Sandie_Zitkus
In Rememberance
I'm home from the hospital - exhausted - but pain-free.
Wayne stayed with me every day, and only left to feed the dogs and change clothes. He slept in a chair next to my bed. I don't think I understood the depth of his love for me until this happened.
All of the well wishes everyone posted here on Dimensions made me feel incredibly cared about. Thank you with all my heart.
So - I understand that in situations like this when people go into the hospital for various reasons, usually it's an uneventful process of getting well and then going home. What in the world makes you think it was like that for me?
We get to the ER last Thursday evening. They take me to a room to be examined, and in walks my nurse - six-foot-four, 220-pound, muscular build, flat-top, obviously ex-military or ex-Marine. He says to me "I'm going to need a urine sample from you, ma'am." He leaves the room for a second, and I say to Wayne "I don't know if I can pee." The nurse comes back and I say to him "What if I can't pee?" He gives me this look that scared the crap out of me and said in his best forceful military tone, "I can catheterize you, ma'am." Looking in his eyes, I figured he would take great pleasure in doing that. He said. "It's your choice", and I said "I'll pee."
After that, all the tests started. I had urine taken, blood taken , an EKG, ultrasound, and x-rays done in what seemed like 15 minutes. I was in the hall on a gurney waiting to go to X-Ray. The woman who would be taking me to X-ray comes walking down the hallway. She was an older woman; I don't know what she was eating, but it was all over the front of her shirt. And she's yelling at me as she's coming down the hallway, "I'm comin', darlin'" She gets to where I am, and another technician comes out of the x-ray room, sees that she has crumbs all over her tip, starts wiping it off and says "You need to stop doing that." The first woman says to her, "Oh Lord, could you check the room I was just in? There's probably crumbs all over the counter. I'm gonna get in trouble again."
So she turn to me and says, "OK, darlin - it's time to get your x-rays." The second technician asked her if she needed help getting me to the x-ray room - she said "Oh, no - I can handle it." We had to make three turns on the way to X-Ray - she hit the wall each time with the edge of the gurney, and each time she said "Oh, Lord - it's a good thing I don't drive like that!"
We get to the x-ray room. After about ten tries, she gets me into the room. Then she realized she has me in the room facing the wrong direction. People kept offering her help, and she kept saying "No, I can do it." If I hadn't been in so much pain, I would have been laughing hysterically.
OK - tests done. The ER doctor comes in and says with all the authority he can muster, "You're having a gall bladder attack." At this point, I had to bite my tongue, because the Jersey girl in me (in my head) is screaming "No shit, Sherlock!! Can I have pain meds now??" Then he started getting into the details - it's inflamed, you can't have anything to eat or drink for a few days, you need to let the gall bladder "cool down" before we can make a decision about removing it, etc. I seem to recall saying at this point, "Can I have pain meds now?" And he starts talking to me about the special diet I'll have to be on until the gall bladder comes out - it seemed very important to him that I understand I "COULD NOT HAVE ANY GRAVY", which really pissed me off because anyone who knows me would tell you that we have a separate fridge here at our house just for gravy; I put it on everything - even cereal. But I digress...
So he gets up and says they're gonna admit me. He shakes our hands and as he leaves says to a nurse "Let's get this girl some painkillers." To which my inner Jersey girl responded "It's about fuckin' time!!!"
They gave me the meds, which kicked in as we were in the elevator heading for the fifth floor, where I my room was. I remember I said something like "WEEE!!", because at that point I didn't give a shit about the pain any more.
They settle me into my room; the nurse is talking to me about something, but all I can remember is me giggling. I think that at some point in here, I just passed out.
I was not allowed to have any food. Not even ice to wet my mouth. I wish I knew what the pain medication they gave me was, but I don't remember the name. But sometime Friday afternoon, the hallucinations started. And I also started talking in my sleep. I don't remember who I was talking to, but I do remember having incredibly animated conversations with my hallucinations.
I don't have a lot of memories from Friday morning to Saturday afternoon. But just for a moment here, let's talk about the doctors I got to see. First, there was the doctor in ER Thursday night. Then Friday morning, there was a doctor from my PCP's practice (another ex=military type). The only thing I remember about his visit was him poking my gall bladder real hard and asking how that felt. My inner Jersey girl wanted to say "It's a fuckin' picnic, dickwad!" He said something about WLS, and I think I may have passed out again.
Then, the surgeon showed up, once again telling me I had a gall bladder problem. (These doctors are geniuses.) His recommendation was to get better and arrange to have the surgery done at Baylor's bariatric unit in Dallas. He then suggested that I might want to think about having a lapband done that the same time. I said I was not interested in a lapband - the issue at hand was my gall bladder.
Friday night. More hallucinations. Still no food.
