Hospital Hell

Well, they roust you out of your drug-induced rest and have you get up and go to the bathroom just hours after your surgery.  For me, I think it was about 6PM.  I'm all hooked up to this IV in my hand (which I thank God for -- that was pain medication, and I have a little button to push to administer it, but if you push it too often, nothing happens), and I have to walk.  God, there was not enough Demerol to make that forgettable.  I was pushing that PCA (Patient Controlled Analgesia) button like crazy, and it still hurt like HELL!  They needed to know that the pipes were still all functional, and I had to pee into a "hat" in the toilet so they could measure the output.  The nurse helped me in, and helped me sit down, and I couldn't pee -- I had no feeling down there.  I sat for a while, and finally, a trickle came out.  Please, let me get back in bed.  Well, I pulled the cord to let them know I was done, and I couldn't even reach anywhere close to where I needed to, to wipe myself.  The nurse reached down and did a terrible job of wiping me, but I didn't care.  I just wanted to go back to bed.  I don't know how I managed to stand up -- I know that poor nurse helped a lot!  I finally made it back, and thank goodness they had a bed that almost converted into a chair, so I could get back in.

I know my stepmom and son were there that afternoon, and my mom and sister came by that night, but I couldn't tell you anything about the visits.  I was so doped up.  All I know is that I had a tube up my nose and down my throat into my stomach, and as uncomfortable as that seems, I didn't care.  I'm still on the pain PCA, and pushing it constantly.  The nurses come in several times throughout the night to check on me, and get me up (again) to pee.  The next time isn't any easier, and they had to help me in, wipe me, and help me back.  Thank goodness I was able to pee a little more this time.  They're happy.

The second day is pretty much a continuation of the first night, except that they want you to get up more.  I managed to walk out into the hall, pushing my IV pole, but I don't think I made it very far.  Still floating, and I don't remember much, except that when they finally do take away the IV and the PCA, I'm in terrible pain.  I think this happens after the second day (it's actually Friday AM, but less than 48 hours after the surgery).  They want you to be walking the halls.  You're eating by now, but mush.  Either strained peaches, or cream of wheat or applesauce or mashed peas or some mystery meat mush.  There's some protein jello you have to get down, too.  I'm not doing well with walking -- without the IV, every step is pure hell.  My stomach is hanging and bouncing and my back feels like it's being pulled from the weight of my stomach, and the pain is awful.  They keep saying I have to walk, to help lessen the pain.  It only hurts, and it doesn't make sense.  I keep asking for more pain medication, but they won't do it.  They don't understand -- that one stupid little 50mg Demerol wears off after 2 hours.  I need it more often, and I'd really appreciate something stronger.  I beg, and finally the doctor agrees to 50mg of Demerol every three hours.  It's a little better, but still agony -- remember -- I don't deal well with pain.
Friday, the doctor removes the dressing and I see the staples and the incision (soon to be scar).  It's huge, but then again, I had a hernia that needed to be repaired, too.  He tells me I can shower.  Yeah, right!  I can barely get up and go potty -- like I'm going to put myself through the torture of a shower, too!  No way!  I'll walk when they make me, and I'll eat and pee, but no more!

