VIIa: My Version of the Story, Week 1

I know that I linked to T and Kyle's blogs to give you the info for my hospital stuff, but I've spent the last several weeks typing up my own recollections of what happened. Now, I've broken this into two posts, Week 1 and Week 2, but they're still gonna be forever long. Sorry. I tried to take out what I've already posted, but I may have missed some stuff. I promise not to be offended if you don't read all of it. Anyway, I thought some of you may want to read my version, so here it is!

Tuesday 1/6

I first got a sore throat on 1/3 (Sat.), and it quickly got very painful. Today I called Christopher and asked him what sort of things I should be looking out for; not having any insurance, I didn’t want to go to the doctor just to be told I was fine. He told me some things, but I didn’t seem to fit those descriptions, though he impressed upon me how the key to diagnosing anything like this is to actually see the patient, which he obviously couldn’t do from North Carolina. Plus, he said that 85% of sore throats are viral and hurt like the dickens but eventually go away on their own. And I felt fine other than the sore throat, so I wasn’t worried.

Tianna and I had appointments to get haircuts that evening after work, but I was starting to feel worse by then—my throat was killing me and I was exhausted, for some reason, to the point of tears—and it was snowing very hard outside, so Kyle volunteered to come chauffeur us. He picked us up and I just left my car there, intending to get it the next day. (This didn’t end up happening; I didn’t get back into the office until after I got out of the hospital. T and BJ went up sometime while I was in and retrieved it for me, though.) After haircuts, Kyle and I went over to his house to hang out. But I was quickly becoming very miserable, and it was getting difficult to swallow, so we decided I needed a trip to Urgent Care (in Orem).

We got there about 20 minutes before they closed and after doing paperwork and such were taken back to a room. The doctor came in and she swabbed my throat (ugh!) for a strep test, which came back negative. So she told us it was viral and she couldn’t do anything, though studies had shown that zinc cough drops helped decrease the length of infection, so to get some of those. We left there (and I felt silly for spending so much money to be told I was fine) and went to the store for cough drops, stopping on the way for a shake from McDonald’s to soothe my throat.

I spent the next week at home being miserable. Kyle came over every day and made me food (mostly jello and pudding)—I didn’t have the energy to cook or the desire to eat anything at all.

Monday 1/12

I woke up miserable and decided after not very long that it was time to return to Urgent Care. When Dr. Christianson came in to examine me and I explained everything to him, he looked down at me (I was laying down on the table, since that was the only way my neck was even remotely comfortable) and said, "This is...unusual." That was super comforting, let me tell you. He decided I needed a CT, so he sent us down to Orem Community Hospital. They also drew some blood, which was quite an ordeal since I have lousy veins anyway and was super-dehydrated. It required several sticks, which only served to increase my misery. I had managed to walk into the Urgent Care on my own power, but was unable to get back out again. I'd barely eaten anything at all over the past week, due to my sore throat, and I'd thrown up everything I'd eaten in the last 24 hours. So this is when Kyle started being a wheelchair chauffeur to and from the car, which continued throughout the day.

While we waited in the radiology waiting room at Orem Community, there was a mother and child there (the kid must've been around 10 years old). His deal? He couldn't stop coughing. At all. He just sat there, coughing and coughing and coughing. Not hard, but non-stop. His mom reassured us that he wasn't really sick and was certainly not contagious. He just couldn't stop coughing, and the doctors couldn't sort it out. Random, right? I hope he's stopped by now...

Anyway, we got the CT done and then had to wait for results. The scan was sent back to Dr. Christianson, who I spoke to on the phone. (This was my last phone conversation of the day; I made other people do the talking from here on out.) Dr. Christianson said I had an infection, and he was gonna get an ENT to look at the scans. He wasn't sure if treatment would require antibiotics or surgery, which would put me in the hospital for a couple of days. This kinda freaked me out, and I was really pulling for the antibiotics-only route. While we waited for the phone call from the ENT, Kyle and I went out to the lobby (the guy was going to call Kyle's cell, and he didn't get much reception in radiology). It was freezing out there by the doors, and I just laid down on a couch. A very nice woman (possibly a tech? or mebbe custodial?) walked by and asked if I wanted a blanket. I said yes, and she brought me a warm blanket. I just thought this was cool because she had nothing to do with me; she just walked by and saw us there. Nice lady. Eventually, the receptionist from radiology came out looking for Kyle; the ENT (now revealed to be Dr. Gibb) had called her desk instead of Kyle's cell. So Kyle went back to talk to him while I waited (apparently, lots of people were under the impression that Kyle and I were married). When Kyle revealed to Dr. Gibb that he was not, in fact, my husband, Dr. Gibb wouldn't tell him anything other than that I needed surgery and to get me to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center. Kyle came back out to the lobby and said, "You get to continue your tour of Utah County's medical facilities at Utah Valley. You need surgery." I was rather upset by this, but definitely didn't have the energy to really fuss about it (well, I whined, but that's it).