Saturday morning. I'm in the bathroom when I hear Wayne talking to another man. Now remember, I'm still having hallucinations so I'm wondering why Wayne is talking to Yakov Smirnoff. Wayne helped me out of the bathroom, and there is a bearded man with a very heavy Russian or Ukrainian accent in my room - he's another doctor from my PCP's group. I couldn't understand a fucking word he said, except the words "lapband surgery". He was apparently was trying to give me a lot of information, but nothing is registering. One part of the conversation I DID participate in went something like this:
DR: "Lapband surgery."
ME: "No."
DR: (something I couldn't understand) "lapband surgery."
ME: "No."
DR: "OK. Is your decision."
As he's leaving, he's passing Wayne and says "You know, you should consider too lapband surgery."
(The conspiracy theorist in me wonders if lapband has now become the government's way of culling the population.)
The last doctors I saw were today. I'm going to call them "Miss Jean and Goth Chick Doctor" (the last two doctors in my PCP's group). Miss Jean twirled in like Glinda the good Witch, and even talked a little bit like a cross between her and the woman on "Romper Room" - and I wasn't even hallucinating any more! With her was Goth Chick Doctor; other than the white coat, she was in black, had a black studded belt on, and spent the whole time looking at the floor.
Read the next conversation I'm going to type as if Glinda The Good Witch was reading the Miss Jean part, and you'll have an idea of what this was like:
Miss Jean: "Hello ,darling. How are you today?"
(She starts to lean in as if she's going to tell me a secret.)
MJ: "You have to have your gall bladder out, you know."
(I had no idea what to say - I was staring at her dumb-founded.)
MJ: "If you're a good girl and you eat all your lunch today, we'll be sending you home."
(leaning in again)
MJ: "Do you think you can do that?"
ME: "Am I going to get antibiotics and painkillers to take home?"
(At this point, Goth Chick Doctor awoke from the dead.)
Goth Chick Doctor: "Oh, yeah."
And then they left the room, and I awaited my lunch.
I had the most wonderful overnight nurse. Here name was Sarah - she couldn't be more than 90 pounds soaking wet, but she was the most kind, caring, and compassionate person I think I've ever met. Saturday was the first night she was on duty, and she came into the room when Wayne was asleep and I happened to be crying. Being a hypochondriac I was really scared about being in the hospital. She sat with me and talked to me about everything I was scared of. And she told me that anything that I needed to talk about, she'd be there for me. And she was - without question. She would come in every night and spent a few minutes with me, making sure I was OK.
Monday night they stopped the IV, but I had to keep the needle in my hand for the final antibiotic. She brought the IV pump in to administer the final antibiotic, set it up, and tried to turn it on. Nothing. So she's getting angry - saying things like "other people use these pumps and don't bother charging them, and I get so angry about it", etc. Then she looks at the on/off button, and goes "Oops!", flips it to ON, and starts doing the Chrissy Snow snort laugh. Then she said, "Mah husband woulda loved that!"
Anyway, she's a fabulous nurse, and Wayne and I are going to get her something special and bring it up to her.
But back to my favorite part of the week - my catheterization. (This is adult in nature, just so you know.)
Saturday afternoon, the RN on the floor informs me I am to be catheterized - they thought I had a bladder infection. I continue to have conversations with my hallucinations.
Sidenote: Does anyone remember Teensy and Weensy from "I Love Lucy"?? Because I'm pretty sure that came to visit me in the room...
Two nurses come into the room and announce that it's time for my catheterization (like to was a birthday party or something.) This is where Wayne excused himself and left the room. They lowered the bed so my head was lower than my hips - always fun for a fat girl. They pulled my gown up to my waist, and told me to spread my legs as far as possible. My inner Jersey girl is saying "I usually get 50 bucks for that, bitch!!"
Two nurses. Four hands. All trying to find my urethra. They spent a good deal of time poking my "little buddy", for lack of a better term. And let me tell you, she's not used to getting poked like that. They did this for maybe five minutes. It went something like this:
Poke. OUCH.
Poke. OUCH.
Poke. OUCH.
Poke. OUCH.
At which point, the nurse says, "Ah'm gonna git someone to hailp." She comes back with another nurse. So now there's one nurse on either side of me, and one between my legs. All six hands are in my no-no place. In my head, I'm thinking "Damn - I wish I wasn't in so much pain!" Somewhere while they were poking, prodding, and moving things around, they found what they had been searching for - the elusive urethra! They pulled everything out, put the bed back the way it should be, and covered me back up. The three of them marched out of the room and as the door closed behind them, all I could think was "Isn't anyone gonna kiss me?"
One more thing: only the ladies will appreciate this. On Saturday night, Aunt Flo decided to stop by. And she stayed until just before we left the hospital.....
