the needle and the knife
There's nothing written from this time period - between setting the date for surgery and actually arriving there - I remember going to museums with Brenna (my friend from art school and the best person to travel with in the world), and her and her husband Chuck taking me out for sushi the night before my operation. Sharing the room with the other med-evac from the Russia Far East program, feeling dazed much of the time. The closet in our room filled with discards from previous volunteers - clothes, Walkmans, cheap cameras, stuffed animals. So much stuff. Hot water. Internet. Stores. People.
It was overwhelming.
I couldn't eat or drink anything for 12 hours or so before surgery, it was scheduled for mid morning. No coffee. I went in with my mother, gave my Armenian karate photo id at the desk, changed into the lovely garb provided and special thigh high support hose (to prevent clots in my legs during and after surgery), waited around for a while with my mom. Some one came into the room and went through what was to be done with me, confirming that I was indeed the patient scheduled for a laminectomy of the L5/S1 disc, and that I had opted for a spinal rather than general anaesthesia, had me sign some papers.
Then I was brought into the surgery. They had a line in the back of my right hand by that point, probably already dripping the 'Buddha cocktail', as the surgeon had called it - something to soothe the savage breast. I sat on the edge of the table and leaned forward so that they could get a clear shot for the spinal. It was beyond painful; the nurse kept telling me to hold still, and I couldn't; I couldn't control my body. Tears streaming down my face, I bit down on my hand to keep from crying out, my body jerking away uncontrollably and instinctively. The godawful pain, beyond anything I had ever experienced. The nurse holding my shoulders, trying to hold my body still, trying to restrain me, me trying to restrain myself.
That was the worst. After it was finally in, and that was over, it was all cake and pie. They waited a bit, until I was quite numb from the waist down, and then flipped me over, belly down and spine exposed, onto an arched sort of support. It was hours later that the surgeon finished, but the Buddha drug was dripping, and there was a sort of blanket blowing hot air over my upper back (those operating rooms are bugger all cold!), so I didn't really mind. I do remember thinking they had put trays of instruments down on my back, and being quite annoyed; the sensation was irritating me. Most of the time I was half asleep, drowsy and dozing.
At the end, and as I had asked, the surgeon showed me the chunk they had taken out of my spinal canal (the nerve had been pushed all the way to one side, the canal almost a third blocked). It was whitish and bloody, like a jellyfish, abou the size of a silver dollar, with various tendrils and appendages trailing out from the main mass. They send everything straight to biopsy, you can't take it home again, and I had wanted to see what came out of me, what had caused all the pain.
I'm glad I did.
Then to a recovery room, waiting for my legs to come back - it's the strangest sensation, lying there, telling your legs to move, getting absolutely no response. I had to stay in recovery until I could ... wiggle my toes? Move my legs? Something impossible for a half hour or so. The surgeon checked in with me once or twice; I watched the other poor suckers coming out of general anaesthesia, getting sick and mumbling; I concentrated on moving my toes, getting my legs to work.
Finally I achieved my goal, and was wheeled into my room. I was dying for coffee, I was dying for liquid, absolutely parched, and I wanted an almond croissant, and my faithful mom went out to locate them for me. I had been warned that if I couldn't pee within a certain length of time post-op I would be catherized, so that was one of my big goals. Getting up to pee - I had to call a nurse to help me, my legs still very wobbley indeed, still with a line in the back of my hand and trailing a IV stand. Then I had to ask her to give me a little privacy so I could actually produce. Then wobbling back to the bed, stand and all, leaning on the nurse - I'd never have made it without her - and collapsing into the sheets, my mother returning with the coffee and croissant. That was wonderful.
I was in the hospital overnight, doped up and trying to sleep, the line in the back of my hand a constant bother, painful when I moved, my muscles stiff and sore. Still dopey from the drugs, and being woken several times that night by nurses checking on me, the needle in the back of my hand a constant irritant, painful whenever I moved. Unable to turn over in bed, because of the IV and the pain.
Still, by the next day I was up and walking, trundling my IV stand through the halls, the support stockings (designed for larger legs than mine) falling down around my knees, the pain in my left leg still there but drastically reduced. The surgeon came to see me, said he would release me – though he stressed only because my mother was there to caretake me; I asked him if I could take the line out of my hand. He said yes, but I don’t think he realized how serious I was until I started untaping it, and then he got an assistant to come by and remove it for me. I was quite ready to pull it out myself by that point, truly I was.
