of the patients on the floor were difficult and nasty. I could actually hear some of them barking at the nurses and techs, and one woman who came by to draw blood was a little shaken at how she'd just been screamed at by a patient across the hall.) Yes, it's miserable to be in a hospital and it's difficult to recover from surgery but to take it out on the staff is unthinkable. I found the nurses and in fact the entire staff to be breathtakingly helpful, supportive and present.
Nick stayed as late as he could, and then went to get something to eat before going to his hotel (the Carlyle, hoo hah.) The night was endless. The pain was unimaginable and even the morphine didn't help. It kept me awake all night (though that was abetted by both the bathroom visits and the nurses checking up on me.) I found that I couldn't watch TV, or listen to music, or even read a magazine. TV and music hurt my ears. For some reason the one thing I could do was read "In Fed We Trust" in small bursts. If I remember I'll send the author an email to thank him.
By the morning I was a crying wreck. I think it was the combination of pain, frustration, narcotics and anesthesia, but whatever the reason I was a leaky sobbing mess when the day shift started and my new nurse introduced herself. Her name is Mercy, and she's a tough, tiny thing who speaks with both compassion and authority. She explained how pain management works, that I needed to build up and maintain a constant level of pain relief.
She asked if this was my first major surgery. I started to mention the arthoscopic things I'd had (shoulder, hip) and the endoscopic (sinus) but she waved all of that away with a whisk of her hand. That whisk reminded me of the passage from Brave New World:
"He waved his hand; and it was as though, with an invisible feather wisk, he had brushed away a little dust, and the dust was Harappa, was Ur of the Chaldees; some spider-webs, and they were Thebes and Babylon and Cnossos and Mycenae. Whisk. Whisk — and where was Odysseus, where was Job, where were Jupiter and Gotama and Jesus? Whisk — and those specks of antique dirt called Athens and Rome, Jerusalem and the Middle Kingdom — all were gone. Whisk — the place where Italy had been was empty. Whisk, the cathedrals; whisk, whisk, King Lear and the Thoughts of Pascal. Whisk, Passion; whisk, Requiem; whisk, Symphony; whisk..."
Ok, so it's not exactly the same, but that's what her gesture called to mind. She brushed everything else aside and said that this wasn't like the others; this was major surgery. And what I didn't know yet was that my crying was a marker, a marker that showed that the pain wasn't well controlled enough for me to be sent home, and that I was likely facing a longer stay.
I'm going to take a rest now and let the painkillers and muscle relaxants kick in. Will come back later with more tales from the Adventures of Wendy.
Day 1 -- Wednesday
The alarm went off at 4:30, but I'd already been up an hour. Everything was done and up to date but still it was a harried chunk of time until the car arrived. I had a little coffee first (I view the no food or beverages dictum as more of a suggestion than a rule), and then we were off to Lenox Hill.
Things went smoothly and efficiently, with no real waiting. Once I was changed and situated in my corner of the pre-op ward, the parade began. Lots of nurses asking lots of questions. Lots of forms to be filled out. Lots of repetition. The visits had a reassuring humdrum quality to them, at least until round 2 started.
Round 2 included visits from the anesthesiologist (a very good person to know), a neurobiologist (that was unexpected, more to come about him) and finally the ortho. The ortho was reassuring and said a couple of things that made me feel better. First, he said that this is the least aggressive of the spinal surgeries he does, and that a simple laminectomy (or as I later heard it called "a one-level lami" )with a small cyst removal was straightforward. He also said that my thinness was a distinct advantage and would make the surgery easier for both him and me. The anesthesiologiest had a dry sense of humor, which I always appreciate.
It was the neurobiologist though who struck me, both in the simple fact of his presence and involvement and then because of his personality. He was short and squat and bearded, and a little too chipper and hyper for that hour of the morning (the other guys had a better approach; neither sepulchral nor solemn, just a little quieter and more in tune with the occasion.) He chattered on about how he always works with this doc, and how the insurance would work. Those two facts could not have been less interesting to me at the moment. What was more interesting was his role: he'd be monitoring my brain, spinal cord and nerve function throughout the surgery, and that made perfect sense to me.