On the way to Provo, I had Kyle call Tianna (actually, he called BJ, since he didn't have T's number) and ask her to contact my parents for me. She also stopped by the house and picked up a few things for me, like my phone and book.

When we got to UVRMC, we checked in at the ER. Although the waiting room was full, we only waited about 10 minutes (though it seemed much longer to me, since I felt so awful). Then they called us back to a room, which quickly filled up with techs and nurses and doctors. Then T and BJ arrived, and it got even more crowded. One doctor told me that it was very serious, but they were gonna get me into surgery and I was gonna be just fine. The anesthesiologist came in and told me what they were gonna do and all that jazz. Dr. Gibb (the ENT surgeon) came in to meet me. I asked him if I was gonna make it to the symphony Thurs. night (they were playing Vivaldi's "Four Seasons," and I'd been excited over this date for ages). He kinda shook his head like I was crazy and said definitely not. (Kyle and I had also planned a trip to Vegas with Josh for the next weekend, but that didn't happen either.) I gave him Dad and Christopher's phone numbers so he could fill them in. He also explained to me that this was a very serious, life-threatening situation. He did not say anything like the other dr. had, about me being just fine...but I held on to that assurance anyway.

I also remember him pushing on my neck, and it hurting a lot. I said “Owww!” and he just said "Does that hurt?" and kept going. I said "Yes...but you're just gonna keep on doing that, aren't you?" I just find it comforting that I somehow managed to keep my wry sense of humor. ;) Kyle pointed out that there was a whole team of doctors and nurses waiting for me outside the door (it was a small room, so they couldn't all fit, but they were huddled out there, just waiting to do their thing). At the same time, there were two techs trying to draw more blood for cultures, one from each arm. Of course, they were having quite a time trying to get any blood. They ended up using veins in my hands, but even then, they could only get it from one hand, and they needed two vials. Once they were all ready for me in surgery, the anesthesiologist (or Dr. Gibb?) tried to take me in, but the one tech was still trying to draw blood. The doc asked what it was for, and when he was told, said "Never mind that. We can get it once she's unconscious." This was seriously the best news I'd heard all day!

I remember being wheeled out of the room, and then I was out in the hallway with a nurse talking to me as we went. I believe we went straight to the OR without stopping in Prep. They put an IV in (more sticking me!) and put me out, which, I'll be honest, I'd really been looking forward to. The next thing I remember is waking up in Recovery, scared to death. I didn't know where I was or what was happening, and I was terrified. There was nobody there I knew. Fortunately, the nurses explained where I was; I think I fell back asleep again after that.

I was put in ICU for the night, and T, BJ, and Kyle were all there with me. Kyle brought the most gorgeous bouquet of roses and white lilies I've ever seen, but I wasn't allowed to keep them in ICU with me. I barely remember this, but T says that when Kyle walked into my ICU room with the flowers, my heart rate went up by 10, though they were never sure if it was the flowers or the guy holding them. I was completely parched, but the nurse wouldn't let me have anything to drink, saying that the anesthesia would make me sick if I had any water. I kept begging for ice, though, and she finally let me have a bite. After that, I was given these little pink sponges on sticks that had soaked in water; they must have held about 1/8 tsp of water—they weren't good for much except very briefly wetting your mouth. The nurse left for a little bit, and she warned T, BJ, and Kyle that I would ask for ice, but I was NOT allowed. I convinced them to let me have some anyway. (Let's be honest; they have a hard time telling me no under normal circumstances, and after what I'd just been through...well, they were putty in my hands. ;) ) And really, they owed me—they kept bossing me around. One of my vitals on the monitors was my respiration, and it frequently set off alarms saying I wasn't breathing. Really, I was, but too shallowly, I guess? So they kept telling me to breathe deeply, which got really frustrating.

Tuesday 1/13

I was moved out of ICU to a normal room on the 5th floor (T arrived at the hospital just in time to help carry stuff, the lucky duck). They started trying to give me oral painkillers instead of the morphine (I wasn't on a continuous drip, but they gave it to me through an IV). First was Percocet, which made me feel feverish, though I didn't get a temperature, and also made me hallucinate whenever I closed my eyes. I was miserable, so they gave me some Benadryl and crossed that off the list. Next we tried Lortab, with the same effects. More Benadryl and we gave up for a little bit (but continued with the morphine).