Wayne stayed with me every day, and only left to feed the dogs and change clothes. He slept in a chair next to my bed. I don't think I understood the depth of his love for me until this happened.
All of the well wishes everyone posted here on Dimensions made me feel incredibly cared about. Thank you with all my heart.
So - I understand that in situations like this when people go into the hospital for various reasons, usually it's an uneventful process of getting well and then going home. What in the world makes you think it was like that for me?
We get to the ER last Thursday evening. They take me to a room to be examined, and in walks my nurse - six-foot-four, 220-pound, muscular build, flat-top, obviously ex-military or ex-Marine. He says to me "I'm going to need a urine sample from you, ma'am." He leaves the room for a second, and I say to Wayne "I don't know if I can pee." The nurse comes back and I say to him "What if I can't pee?" He gives me this look that scared the crap out of me and said in his best forceful military tone, "I can catheterize you, ma'am." Looking in his eyes, I figured he would take great pleasure in doing that. He said. "It's your choice", and I said "I'll pee."
After that, all the tests started. I had urine taken, blood taken , an EKG, ultrasound, and x-rays done in what seemed like 15 minutes. I was in the hall on a gurney waiting to go to X-Ray. The woman who would be taking me to X-ray comes walking down the hallway. She was an older woman; I don't know what she was eating, but it was all over the front of her shirt. And she's yelling at me as she's coming down the hallway, "I'm comin', darlin'" She gets to where I am, and another technician comes out of the x-ray room, sees that she has crumbs all over her tip, starts wiping it off and says "You need to stop doing that." The first woman says to her, "Oh Lord, could you check the room I was just in? There's probably crumbs all over the counter. I'm gonna get in trouble again."
So she turn to me and says, "OK, darlin - it's time to get your x-rays." The second technician asked her if she needed help getting me to the x-ray room - she said "Oh, no - I can handle it." We had to make three turns on the way to X-Ray - she hit the wall each time with the edge of the gurney, and each time she said "Oh, Lord - it's a good thing I don't drive like that!"
We get to the x-ray room. After about ten tries, she gets me into the room. Then she realized she has me in the room facing the wrong direction. People kept offering her help, and she kept saying "No, I can do it." If I hadn't been in so much pain, I would have been laughing hysterically.
OK - tests done. The ER doctor comes in and says with all the authority he can muster, "You're having a gall bladder attack." At this point, I had to bite my tongue, because the Jersey girl in me (in my head) is screaming "No shit, Sherlock!! Can I have pain meds now??" Then he started getting into the details - it's inflamed, you can't have anything to eat or drink for a few days, you need to let the gall bladder "cool down" before we can make a decision about removing it, etc. I seem to recall saying at this point, "Can I have pain meds now?" And he starts talking to me about the special diet I'll have to be on until the gall bladder comes out - it seemed very important to him that I understand I "COULD NOT HAVE ANY GRAVY", which really pissed me off because anyone who knows me would tell you that we have a separate fridge here at our house just for gravy; I put it on everything - even cereal. But I digress...
So he gets up and says they're gonna admit me. He shakes our hands and as he leaves says to a nurse "Let's get this girl some painkillers." To which my inner Jersey girl responded "It's about fuckin' time!!!"
They gave me the meds, which kicked in as we were in the elevator heading for the fifth floor, where I my room was. I remember I said something like "WEEE!!", because at that point I didn't give a shit about the pain any more.
They settle me into my room; the nurse is talking to me about something, but all I can remember is me giggling. I think that at some point in here, I just passed out.
I was not allowed to have any food. Not even ice to wet my mouth. I wish I knew what the pain medication they gave me was, but I don't remember the name. But sometime Friday afternoon, the hallucinations started. And I also started talking in my sleep. I don't remember who I was talking to, but I do remember having incredibly animated conversations with my hallucinations.
I don't have a lot of memories from Friday morning to Saturday afternoon. But just for a moment here, let's talk about the doctors I got to see. First, there was the doctor in ER Thursday night. Then Friday morning, there was a doctor from my PCP's practice (another ex=military type). The only thing I remember about his visit was him poking my gall bladder real hard and asking how that felt. My inner Jersey girl wanted to say "It's a fuckin' picnic, dickwad!" He said something about WLS, and I think I may have passed out again.
Then, the surgeon showed up, once again telling me I had a gall bladder problem. (These doctors are geniuses.) His recommendation was to get better and arrange to have the surgery done at Baylor's bariatric unit in Dallas. He then suggested that I might want to think about having a lapband done that the same time. I said I was not interested in a lapband - the issue at hand was my gall bladder.
Friday night. More hallucinations. Still no food.