Shortly after the last visit it was time to go. I was wheeled out of there in a wheelchair, and Nick came along as far as they let him, then we said goodbye and the nurse and I went on to the OR.
I was awake a long time in the OR before they put me out, long enough to take in the room (I like to look at labeled cabinets and drawers and shelves see what they keep. I didn't recognize most of the stuff, until I saw a box marked "drill bits." I stopped reading labels after that. The other thing I saw that struck me was a radio labeled "Ortho Spine Radio." It took me a minute; my first thought was that spine surgeons had their own radion station and I wondered what kind of stuff they broadcast, music to drill by, tutorials - yes, of course that's not what the label meant.)
There were so many people in there; the anesthesiologist, dr. brainwave, the PA, nurses everywhere and finally the ortho. Huge room with tons of equipment and staff. I made a lame joke asking if all this attention was for me, and that they needn't bother. The brainwave guy was prancing around putting electrodes all over me, and humming and whistling. I liked the anesthesiologist better; he chatted quietly with me and made a few wry comments. The ortho told me again that this would be straightforward and all would be fine. He'd go in, clear the lamina from the spinal canal, excise the small cyst, close up and be done.
From there it fades to black. I awoke many hours later in the recovery room. The surgery had taken longer than expected; closer to two hours than one, and I was out for hours after. The first face I saw when I woke up was Nick -- nothing in the world beats that. He'd obviously gotten the report on the surgery before me, and he brought me up to date. I heard what he said as though I were in an echo chamber. I had a hard time processing and remembering what he was saying.
The best laid plans, and all that. Apparently the ortho was shocked when he opened me up, because he found things that neither the MRIs nor xrays showed (so much for the great value of imaging studies.)
The tiny cyst turned out to be enormous (in his words he keep taking it out and it kept coming and coming.) There was a badly herniated disk. And strangest of all (at least to me) there was a bone fragment; apparently a piece of bone from my spinal column had broken off and was just kind of floating in there. He told Nick that he couldn't imagine how much pain I must have been in, and that he was astonished at what he found. The nerves apparently were also very much affected; whenever he went anywhere near the nerve the lines on the monitor were off the charts (ok that's not a technical description but it's the best I can do) and he used steroids just to calm the nerves.
So a much different surgery than planned, certainly a more involved and complex one.
I got the private room I requested, which was a blessing. Nick was there from the moment I was brought in until he left late that night Matt came by, which was great. I have no memory of what we talked about except that he said the TV in his hospital room last fall was way better than mind, and he was right. I'd told him that if he wanted to see me he should wait til Thursday; I'd either be home -- that was the plan -- or still in there but less out of it one day post. He chose to ignore my direction (for a change) and that was perfectly fine with me.)
I was hooked up to IVs, and they gave me morphine by injection every few hours. I did little but sleep.
And pee. This became a bit of a cause celebre. I was full of fluids from the IV drip, and was given one of two choices when I had to go: a bedpan, or an accompanied trip to the bathroom with a nurse. I took option 2 at first. But after Nick left and the night wore on I had to go every 10 or 15 minutes. So I decided that there was a third way. I was not going to bother the nurses every few minutes -- they had enough to do. And a bedpan was out of the question. So I just started taking myself there, using the IV set up as a walker. It wasn't too hard, but all the nurses and docs were shocked the next morning that I did this, and was able too. If nothing else, I am as stubborn as all get out.