Wednesday 1/14

This is as good a day as any for this little note:

I got real sick of nurse/tech chitchat real fast. I’m not one for small talk under any circumstances, but especially not when I’m miserable. But everyone wanted to know where I was from, what I was doing out here (was I going to school? working? where at?) and such. And every dang time I stood up, it was “you’re really tall!” Thanks, folks. This is really the time to point out my biggest insecurity in life (ok, not “in life,” but definitely about my body). And, if possible, this should happen every couple of hours. Fabulous.

Thursday 1/15

I'm still a bit fuzzy on the timeline for this day, but this is what I've got from talking it out with Tianna and Kyle. Breakfast in the hospital came at 8 am, but mine was interrupted by a nurse saying I wasn't allowed to eat any more b/c I needed a CT scan and the contrast would make me sick if I had any food in me. Of course, I'd already eaten some, so we had to wait a few hours anyway. I'd had a chest x-ray the morning before, but this was the first (and only) CT I had in the hospital. I was taken down to the scan right around noon (Kyle had just arrived, after finishing class, so he went down with me while T went to the cafeteria for lunch). I was hoping to get lunch when I got done, but they said no, not until they had the results. The next thing I heard, I needed to go back to surgery! I don't remember actually being told; I can't remember who told me. But I remember the terrifying sinking feeling I got. The infection had spread to the right side of my neck and into my chest. And so, for the second time in three days, I was headed back for emergency surgery. I also remember that right after I got this news, Michael dropped in to visit. "How are you?" he asked. "Fine," I said. "I have to go back to surgery." I was terrified, though I was trying to downplay it.

Tianna, Kyle, and Michael were all there until I went in (BJ may have shown up just as I was going down; I'm not sure) around 4:15 pm. I was just scared. Not that I would die or anything; just b/c this was a second surgery to fix something I thought was already taken care of. Nobody had told me that my white count was still high (they'd been drawing my blood and checking it for various things ever since I got in), or that my chest x-ray was unsatisfactory, or anything. I thought the CT scan was just normal procedure, not checking to see if I was really getting worse again. So to me, the second surgery came completely out of the blue.

When we finally got going, I was wheeled into Prep., where there were already a few other patients waiting. I remember one guy in particular who looked like he was having some kind of shoulder surgery done, who was laughing and joking with his nurses and doctors. I couldn't understand how he could do that; I was barely talking at all, I was so scared. At least with the first surgery, I was rushed straight into the OR. This time, I had to wait while they got stuff set up, I guess. And again, they wouldn't let me have any water, and I hadn't eaten or drunk anything since my interrupted breakfast. I convinced them to get me going on those pink sponges, though, which was at least better than nothing. A nurse gave me another IV, I think. The anesthesiologist came in and explained what they were gonna do (they have to do this, but it's really quite perfunctory, along the lines of "we're gonna go back into the left side of your neck as well as into the right side and clean it all out, and we're gonna do the same thing in your chest"). Finally it was time to go, and I was wheeled out of Prep and into the OR. Before they gave me the anesthesia (I still don't know why), they put in a central line. This was excruciating. I felt like a bolt was being screwed into my collarbone, and I just kept wondering to myself why this couldn't have waited until I was unconscious. (From what I understand, the thing was inserted and situated right underneath the collarbone (but not actually in it, of course :) )). Finally, they knocked me out. Again, I had been really looking forward to this part (mostly, this time, once they started that wretched central line).

The surgery took 6 hours. Initially, they told us 2 hours. Out in the waiting room, T, BJ, and Kyle were, well, waiting. After 2 hours, Kyle called the number to check my status, and they told him it would be another 2 hours. After 2 more hours, he called and was told the same thing. Finally, though, the surgeons were done with me. (Dr. Gibb was joined this time by a thoracic surgeon, Dr. McCann.)

This next part comes from what T, BJ, and Kyle have told me: they finally got into my ICU room to see me around midnight. They tried to talk to me and do all the things I'd been requesting over the last few days (I've decided that when you're in pain and sick, there are very few things more comforting than the sound of your loved ones' voices, even if it's just nonsense, so I was constantly asking them to "tell me stories"), but I was clearly in extreme pain. They pointed out to my nurse how I was grimacing in pain around the breathing tube, and she explained the situation a bit. Normally, this kind of surgery meant an epidural, but they couldn't give me one because of the risk of further infection. So instead, they had me on the highest possible doses of morphine and sedatives. The more they talked to me, however, the more alert I was, which meant that I was in more pain. The best thing they could do for me, she said, was to leave. So they did, after only 10 or 15 minutes.

Friday 1/16

I have very few recollections of that Friday, which, from what I hear, is a very good thing. I remember flashes of utter misery, but that's about it. Apparently, although the dose of sedatives had been reduced enough that I was alert, I still wasn’t exactly coherent. I kept asking where I was and when I was going to surgery (not realizing that I’d already been). I don’t remember Mom arriving at all, though she obviously did. Wait—mebbe I do? I have an image in my head of her walking in the door, though I suppose that could just as easily have been any time in the next several days. Still, I wanna say that was when she arrived.

