The Chronic Pain Chronicles, Part 6: Not the Bee's Knees

The Bible says that God puts no more on you than you can bear, so I guess Fibromyalgia, plus a diagnosis of degenerative disc disease, plus chronic migraines just don't seem to be enough pain. Apparently, God thinks I can tolerate more.

Have you ever awakened only to realize that something that used to function properly doesn't function so properly anymore? That was my knees. More specifically, my left knee. At first, it felt like it needed to pop. As days went on and the pain increased, I started limping. At some point, it felt like it could no longer stand my own weight, so it was time to go to an Orthopaedist. According to the orthopaedist, that pain was a Baker's cyst and a torn meniscus. Recovery was slow but it came just in time for my other knee to break down. My right knee was doing the exact same thing as the left. To my surprise, it was a torn meniscus.

At this point in my life, my chronic pain was excruciating. I was prescribed the Fentynal Transdermal pain patch but it did nothing for my knee pain or migraines. (This was before the opioid overdose crisis.) After all the back pain and now knee pain, I entered the world of orthopedic shoes...the ugliest shoes on Earth.

My knee pain would come and go. I was told that I would eventually have to have my knees replaced but apparently, you have to wait until you're old enough to get your knees replaced...which is about 75 (I was told). I personally think orthopaedist tell their patients different things depending upon their situation. I have a friend who got her knees replaced while she was in her 40s and my Mother got her's replaced in her late 70s. So, until I age some more (God willing), I have to get my knees injected about every 6 months to stave off the pain.

A Patient Experience in Patience, Part 1

2017 marked an April Fool's Day that I will never forget. I've never been big on practical joking and on a day that it's celebrated, I felt like the biggest joke was played on me.
March 31st was a great day. I spent the day with 2 of my Grand-nieces. We shopped, cooked and even painted pottery. At the end of the day, I was my usual nocturnal self, still wide awake at 2 am (now April 1st). Suddenly, my stomach began to hurt. "No. Wait. That's not where my stomach is.", I thought. The pain was radiating from the right side, kind of where my ribs are. Even through the pain, I began searching the internet and everything kept pointing toward the gallbladder organ. Gallbladder? I didn't even know what to think but the pain kept increasing, so I woke my husband up and off to ER we went.

The ER was empty (thank God) and as I was being assessed, everyone kept asking me the same question, "Do you still have your gallbladder?". Yes, I still had it. As a matter of fact, I never even thought about it...until now. I'm taken to get an ultrasound only to be forgotten in the hallway by patient transport. The ultrasound technician felt so bad for me that she closed her office door and wheeled me back to emergency herself. With the appropriate pain meds on board (Finally!) and after seeing a parade of physicians, the chief surgeon announced, "We're going to admit you." The first thing out of my mouth was, "Why??" Two gallstones showed up on the ultrasound and the CT-Scan and my heightened pain meant that something else was going on other than just the gallstones.

April 1st at approximately 7:30 am, I'm officially admitted and moved into a private hospital room. My mind is still in disbelief because I've never been through anything like this before. No sooner than I'm in my room and I'm told that I've been scheduled for an MRI. Sheesh! I really don't want to move anymore. The pain is causing me breathing problems and I just want to be left alone. The MRI was the most difficult MRI I've ever had because it required me to hold my breath at a time where it hurt to just breathe. I felt like I was fading in and out of conscience-ness during the test, so I can't recall how often I was doing as instructed. FINALLY! The test was over and I'm wheeled back in the hall to wait for patient transport...again. My MRI was supposed to have taken 30-35 minutes. I don't know how long the patient's test after me was supposed to take but I was STILL waiting in the hallway on a patient bed after the patient's test was complete.

Back in my room, dying of thirst and I'm told that I can't have anything to eat or drink because I was scheduled for surgery ASAP but they didn't exactly know what time that would be. Hours go by. Sometime between late Saturday and early Sunday, my temperature spikes. Vitals are taken, antibiotics and Tylenol on board, more IVs added to my tree, more blood was drawn and I'm feeling like a pin cushion. Something I couldn't control was happening to my body and I felt extremely helpless. (Oh! I forgot to mention the ever-present heart monitor. Any movements out of the bed apparently made my heartbeat increase and whoever was monitoring it kept calling the nurse in charge to check on me. I think my heart was pranking them the whole time I was there. Ha!)

Time never moved so slowly before. Lots of poking, prodding, answering questions and waiting. The question of the day was, "When did you start having pain?". I kept saying about 2am Saturday morning but that wasn't the answer they were looking for. I guess I was supposed to have had pain for weeks prior but all I had was bloating...for months but no real pain.

I finally have the surgery and found out that my gallbladder was 50% dead. How did I walk around with 50% of my gallbladder not functioning and not really feel it? (I think it was all the Korean ginseng I was taking. LOL) And why am I waking up to a 6 inch open wound?

A Patient Experience in Patience, Part 2

My gallbladder was so infected, it seemed to have made the surgeons a bit nervous. I think I was less concerned about the infection and more intrigued about this newfound wound I had. (I'm a bit nerdy that way.) If you've ever seen "Little Shop of Horrors", the scar reminded me of the lips of the alien plant...without the teeth.

After surgery, the circus began. The hospital I was in used to be the BEST in the city. Unfortunately, it has fallen into a pool of disrepair and lack of care. I experienced so many outlandish scenarios that I actually started taking pictures.

The roll of garbage bags that sat on the mousepad of the computer.

The hole in the blanket that I saw in the middle of the night and swore it was a bug.

The empty IV bag I found in my bathroom sink.

The splattered blood by a nurse who never bothered to get me another blanket and only said, "Oops."

My stained sheets that I had asked to be changed and it didn't happen until the next day.

Things I didn't get pictures to capture were:

-how a nurse used the top of the soiled sheet receptacle to hold her supplies as she attempted to draw my blood.

-how after having an accident in the bathroom (with the urine catcher "thingy"), I ended up having to clean it up myself (post-surgery) with the foam antibacterial spray and by using my foot to wipe up the floor with a towel. This was AFTER an assistant came in and used HER foot to clean it up with a towel and left. I cleaned it up again because it was sticky. Housekeeping eventually came in and cleaned it up but it was HOURS after the accident.

The grand finale of my hospital stay was when THEY FORGOT TO DISCHARGE ME! I waited from 9am until almost 3pm waiting to be discharged. The nurse kept saying, "There's nothing in the system." Finally, a nurse decided to dig a little deeper into why there was nothing in the system. I was LITERALLY forgotten. Whatever physician was responsible for initiating my release forgot to do it. In an effort to quickly resolve the issue, my discharge was finally complete...so I thought. A nurse came into my room with the discharge papers and immediately began to apologize. For someone being sent home with an open wound to care for, my discharge papers were extremely basic. There were no detailed instructions about how to care for my open wound. I got a crash course from the nurse (who was very sympathetic) on what to do, how to do it and the supplies I would need. 

I survived that hospital stay and vowed to never return for any other planned surgeries or procedures. If the hospital thinks they're getting good feedback from surveying their patients, I think they're asking ALL the wrong questions.