My bathroom prowess -- combined with my unexpectedly complex surgery -- made me a bit of a celebrity patient on the floor. (It didn't hurt that many of the patients on the floor were difficult and nasty. I could actually hear some of them barking at the nurses and techs, and one woman who came by to draw blood was a little shaken at how she'd just been screamed at by a patient across the hall.) Yes, it's miserable to be in a hospital and it's difficult to recover from surgery but to take it out on the staff is unthinkable. I found the nurses and in fact the entire staff to be breathtakingly helpful, supportive and present.
Nick stayed as late as he could, and then went to get something to eat before going to his hotel (the Carlyle, hoo hah.) The night was endless. The pain was unimaginable and even the morphine didn't help. It kept me awake all night (though that was abetted by both the bathroom visits and the nurses checking up on me.) I found that I couldn't watch TV, or listen to music, or even read a magazine. TV and music hurt my ears. For some reason the one thing I could do was read "In Fed We Trust" in small bursts. If I remember I'll send the author an email to thank him.
By the morning I was a crying wreck. I think it was the combination of pain, frustration, narcotics and anesthesia, but whatever the reason I was a leaky sobbing mess when the day shift started and my new nurse introduced herself. Her name is Mercy, and she's a tough, tiny thing who speaks with both compassion and authority. She explained how pain management works, that I needed to build up and maintain a constant level of pain relief.
She asked if this was my first major surgery. I started to mention the arthoscopic things I'd had (shoulder, hip) and the endoscopic (sinus) but she waved all of that away with a whisk of her hand. That whisk reminded me of the passage from Brave New World:
"He waved his hand; and it was as though, with an invisible feather wisk, he had brushed away a little dust, and the dust was Harappa, was Ur of the Chaldees; some spider-webs, and they were Thebes and Babylon and Cnossos and Mycenae. Whisk. Whisk — and where was Odysseus, where was Job, where were Jupiter and Gotama and Jesus? Whisk — and those specks of antique dirt called Athens and Rome, Jerusalem and the Middle Kingdom — all were gone. Whisk — the place where Italy had been was empty. Whisk, the cathedrals; whisk, whisk, King Lear and the Thoughts of Pascal. Whisk, Passion; whisk, Requiem; whisk, Symphony; whisk..."
Ok, so it's not exactly the same, but that's what her gesture called to mind. She brushed everything else aside and said that this wasn't like the others; this was major surgery. And what I didn't know yet was that my crying was a marker, a marker that showed that the pain wasn't well controlled enough for me to be sent home, and that I was likely facing a longer stay.
I'm going to take a rest now and let the painkillers and muscle relaxants kick in. Will come back later with more tales from the Adventures of Wendy.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Tuesday
Yesterday was a little strange and disconnected. My calendar was packed, and I remarked that a greased eel couldn't find its way in. But it wasn't just crowded, it was odd. It began early in the morning when I went to get xrays, and the technician hit on me. He was busy telling me that I was in great shape, asked if I'd been a dancer (hmmm) and then made sure to speak loudly when he was telling a fellow tech that he couldn't meet the kind of women he was interested in, and complained that the ones he was meeting weren't together enough, articulate enough, classy enough. It may have been vanity that made me feel he was talking to and about me, but coming on the heels of the dancer comment it seemed that way. And of course you're not at your most confident when you're dressed in a hospital gown and subject to someone else's direction and expertise.
From there the day went apace. I was entirely focused throughout my meetings, calls and exchanges, as though nothing were wrong or looming. But it was in between meetings -- the tiny interstices of time -- when I felt something, though it was vague and diffuse. I had a strange feeling as I went from office to conference room to office -- it felt like the disorientation that heralds the arrival of migraine. It passed when the next meeting or piece of work actually began.
And today was fine and far less strange. A 3/4 day filled with meetings and calls, but no disorientation between them. That strange state yesterday -- almost a fugue state -- reminded me of what a professor once said about Joyce's Finnegan's Wake: he said the novel described the space between nightmares. But there was no Joycean quality about today. Neither Finnegan's Wake nor Ulysses.
