Shortly before Christmas I had a CAT scan for pain in my lower digestive tract that had not cleared up. When I got home the phone was ringing. I answered it and the gastroenterologist's assistant said for me to get to the emergency room immediately. When I arrived I found out that they had found a large abscess in my colon as well as inflammation and a lot of small perforations. They admitted me into the hospital and found I had a staph infection that was resistant to just about all antibiotics. Large does of vancomycin and Flagyl finally got the infection under control, but they said I really needed part of my colon out. I went in for surgery to have about 9 inches of colon removed on December 20, 2005.
This was my first time in a hospital as a patient so I knew I was in for quite an experience. They took me in for processing to make certain I was in decent condition for the surgery and to ascertain whether I had enough insurance to pay the small fortune it would take to have the surgery. I was finally wheeled into the waiting area for surgery. One thing I found amusing was the numerous times I was asked what I was there for. I guess they wanted to be certain they were operating on the right guy as well as to be sure I had all of my faculties. I got so tired giving the same answers that when an anesthesiologist came up and asked what I was having done, I responded "I'm here for a sex change!" You have to have a sense of humor in this kind of situation. They wheeled me into the operating room and injected me with a clear liquid. A few seconds later the lights suddenly went out. I woke up feeling rested and reasonably well in the recovery room. A couple of cute nurses came over and asked how I was doing. I grinned and told them that my wife told me I wasn't allowed to flirt with any cute nurses I met here. One of them said "What goes on in the recovery room stays in the recovery room." Lordy mercy!
After a few minutes I was wheeled into a semi-private room. There was a comatose guy in the other bed so I was essentially alone. Time to take inventory and see what was left of me. I had a large pad taped over my abdomen and a drainage tube and collection bulb running down one side. My arm had an IV line in it and there was another line running from a machine around my back. This was an epidural line that was pumping a narcotic into my lower spine to keep the pain away. A catheter was draining urine into a bag by my bed. I had a catheter up my nose that was draining my stomach.
I was starving but wasn't allowed any food except a little Jello for the first two days. The nurses almost immediately began hounding me to get up and walk around the hospital. Have you ever tried to do that while wheeling a stand with an epidural pump and two bags on it as well as attempting to keep from getting the five lines tangled up? It was a logistics nightmare to just get out of bed! I did exercise by walking up and down the corridor, but was exhausted by the effort it took.
The first evening when the nurse checked my tubes she found that whoever had inserted the nasogastric tube had missed the stomach. The tube was coiled up in the roof of my mouth and not draining anything into the bag. She had to take the tube out and insert it up through my sinuses, down my throat, and into my stomach where it should have originally been. That procedure made me really appreciate the fact that I had been comatose when they did it the first time. It was a horrible experience made worse by the fact that she forced the tube so hard into my sinuses that she cracked a sinus turbinate and I had a tremendous nose bleed. After a couple of hours of bleeding it finally was under control. I was thankful I was heavily medicated with painkiller or the pain would have been excruciating. I dozed in and out for the next day. The nasogastric tube came out again when I rolled over. This time they left it out, thank heavens.
The next day they took out the urinary catheter. Throughout the day I tried to urinate but nothing would happen. That night the doctor came in and said that if I did not urinate soon they would have to put the catheter back in. I tried most of the evening and it was with extreme relief that I was able to go the following morning. Now the next hurdle was to have a bowel movement. This would be a little more problematic since they weren't feeding me any real food and the last meal I had was three days ago! Another day of lying in bed, walking through the hallways, and trying to have a blasted bowel movement. What a life! Well, I eventually had the sacred movement of the bowels, with much clotted blood and not a whole lot more. This encouraged the staff enough that they started feeding me clear liquids. Since I am a vegetarian, I got this absolutely vile barley broth that tasted like it had been strained through an old sock. I also got a popsickle and all the ice I wanted. I knew I was going to starve if they kept this up so I had the wife sneak in an occasional protein drink. That helped me to get some of my strength back and I dumped the daily broth down the toilet.
The days became a routine of exercise, watching TV, and being jabbed with needles. Several times the epidural machine started beeping, indicating it was out of medication. Each time this happened it took an hour or longer for the nurse to replace the bag and restart the machine. This was when I got a taste of what the pain level would have been like without any painkiller. Yeow!!! I was ready to choke the nurse by the time she got the machine going again. I had to change my gown during those painkiller blackouts because I was drenched in sweat from the pain traveling up my back. I complained so violently that they finally called the doctor and got permission to give a morphine shot when I needed it, which was every time they let the machine sit empty for awhile.
After three days the doctor took the pad off. I had a ragged 6 inch incision below my navel with metal staples running the length of the incision. These would be taken out at the doctor's office after I got out of the hospital. He also took out the drainage tube and bulb. I've never been too vain about my appearance so the way I looked didn't shock me. I did worry about moving around much since the incision was leaking fluid.
After 7 days of this existence I was ready to jump through the window and run naked down the street just to get out of that place. I convinced the doctor that I could recuperate better at home so he signed off on me. He really was only interested in the surgery being successful and did not seem to care much one way or the other about me afterwards. I found that most of the specialists I dealt with while I stayed in the hospital were that way. My family doctor laughed when I told him that and said that he had the same experience when he was in the hospital for heart bypass surgery himself.
When I was signed out, I wasted no time in having them remove the remaining lines, throwing on a pair of shorts and a shirt, and wheeling my bony carcass the heck out of that place while I could escape. After all, someone might change his/her mind and decide it was in my best interest to stay there awhile longer. No way, Jose!
I recuperated at home for three weeks before returning to teaching. The staples were removed and shortly afterwards the incision partially opened up. Thus began the daily routine of bandage and gauze changing. The surgeon gave me a relatively weak painkiller that only slightly dulled the extreme pain I felt. It was a rough three weeks with little sleep at night and a series of brief catnaps during the day. Every time I rolled over it felt like my intestines were being stabbed with a hot, dull knife. Stubborn guy that I am, I went back to work with my gut taped and bandaged, in constant pain and using a cane for support. It was all I could do to sit upright at my desk and talk to the students. They were great, taking it easy on me the first couple of weeks.
I did what I could, moving around the room during labs by holding onto the lab tables.
Here I am 3 1/2 months later.The incision has almost healed now. There is one small place still open and leaking fluid but not enough to require a large bandage. I probably should have returned back to the surgeon when the wound opened up but I knew he wasn't interested and would have just put me back in the hospital again. There is no way I am going back there again unless I am either comatose or dead. Except for the kind nurses and anaesthesiologists during surgery, the rest of the experience was out of Dante's Inferno. Hospitals will kill you if you stay any length of time. This whole nightmare experience did give me a greater appreciation for my health. I alo know that I am going to visit doctors in the future as little as I possibly can without endangering my health. As far as going back to the hospital, if I ever need an operation in the future I will think long and hard before saying yes.
This is my first entry in my new teaching blog. I am excited to be on my own with a blog.