By Saturday AM, I'm able to walk all the way down the hall to the nurses station and back, but still a lot of pain.  In the wee hours, they get the doctor to change my medication to Thallium (?).  It's no better than the Demerol.  I'm still in pain.  I never get more than two hours of sleep at a stretch because of the pain.  They keep saying I have to pass gas before I can leave, and it's the gas that's enhancing the pain and making it worse.  Walking will help.  Well, I've managed to work my bed backwards and I'm pumping my feet against the bed rails, kind of walking upside down, but lying down in bed.  I'm only tilted slightly back, but if it's movement they want, that's the easiest way for me to do it.  Walking is still sheer torture.  When I do walk, I cup my stomach in my hands to try to help steady it and relieve the pain.  I still haven't farted, and I'm still in pain.  The nurse comes in and tells me that since I haven't passed gas, the doctor has ordered an enema.  I don't care -- just do it.  It's unpleasant, and she tells me I have to hold it for 10 minutes before I'm allowed to let loose.  I manage to, but still no gas, and I'm still in a lot of pain.  A few hours later, I get the day nurse to put me back on Demerol, and have to remind her at the second dose, it's supposed to be every three hours now.  She says she'll be right back, and 15 minutes later she's still not there.  I walk to the nurses station and plead for my pain medication.  Finally, I realize that the only way I'm going to get the pain relief I need is if I can administer my own medication.  Going home will do that.  I really want to leave.  I'm so angry at the nurses and the doctor -- I know my body, and I need a Demerol every two hours, dammit!  So I walk, again, and again, and I still don't pass gas.  They come back with another enema.  It wouldn't have been so bad if the nurse had bothered to empty the air out of the enema bottle first.  So here I am, needing to pass gas, and she pumps air up into my butt.  Happy New Year!  I'm getting angrier by the minute!

Finally, an hour or so later, after pumping my legs in bed (walking upside down), the nurse comes in and is getting ready to help me up, and I fart.  I've never seen someone so happy that I farted (and I've never been so happy myself).  I ask her if I can leave now, and she says fine, she'll begin to process the papers in an hour or so, after I make sure I've got someone coming.  I'm due for a pain pill, so she disappears to get it, and I'm counting the minutes.  That little fart didn't help my pain, and I'm still in agony.  Finally she returns, about 20 minutes later, and forgot the Demerol.  She goes back to get it, and this time she's only gone 10 minutes.  I want out of this place!  I feel so dirty from not having ever been wiped properly, and I hurt.  I think the only way I'm going to be taken care of the way I want is if I do it myself.  I decide to go ahead and take a shower, and surprisingly can do it pretty well (it helps that I pilfered a couple extra towels off the linen cart in my last walk down the hall).

I'm scheduled to leave about 2PM.  The nurse starts the paperwork about 1:45, and my stepmom and son arrive about the same time.  I'm due for a pain pill by about 3PM, but of course, can't get it before I leave.   The nurse finally finishes the paperwork about 2:45, and I can go.  I get to the car, and immediately ask my stepmom for a Demerol, before she even pulls away from the hospital curb (she got the prescription filled the day before, New Years Eve, because I knew it would be next to impossible to get it filled today).  I brought a cup of water, and a tiny pill cup I hope to dissolve it in.  Demerol doesn't dissolve!  I try to crush it with the end of my glasses, but to no avail.  I finally give up and chew it.  I'm desperate.  It's too bad I didn't have her slip it to me upstairs, when we were waiting for the nurse to finish the paperwork.

The ride home is difficult.  Every bump hurts like hell, even though I have my pillow pushed against my stomach.  Every acceleration has to be gentle, every braking gradual.  I'm so glad my stepmom has my Dad's Cadillac -- her Contour's sport suspension would have been pure torture on my stomach.  I get home, and can take the Demerol as I need, and I'm fine (you NEED to get a pill crusher, so you have it when you get home from the hospital).  The next few days are tolerable, and the pain eventually subsides.

I know this sounds like I went through hell, but I expected everything I experienced (nobody ever gives me enough pain medication), with one exception.  I was never told I wouldn't be able to wipe myself after going potty, either in the hospital, or later at home.  I don't know if it's just one of those things that nobody wants to talk about, or if I was unique (I'm going to ask at the next Staple Club meeting).  Anyway, luckily, I have a long-hosed shower massage.  I just figured I'd make the effort and try to wipe, and until I could reach, I'd just get up off the toilet, hang my butt over the tub right next to it, and reach around with the shower massage to get clean.  I left the shower massage hanging down into the tub constantly, and I left a special towel to dry myself there hanging over the shower curtain bar.  This went on for at least the next 3-4 days.  I think by the time it had been a week, I could reach to wipe everything, and no longer needed the shower massage.  But it's certainly something to be prepared for.  I shudder to think what my fate would have been if I hadn't had that shower massage.

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