Apparently I was constantly wanting to sit up (no idea why). I’d developed a habit over the last week of putting my hand behind my head to lift it when I needed to, since my neck was no longer working for this simple task, so whenever they saw me put my hand up, they rushed to tell me I couldn’t sit up.

Most of what I remember is attached to some strong emotion. Like asking for Kyle: I asked for him all the time (please remember that my short-term memory was only good for about 3 minutes, and then I forgot everything), but I only actually remember asking for him and having him not be there. (Guests get kicked out of ICU for a couple of hours every day so nurses and doctors can make their rounds and such, and I remember vividly being told that he was there, but waiting outside. Several times, b/c, like I said, I kept forgetting stuff. Kyle actually stayed overnight Friday night; he says that whenever I woke up, I wanted someone there, so he stayed.)

I remember my extreme frustration with not being able to talk b/c of the tube down my throat. I had paper to write on, but T, BJ, and Kyle kept telling me to re-write things, which drove me crazy. (Apparently, I would start out alright, but get tired halfway through a word and start writing in teeny weeny print, or just stop moving the pen so that everything was written on top of itself. This is actually true; they saved the papers, and my scribblings are largely illegible. They looked fine to me at the time, though, and I couldn’t understand why everyone was being so troublesome.) I also tried to use sign language, but since I was the only one there who knew it, that didn’t work so well. I remember trying to teach them some individual signs, and Kyle says that whenever I got bored I would try to teach him the alphabet. They got pretty good at recognizing my fingerspelling of “morphine,” though my fingerspelling had problems similar to my handwriting: I didn’t usually extend my fingers all the way, which made it difficult for them to identify what I was signing.

I remember asking for morphine a lot. And I remember looking down and seeing the nurse reach over to the button laying right next to my hand to click it for me. It took me a very long time to realize that I could do this myself; my brain just wasn’t working.

I remember being woken up in the middle of the night so that the nurses could help me roll “onto my side,” which really just meant that my weight got shifted and a pillow got put under my hip and shoulder. I wasn’t really on my side, just kind of at an angle.

I remember fussing with the stockings on my feet. They were open-toed and went up to my knees, and they were underneath these compression sleeve thingies that filled up with air to keep me from getting blood clots in my legs. But the stockings hung over my toes, and I wanted my toes uncovered, so I kept trying to get people to pull them up a little bit.

I don’t remember having Tales of Beedle the Bard and Artemis Fowl read to me. In their entirety. Repeatedly.

Saturday 1/17

My nurse in the ICU that day, Tecia, was especially bouncy and cheery. She announced right off that it was gonna be a great day, I was looking very good, and we were gonna get rid of those tubes down my throat. For which I was very grateful, but it was definitely not a fun process. First, to check to see if I was ready, they deflated the balloon-thingy near my lungs and then made me try and talk around the tube. This was very painful, but I managed it. Then they switched everything back on, and I wrote on my paper "DON'T MAKE ME DO THAT AGAIN." I just knew, somehow, that they were gonna have another doctor come in, and he would want to see this proof for himself. And I was right! Another doctor came in and tried to make me do it again. The tech or nurse or whoever was already there laughed and held up my paper. They let me off without repeating that particular torture. Of course, getting the tubes out was bad, too. In case you’re wondering, yes, the extubation process is basically exactly like they show it on TV. They have you cough while they pull the tube out, which seemed, somehow, to be as long as I was tall. Seriously, it just kept coming. And though coughing wasn’t easy by any means, it was fairly simple to sustain for the duration of the procedure—you just had to get it started. All in all, it’s a very weird feeling.

Sunday 1/18

Tecia was my nurse again today, the only time during my stay that I had a nurse two days in a row, and the only ICU nurse to be repeated at all. Wait…I think I had the same nurse Friday night and Saturday night, but since I don’t remember much from Friday night, it’s hard to be sure. She’s the sort of person who I could see really annoying me in any other situation, with all her cheery bounciness. But at this time, it was exactly what I needed. I felt just dreadful, but her happiness was very encouraging. :D

This afternoon, some people came by from the hospital branch (who knew there was an entire branch dedicated to just the hospital?) with the sacrament. There was the branch president and his wife and two of their adult kids. By this point, I had my “Soothing” playlist playing nonstop from my laptop (it was very relaxing, especially when I woke up in the night in pain or something), and none of us thought to pause it before we got started. Awesomely enough, just after they had started blessing the bread, a beautiful violin rendition of “Ave Maria” came on. It was fabulous, and I had to try really hard to not laugh. Afterward, we realized that I probably shouldn’t have taken the bread, since I still wasn’t allowed solid foods. Oops?