I'm home now, the kids are home, and Nick's on his way back too. The kids are hovering a bit, their anxiety showing. My reaction to that is to be supercharged earth mom, all reassurances and ease. And the more normal I act the more normal they act. But deep in my bones I feel their anxiety -- not my anxiety about me but their anxiety about me. I wish I could completely neutralize that but I can't, so I'll be satisfied just mitigating it. We're chatting about this and that, regular stuff.
"In the room the people come and go, talking of Michelangelo." TS Eliot, the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
The point of this afternoon and evening is to maintain the fiction that today is a regular day. No histrionics, no sad faces, nothing. I've got laundry going and the dishwasher running.
Holly's frolicking in the yard. I retract -- she's not frolicking. That word implies carefree capers, bounding and leaping. She's much more focused than that, inspecting the grass for bugs (she rolls in slug slime and taunts ants before she kills them.) She's hard at what qualifies for work in a Jack Russell puppy. Nick said she killed a bird this morning, and we're still processing that. Liv said she's like a serial killer, in that she murders and shows no remorse. Nick said that what she showed was surprise and confusion; the bird didn't (or couldn't) fly, and before he knew what was happening there was a burst of feathers flying. Everyone needs a hobby.
I'm actually much more sanguine today than I have been in a few weeks. I'm ready, and I feel so calm I'm almost (but not quite) serene.
From there the day went apace. I was entirely focused throughout my meetings, calls and exchanges, as though nothing were wrong or looming. But it was in between meetings -- the tiny interstices of time -- when I felt something, though it was vague and diffuse. I had a strange feeling as I went from office to conference room to office -- it felt like the disorientation that heralds the arrival of migraine. It passed when the next meeting or piece of work actually began.
And today was fine and far less strange. A 3/4 day filled with meetings and calls, but no disorientation between them. That strange state yesterday -- almost a fugue state -- reminded me of what a professor once said about Joyce's Finnegan's Wake: he said the novel described the space between nightmares. But there was no Joycean quality about today. Neither Finnegan's Wake nor Ulysses.
I'm home now, the kids are home, and Nick's on his way back too. The kids are hovering a bit, their anxiety showing. My reaction to that is to be supercharged earth mom, all reassurances and ease. And the more normal I act the more normal they act. But deep in my bones I feel their anxiety -- not my anxiety about me but their anxiety about me. I wish I could completely neutralize that but I can't, so I'll be satisfied just mitigating it. We're chatting about this and that, regular stuff.
"In the room the people come and go, talking of Michelangelo." TS Eliot, the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
The point of this afternoon and evening is to maintain the fiction that today is a regular day. No histrionics, no sad faces, nothing. I've got laundry going and the dishwasher running.
Holly's frolicking in the yard. I retract -- she's not frolicking. That word implies carefree capers, bounding and leaping. She's much more focused than that, inspecting the grass for bugs (she rolls in slug slime and taunts ants before she kills them.) She's hard at what qualifies for work in a Jack Russell puppy. Nick said she killed a bird this morning, and we're still processing that. Liv said she's like a serial killer, in that she murders and shows no remorse. Nick said that what she showed was surprise and confusion; the bird didn't (or couldn't) fly, and before he knew what was happening there was a burst of feathers flying. Everyone needs a hobby.
I'm actually much more sanguine today than I have been in a few weeks. I'm ready, and I feel so calm I'm almost (but not quite) serene.
Update: just got my surgery time. 7:30 a.m., but I'm due there at 6. We'll arise at 4:30, leave at 5:30. So even for me an early start. Onerous but better than the alternative.
I won't be bringing my laptop to the hospital, so no blogging until I'm home (and maybe not for the first few days.) I'll try to keep straight anything that happens of interest so I can chronicle it when I'm back home.
I won't be bringing my laptop to the hospital, so no blogging until I'm home (and maybe not for the first few days.) I'll try to keep straight anything that happens of interest so I can chronicle it when I'm back home.
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