On Tuesday, August 21, 2012, Ed and I arrived at the Woman's Hospital at Centennial right on time as requested by the surgeon's office. 5:30 a.m. We went straight to the 2nd floor Outpatient Surgical Unit to collect our Brownie points for being prompt. Surgery isn't Outpatient, but apparently they send everyone there. Of course, I question the logic of that. I will forever refer to it as the Surgical Unit from this point on. No Brownie points either. Instead, we were handed a restaurant style pager and told to have a seat. We were to return to the desk when the pager flashed red. I was super excited then. I sat with that thing in my hand waiting for it to go off so I could order a Bloomin' Onion. Again - more early morning disappointment. We were among the first to arrive. Many people came and joined us. We saw pagers flash red and surgical patients head back to the Secret Domain with a nurse leading the way. Many of them. Almost a steady stream. Sign in. Sit down. Pager lights up. Away they go.
After an hour, I started shaking my pager to see if perhaps the batteries were loose. Nope. After two hours, I started to question if I had the date correct. Yep. I set a mental limit for 8:30 am. If I was still sitting there at that time, I was going to the desk to see how many names were ahead of mine on the list. Shortly before then - a nurse came out and my pager lit up like a Christmas tree. I was told to give the pager to Ed for safe keeping and to follow the nurse back into the Secret Domain. I was escorted into a room with a bed and a chair. As we were strolling through the double doors, the nurse asked my name and birth date. I have to say hospital folks could save themselves a lot of time if they wrote that kind of information down in a safe place. Everyone I ran into asked me the same two questions. At any rate, we made it to my first holding room. The room was 11 x 12. I know this because I counted the floor tiles. I am weird like that.
I was given a wrist band and a paper gown and told to disrobe and put it on. This was the coolest paper gown I have ever seen. It was part of the Bair Hugger system and the gown is called Bair Paws. The gown was insulated and had little holes like the ones in the top of a vacuum cleaner bag. Remember those? Before bag less vacuum cleaners? Anyway - they have a warming machine that has hoses that can be attached at those holes and then warm air is filtered through the gown. Pretty neat, eh? They didn't hook up my hoses before knocking me out, so I am not sure if they utilized the machine. I put on my Bair Paw gown and sat there for quite a while. Just when I thought for sure I had been forgotten again - Ed comes into the room and sits in the chair. More waiting.
Another nurse pops in and asks me my name and birth date. Once I told her, she immediately pops the brake on my bed and says "okay Precious, let's go!" I barely had a chance to lay down and she whisks me out the door - bumping every wall and doorway she went through. Ed was following along and she waved him off and told him this was the end of the line for him - he was to return to the waiting room with his little pager. She didn't stop long enough for me to even say see ya later. I waved at Ed and grimaced as she hit the final door way before taking me into yet another Holding Area. As soon as she parked me in my little slot, she asked if I was cold. I am NEVER cold. I told her I was fine. She told me she would get me a warm blanket and rushed off.
While she was gone, two more nurses dropped by to introduce themselves and ask my name and birth date. What scared me most came next. They asked me who my surgeon was and what kind of surgery was I having. Seriously? I know all about the "Green Movement", but a little slip of paper with that kind of information written on it doesn't seem to be too extreme. They also asked who was with me. I told them all about Ed and they asked if he had the 4 digit code number. I told them I wasn't sure. They shrugged and said if I didn't know the code, then he probably didn't either. Then they flitted off.
The bumper car nurse returns with not one, but two very nice and toasty warm blankets. She proceeded to cover me from chin to foot and tuck the blankets into my sides. I felt a little mummy-ish.
This is how the next hour passed:
Person approaches my bed.
Good morning, my name is (John, Sue, Nancy, Frank) and I am going to be (starting your IV, taking care of you, putting you to sleep, checking to see if you have any questions) this morning. Can I have your name and birth date?