Brenna and my mom came by and picked me up, I had the usual wheelchair ride down to the entrance, and rode lying down in the back of Brenna’s car, back to the hotel, staying in my mom’s room – sleeping most of the time. I was so tired.
It was overwhelming.
I couldn't eat or drink anything for 12 hours or so before surgery, it was scheduled for mid morning. No coffee. I went in with my mother, gave my Armenian karate photo id at the desk, changed into the lovely garb provided and special thigh high support hose (to prevent clots in my legs during and after surgery), waited around for a while with my mom. Some one came into the room and went through what was to be done with me, confirming that I was indeed the patient scheduled for a laminectomy of the L5/S1 disc, and that I had opted for a spinal rather than general anaesthesia, had me sign some papers.
Then I was brought into the surgery. They had a line in the back of my right hand by that point, probably already dripping the 'Buddha cocktail', as the surgeon had called it - something to soothe the savage breast. I sat on the edge of the table and leaned forward so that they could get a clear shot for the spinal. It was beyond painful; the nurse kept telling me to hold still, and I couldn't; I couldn't control my body. Tears streaming down my face, I bit down on my hand to keep from crying out, my body jerking away uncontrollably and instinctively. The godawful pain, beyond anything I had ever experienced. The nurse holding my shoulders, trying to hold my body still, trying to restrain me, me trying to restrain myself.
That was the worst. After it was finally in, and that was over, it was all cake and pie. They waited a bit, until I was quite numb from the waist down, and then flipped me over, belly down and spine exposed, onto an arched sort of support. It was hours later that the surgeon finished, but the Buddha drug was dripping, and there was a sort of blanket blowing hot air over my upper back (those operating rooms are bugger all cold!), so I didn't really mind. I do remember thinking they had put trays of instruments down on my back, and being quite annoyed; the sensation was irritating me. Most of the time I was half asleep, drowsy and dozing.
At the end, and as I had asked, the surgeon showed me the chunk they had taken out of my spinal canal (the nerve had been pushed all the way to one side, the canal almost a third blocked). It was whitish and bloody, like a jellyfish, abou the size of a silver dollar, with various tendrils and appendages trailing out from the main mass. They send everything straight to biopsy, you can't take it home again, and I had wanted to see what came out of me, what had caused all the pain.
I'm glad I did.
Then to a recovery room, waiting for my legs to come back - it's the strangest sensation, lying there, telling your legs to move, getting absolutely no response. I had to stay in recovery until I could ... wiggle my toes? Move my legs? Something impossible for a half hour or so. The surgeon checked in with me once or twice; I watched the other poor suckers coming out of general anaesthesia, getting sick and mumbling; I concentrated on moving my toes, getting my legs to work.
Finally I achieved my goal, and was wheeled into my room. I was dying for coffee, I was dying for liquid, absolutely parched, and I wanted an almond croissant, and my faithful mom went out to locate them for me. I had been warned that if I couldn't pee within a certain length of time post-op I would be catherized, so that was one of my big goals. Getting up to pee - I had to call a nurse to help me, my legs still very wobbley indeed, still with a line in the back of my hand and trailing a IV stand. Then I had to ask her to give me a little privacy so I could actually produce. Then wobbling back to the bed, stand and all, leaning on the nurse - I'd never have made it without her - and collapsing into the sheets, my mother returning with the coffee and croissant. That was wonderful.
I was in the hospital overnight, doped up and trying to sleep, the line in the back of my hand a constant bother, painful when I moved, my muscles stiff and sore. Still dopey from the drugs, and being woken several times that night by nurses checking on me, the needle in the back of my hand a constant irritant, painful whenever I moved. Unable to turn over in bed, because of the IV and the pain.
Still, by the next day I was up and walking, trundling my IV stand through the halls, the support stockings (designed for larger legs than mine) falling down around my knees, the pain in my left leg still there but drastically reduced. The surgeon came to see me, said he would release me – though he stressed only because my mother was there to caretake me; I asked him if I could take the line out of my hand. He said yes, but I don’t think he realized how serious I was until I started untaping it, and then he got an assistant to come by and remove it for me. I was quite ready to pull it out myself by that point, truly I was.
Brenna and my mom came by and picked me up, I had the usual wheelchair ride down to the entrance, and rode lying down in the back of Brenna’s car, back to the hotel, staying in my mom’s room – sleeping most of the time. I was so tired.
posted by meg at 3:10 PM
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