What the hell happened back there? (Part 2)

I've been trying to remember everything that I can from the surgery.  Just so I can get it down, and then I'm sure the memory will eventually fade.  So here's what I remember from last week.

(Note: This is Part 2.  If you want to read Part 1, click here)

Friday, November 13
This was NOT a good day.  I remember waking up on and off as the sun came up through the window of the step-down unit.  Nurses were still checking me every hour, and they think the day starts at 6am.  At 7am, the nurses switch shifts, and Brenda the nurse from hell started her day.

There was one other patient in the step-down unit with me - an elderly Chinese man who only spoke Mandarin.  I think maybe that's why Brenda was called in, because I overheard her saying that she was 70 years old, and retired.  But she could speak Mandarin, and made a LOT of noise jimmer-jammering away with the old man and his wife.

I'm not sure if Brenda is actually a BAD nurse, but it's impossible for me to tell, because I could not understand one word that came out of the woman's mouth.  I asked her to repeat herself over and over, and could eventually figure out what she was saying... but it took a lot to get through my morphine-heavy brain.

Dad and Jan arrived at 9am and I have never been so glad to see them.  I'm sure I didn't show it (I was still pretty zonked), but in my own head, it all made sense, and I was relieved.  Hurrah, no longer alone with the nurse from hell.  Jan and I rolled our eyes and were appalled when Brenda yelled at one of the cleaning ladies for leaving the floor too wet.  A simple comment would have done it, but no, this lady was loud and angry.

Sometime Friday morning, Brenda tried to get me out of bed, into a chair.  Just to get moving a bit.  I was open to the idea - I knew it was good to move.  But I wasn't sure how it was going to work... how to get out of the bed, how to move, how to stand, etc.  Normally, that's when a nurse steps in with lots of helpful suggestions.  I begged Brenda to explain it to me first, and then do it, but she just jumped right in and started moving me.  Then Dad and Jan tried to assist, and all hell broke loose.  I was sitting in the chair, and they tried to lean me back, but my stomach was not stretched at all yet, and it felt like I was ripping open.  I screamed and started crying.  I did not know such a pain was possible.

It was precisely at that moment that Ian walked in, and he was startled to find me like that.  I demanded (yup, demanded) to be put back in bed.  I then spent the rest of the morning and afternoon lying there, trying to get comfortable again, pressing my morphine button often.

I remember slipping in and out of sleep, and having very odd dreams.  I remember Ansley, Mike, Ian, Dad and Jan visiting throughout the day.  Mike read me stories.  I liked to just listen to people talk, and close my eyes.  I do remember feeling like time was taking forever, and even though I was really out of it, I was still lucid.  I knew what was going on, and I started to feel trapped (more on that later).

At 7pm, the nurses switched shifts, and I was relieved to see the backside of Brenda.  I got two amazing nurses who were very kind.  At around 9pm, my visitors left, and I settled in for another night of on-again, off-again sleeping, with the nurses checking on me every hour.

Sometime around 1 or 2am, my nurse Jaime noticed a lot of swelling and bruising near my left armpit.  She tried to reach the on-call resident plastic surgeon (the totally useless Dr. No).  Unable to reach her, Jaime called Dr. Amir, a plastic surgeon who was on-call over at Toronto Western Hospital (part of the same network as Toronto General and Princess Margaret).  Dr. Amir came over to TGH, looked at me, and said it was hematoma.  I would need an emergency surgery.

(Explanation- A hematoma is a collection of blood outside the blood vessels, generally the result of hemhorrage, or more specifically, internal bleeding.  Technically, a bruise is hematoma.  But the type of hematoma I had was serious, so they had to cut me open and "wash" out the area.  That's about as much as I understand.)

Within an hour or so, Dr. Hofer and his team was there.  Another totally useless plastic surgeon resident (Dr. Zhang) tried to call Ian, and failing to reach him, left a terrifying message on the answering machine saying "your wife is going into emergency surgery.  you can't call here, because no one will answer, and you can't come here, because most of the hospital is in lockdown overnight."  Yikes.

Luckily, someone got a hold of Dad and Jan at their nearby hotel.  They came over right away, and I remember seeing them.  They got in touch with Ian, and told him that things were okay, and they would keep him posted.  I remember all of this happening, but I was really calm.  I saw Dr. Hofer, and I looked at him and asked "Are you concerned?" and he said "No, not at all."  I said, "then neither am I" and I fell back asleep for a while.

It took them a bit of time to get organized and get access to an operating room, so by the time I was moved for surgery, it was close to 4am.  There was some discussion about how I was going to get to the operating room - I was so afraid of moving after the incident with Brenda earlier in the day.  Luckily they were able to just wheel me down to the OR in my hospital bed.  I remember going into the room, and then they lined up the beds (my hospital bed and the operating table).  Then about 6 people lifted me up by the sheets and transferred me over that way (yup, just like they used to do on ER). 

Even though that was just a moment (transferring me from my bed to the operating table), I still remember the pain.  Just moving slightly felt like a train was running over me.

Again, just like in my first surgery, I don't remember being knocked out.  I do remember the recovery unit this time though.  I woke up with a gas mask thing on my face.  I'm prone to anxiety attacks, and I didn't like the feeling of that thing on my face.  I remember trying to take it off, and saying it was suffocating me.  Then these two nurse ladies told me "if you think that's suffocating, try breathing without it".  Of course, they were right, but I didn't understand.  I remember them being concerned about the amount of oxygen I was getting.  Looking back, I now know that I should have told them I have anxiety problems, and maybe they would have been more helpful.  Who knows.

Eventually, I was wheeled back up to the step-down unit.  I remember seeing Dad and Jan, and I remember being told that the second surgery was successful.  And then I was out again, sleeping as much as I could, still being woken every hour for checks.  I think Dad and Jan hung around for a while, and didn't go back to their hotel to get more sleep until later.  But I could be wrong on that.

I do remember feeling like I had started over - like I was recovering again as if I had just come out of surgery the first time.  I felt defeated.  I was calm, but I was wondering how much more I could take.

(to be continued)