The bad stuff

Incision

Originally uploaded by Dani H.

OK, hurrying now so Dave can have the computer …

Here’s where we get to the bad stuff. On Thursday, May 22 Rusty started throwing up and didn’t stop. Then all that was coming out of him — from both ends — was water.

So, we took him to the vet’s office that Friday morning. Then Rusty had EMERGENCY SURGERY Friday afternoon. Turns out there was no blockage, but his intestines were bunched up like an accordion for no apparent reason.

We were able to pick him up around 11 p.m. Friday, and had to take him back up to the vet’s Saturday morning for some more fluids. He had the IV thingy in his leg when we brought him home Friday, and if you go look at my photos there are a couple showing that.

He didn’t eat until that Sunday night, and then ate all the special food Dr. Jones gave us. When we ran out of that, he went on a hunger strike but finally gave in and started eating again.

Rusty got so much better in just a couple days, but then when the meds ran out, he seemed to have a relapse. I panicked and called Dr. Jones (this was Thursday May 29 in the evening) because Rusty was kind of pukey again. Dr. Jones told me to give Rusty a Pepto tablet, so I ran out and bought some, and it seemed to work.

So … Rusty is fine now, and we still don’t know what caused all this crap.

And yes, I have yet more to tell you, but I’ve got to go exercise.

Advertisements

The surgery

I know it’s been almost two months since my surgery, and I know I said in my comments that I was going to post about it “in a day or two,” but I’ve become addicted to a video game and like any good obsession, it requires all of my free time. I’m getting this entry over with, because I’ve got some other stuff that needs addressed, but I feel like I should get this out first.

So, the morning of my surgery we got up at the ass crack of dawn to drive up to BG. I was excited and nervous, mostly nervous, and mostly about having an I.V. I don’t do needles.

We got there and did the check-in thing, the paperwork, the clothing itemization, all that jazz. Eventually got to my little curtained-off area, changed into my stylish gown, got the I.V.

Not the ordeal I had imagined it would be, but I really wish they’d taken the juice out of the fridge sooner. My arm was ice cold in a very short time, and it sucked. We asked for another blanket for my block o’ ice, and got one that was all nice and warmed up.

At some point I talked to the anesthesiologist and some other people, including my doctor (sorry, details are fuzzy this far down the road). Then it was time!

They wheeled me to the operating room and starting giving me the gas. The last thing I remember thinking is, “Uh, shouldn’t this mask be on better? It seems like the gas is escaping. I don’t smell anything. I don’t think this is working.”

Then I woke up (slowly) in recovery. Very surreal. I’d never been totally under for anything before.

I think maybe I threw up in recovery, but I can’t remember anymore. They wheeled me back to my little area, Dave came back, and we hung out waiting for me to lose the fog so we could go home.

I was a little nauseous, so they brought me a regular Coke (I always thought Sprite or 7-Up was good for the nausea?). I know I threw up there. I think maybe I went to the bathroom at some point, and then we headed for home. They sent the little puke basin with us, along with a box of Kleenex.

I did not throw up in the car, but I did throw up on the front lawn, and into my little basin as I walked in the front door. Rusty thought that was hugely exciting.

And then I slept a lot of the day away. I think I had a ham sandwich very late that night. And some Pringles. I lived on Coke, ham sandwiches and Pringles for a few days. And lost a few pounds. I should have stuck with that diet!

I figured out sometime that weekend that taking two Vicodin at a time was making me nauseous, so I cut it back to one. Much better.

For the next week I sat on my butt on the couch in my pajamas, just as I had planned. The problem was I was bored out of my skull, so that Tuesday night I made Dave go buy me a game for the Wii. I’d done my research, and called to make sure Best Buy had it, so I was all set. That’s the game responsible for my absence. Puzzle Quest: Challenge of the Warlords. I love it.

When I went back to work, my belly button did not like my wearing actual pants, but it’s better now. (One incision was through my belly button, I guess I should tell you that, huh?)

So, not really any complications. It did hurt to laugh even around Christmas, or to turn just my upper body, but that’s all gone too.

So, hurray!

Early Christmas gift

*Warning: Much talk of girly parts ahead.*

Friday, tomorrow, is the big day.

I’m getting my tubes tied.

It’s taken many months to get to this point. I told my nurse, whom I adore, at my annual exam in April that Dave & I don’t want kids and wanted to ensure that we stay DINKs. Soon after, I met with my doctor about the Essure procedure and got it scheduled for May.

No one hassled me, no one questioned me. It seemed too easy. I should have known something would happen.

That something was a perforated uterus and a quick exit by the doctor and (surprise) intern. I wasn’t totally sure what had even happened, except that I had no Essure coils in my tubes.

A few days later, I scheduled another attempt in June. Even more days later, the office called to reschedule because my doctor was not there anymore. (!) They wouldn’t tell me why he was gone, but assured me that he was a good surgeon so I shouldn’t worry. We rescheduled for July (on my birthday) with a new doctor.

Happy birthday to me — I got bumped for a woman who’d gone into labor. Do you want to wait? “No.” How about tomorrow? “No, it had to be today or next month.” How about Thursday? “No, it had to be today or next month.”

A few days later, I tried to reschedule for August, but they said I had to have a consultation with the doctor about the Essure. “But I already know about it. I talked to (other doctor) the first time. I have no questions.” No, you have to meet with new doctor, too. “OK, fine.” Consultation set. I also left a message with the office manager to schedule the Essure.

Consultation rescheduled — doctor has surgery on original day.

What I won’t go into are all the messages left for various people every time something needed scheduled, and how long it took to get a call back.

I finally have a sit-down with the new doctor. She’s nice, and I know this mess isn’t her fault, but I’m pretty pissed about everything at this point. I’d figured out all the dates of phone calls/messages left, perforations, ruined birthdays, and told her I was pretty unhappy about the whole thing. I mean, three weeks later I was still waiting to hear from that office manager.

She didn’t have any idea about all the crap that had gone on, and I felt bad taking it out on her, but damn! She did tell me, though, that old doctor was basically an asshole and that’s why he was gone. (that’s not what she said, exactly, but I knew what she meant, you know?)

So, Essure scheduled for September.

Uteran perforation #2 in September. Yes, again, even though my doctor was extra careful.

It seems that having never had a kid, my uterus is small, which apparently makes it difficult to get around in there. Who knew?

I lost it. Lost. It. I laid there and bawled my eyes out from sheer frustration. After everyone scurried out to let me get dressed, I curled up on the bench and bawled some more. Eventually my doctor came back in, and we talked a little about where to go from there, and she said she’d e-mail me some information.

I didn’t make a move until last month, because I was just way too upset about everything to even think about how to next mutilate my insides. We (Dave & I, but mostly me) decided to go with bipolar electrocoagulation. I figure, the ways things have gone, any clips or clamps put on my tubes are bound to fall off and float around in my abdomen.

So here we are, surgery eve. I had my blood drawn and peed in a cup on Tuesday for pre-surgery tests, and thought I was going to puke from worrying about that needle. Today I think I’m going to puke from worrying about the IV.

I’m nervous, to say the least, despite how much I want this done. Aside from that IV, I’ve got pain in my future. From the incisions, from the procedure, and from the air that’ll be pumped into my stomach. The nurse I talked to on Monday told me that I’ll have shoulder pain like I won’t believe from that air, but if Dave rubs my shoulder it will go away, and that I should try to burp and fart a lot. Well, that last part isn’t a problem, but shoulder pain like I won’t believe? I’m a pansy, and that doesn’t sound good.

BUT — winding up pregnant sounds worse. So there you go.

If you need me, I’ll be on the couch for the next week.