Saturday morning. I'm in the bathroom when I hear Wayne talking to another man. Now remember, I'm still having hallucinations so I'm wondering why Wayne is talking to Yakov Smirnoff. Wayne helped me out of the bathroom, and there is a bearded man with a very heavy Russian or Ukrainian accent in my room - he's another doctor from my PCP's group. I couldn't understand a fucking word he said, except the words "lapband surgery". He was apparently was trying to give me a lot of information, but nothing is registering. One part of the conversation I DID participate in went something like this:
DR: "Lapband surgery."
ME: "No."
DR: (something I couldn't understand) "lapband surgery."
ME: "No."
DR: "OK. Is your decision."
As he's leaving, he's passing Wayne and says "You know, you should consider too lapband surgery."
(The conspiracy theorist in me wonders if lapband has now become the government's way of culling the population.)
The last doctors I saw were today. I'm going to call them "Miss Jean and Goth Chick Doctor" (the last two doctors in my PCP's group). Miss Jean twirled in like Glinda the good Witch, and even talked a little bit like a cross between her and the woman on "Romper Room" - and I wasn't even hallucinating any more! With her was Goth Chick Doctor; other than the white coat, she was in black, had a black studded belt on, and spent the whole time looking at the floor.
Read the next conversation I'm going to type as if Glinda The Good Witch was reading the Miss Jean part, and you'll have an idea of what this was like:
Miss Jean: "Hello ,darling. How are you today?"
(She starts to lean in as if she's going to tell me a secret.)
MJ: "You have to have your gall bladder out, you know."
(I had no idea what to say - I was staring at her dumb-founded.)
MJ: "If you're a good girl and you eat all your lunch today, we'll be sending you home."
(leaning in again)
MJ: "Do you think you can do that?"
ME: "Am I going to get antibiotics and painkillers to take home?"
(At this point, Goth Chick Doctor awoke from the dead.)
Goth Chick Doctor: "Oh, yeah."
And then they left the room, and I awaited my lunch.
I had the most wonderful overnight nurse. Here name was Sarah - she couldn't be more than 90 pounds soaking wet, but she was the most kind, caring, and compassionate person I think I've ever met. Saturday was the first night she was on duty, and she came into the room when Wayne was asleep and I happened to be crying. Being a hypochondriac I was really scared about being in the hospital. She sat with me and talked to me about everything I was scared of. And she told me that anything that I needed to talk about, she'd be there for me. And she was - without question. She would come in every night and spent a few minutes with me, making sure I was OK.
Monday night they stopped the IV, but I had to keep the needle in my hand for the final antibiotic. She brought the IV pump in to administer the final antibiotic, set it up, and tried to turn it on. Nothing. So she's getting angry - saying things like "other people use these pumps and don't bother charging them, and I get so angry about it", etc. Then she looks at the on/off button, and goes "Oops!", flips it to ON, and starts doing the Chrissy Snow snort laugh. Then she said, "Mah husband woulda loved that!"
Anyway, she's a fabulous nurse, and Wayne and I are going to get her something special and bring it up to her.
But back to my favorite part of the week - my catheterization. (This is adult in nature, just so you know.)
Saturday afternoon, the RN on the floor informs me I am to be catheterized - they thought I had a bladder infection. I continue to have conversations with my hallucinations.
Sidenote: Does anyone remember Teensy and Weensy from "I Love Lucy"?? Because I'm pretty sure that came to visit me in the room...
Two nurses come into the room and announce that it's time for my catheterization (like to was a birthday party or something.) This is where Wayne excused himself and left the room. They lowered the bed so my head was lower than my hips - always fun for a fat girl. They pulled my gown up to my waist, and told me to spread my legs as far as possible. My inner Jersey girl is saying "I usually get 50 bucks for that, bitch!!"
Two nurses. Four hands. All trying to find my urethra. They spent a good deal of time poking my "little buddy", for lack of a better term. And let me tell you, she's not used to getting poked like that. They did this for maybe five minutes. It went something like this:
Poke. OUCH.
Poke. OUCH.
Poke. OUCH.
Poke. OUCH.
At which point, the nurse says, "Ah'm gonna git someone to hailp." She comes back with another nurse. So now there's one nurse on either side of me, and one between my legs. All six hands are in my no-no place. In my head, I'm thinking "Damn - I wish I wasn't in so much pain!" Somewhere while they were poking, prodding, and moving things around, they found what they had been searching for - the elusive urethra! They pulled everything out, put the bed back the way it should be, and covered me back up. The three of them marched out of the room and as the door closed behind them, all I could think was "Isn't anyone gonna kiss me?"
One more thing: only the ladies will appreciate this. On Saturday night, Aunt Flo decided to stop by. And she stayed until just before we left the hospital.....