My surgeon drops by with his huge smile and asks me if I am ready. I know that he has already completed one surgery that morning and he is already redressed in his street clothes and white jacket. Just as well, I didn't need to see any blood splattered scrubs at that point. He says we will get started in around 45 minutes. I have completely lost track of time at this point.
More waiting while I listen to John, Sue, Nancy and Frank approach all the other patients lined up in the Holding Area and recite the same litany over and over. At one point, my surgeon's nurse came and introduced herself. She explained that Dr. Olsen's team operated like a well oiled machine. They all knew what they were supposed to do and they did it well. I really liked her. She was calming yet energetic. She quickly scampers off. Seems like it was only a few minutes later and she comes back with a swoosh of the drape around my bed and exclaims "Okay Ladybug, let's get this show on the road!" She pops the brake on the gurney and immediately my bed is surrounded by people. I start moving and I don't remember a thing until I woke up and was being moved into my room on the 3rd floor of the hospital.
I don't remember the recovery room, although I apparently spent some time there. My first semi-conscious moment was seeing Ed following my bed into my room with a vase of flowers in one hand and a big smile on his face. I wasn't in any pain, but I certainly wasn't very awake either. The nurses positioned my bed and monitors and then handed me "The Happy Juice" button. I forced myself as awake as possible as they explained that whenever I felt pain, I could push the magic button and pain medication would automatically be injected into my iv and all would be right with the world again.
The rest of that day is a complete blur. When I woke up, I felt as if 7 knives were being stabbed into various parts of my abdomen. One push of the button, and I would be asleep again. At some point, I apparently left my body and went to the other side of the room and took the following picture of myself and then posted in on my facebook page. I know this only because Ed vehemently denies doing such a thing.
By the next day, I was pretty good friends with my pain management button. They were getting me up to walk to the bathroom and move around. Each little venture earned me a push of the button. That would promptly knock me out. Sleeping came in 10 to 15 minute increments and usually resulted in me jerking awake thereby prompting the 7 knives of pain.
Every time a nurse came in to take my blood pressure, give me medications, test my blood glucose, withdraw some blood, or take my temperature - they all asked my name and birth date.
I started receiving my "food" trays. For my entire 4 day stay in the hospital, every food tray was exactly the same. It consisted of a container of sugar free jello, a cup of chicken broth, a cup of plain water, a cup of sugar free drink and a package of protein mix that I could mix in the plain water or sugar free drink or both. The flavor of the protein powder changed with each tray. Ed would mix the protein powder in my cup of water and I would sip it until the next tray came. Once I ate a few bites of the jello and once I sipped the chicken broth.
At some point, they took my magic button from me and told me I would receive liquid pain medication from then on out and only when I requested it. I requested it very sparingly - usually only after they got me up to walk down the hall or after my much appreciated shower on day 3. Someone turned the television on for me and I figured out how to turn the channels and control the volume. I never did learn how to turn the thing off. Every time I tried, I called the nurses station instead. I finally just turned it all the way down and left it at that.
I believe it was the second evening that Jana and Winnie came to see me - with little Addison. I am not really one for visitors in the hospital, but I was happy they made the trip up to Nashville to see me. As I have later learned, I obviously don't remember much of the visit.
Dr. Olsen came in every morning like clockwork. I have to say I was really impressed by that. He checked my 7 incisions and repeatedly explained to me that everything is progressive. As long as I was feeling progressively better - that was a good thing. If something was wrong and it was getting progressively worse - that was a bad thing. It is definitely his mantra.
On Friday, he told me I was ready to go home. I really wanted to be home in my bed with a tv remote that I knew how to use. But, I must admit - I was pretty nervous about leaving the hospital and the nurses who were there to make sure all my needs were met. And that mechanical bed that helped me get up when it was too painful to use my abdominal muscles. But, it was time to move forward on this Journey.
I am really looking forward to February. I am expecting more birthday cards than ever before!!
Much more to come...
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