The REAL Ordeal

As I was telling everyone, the excitement was really not in the surgery, but in the post-op complications. At least for me.

I awoke in my first-class ward (heehee), blurry, immobile and very thirsty. I did not realize that I was a "nil by mouth" patient as I had not anticipated my procedure to be quite serious enough to warrant it. There were also several other things that I was hooked up to while knocked out cold. A urine catheter was inserted into you-know-where. I thought it would hurt, but that's probably under normal circumstances. With the PCA black box, however, not even the incision wound stung, let alone the urine tube. I was also on the drip, as expected.

Anyway, one of the first faces I saw was Derrick, who came by with a pretty bouquet of sunflowers in the evening. Aaron came with apples and oranges. A whole box of tonics were also delivered, courtesy of company. I was quite groggy then. He, meanwhile, came much later in the night and fell asleep at my bedside before leaving at 1am. Mom spent the night on the couch.

I couldn't sleep soundly through the night, being woken up almost every hour by nurses to change my drip, clear my urine bag, take my BP and temperature. Gah. Medication was also intravenously fed. The worst thing that kept me awake, however, was the onset of shivers. I wasn't cold, but the involuntary teeth chattering, muscle spasms clenching my thighs and body shivers that lasted more than a few moments frightened me. I couldn't help it but didn't know why it was happening to me.

The next morning, I was finally given some Milo. I usually hate Milo but my first drink after 30 hours never felt so good. The anaesthetist also came in check on me. He said that the shivers were probably an after-effect of the GA and would go away (ya right on hindsight). Doc also came in to check on me and wanted me to try getting up, so he could remove the urine catheter and discharge me soon. He said that the fibroid had been really bloody, and I lost 15% of my blood in the process. Phew.

So the physiotherapist tried to get me to transfer to the hospital armchair. It was an effort alone to sit up without any back support. After waiting a few moments, I tried to stand. The moment I did, all hell broke loose. Blood rushed from my head and I blacked out. I was hastily lowered onto the armchair. I couldn't hold my head up or control any of my limbs. My vision swam. I was losing consciousness, as the physiotherapist kept calling me to stay with her.

Blink, close, blink close. It was hard enough keeping my eyes open. Then the painful retching made me throw up foam and Milo. The effort felt like a hammer hitting on my wound. I don't remember how I was transferred, but I was back to lying horizontally on the bed.

No more heroic acts for today, including getting off the bed. The urine bag stayed. So did the drip, as I wasn't eating well yet. The PCA, however, was removed. I was also made to wear horribly tight anti-DVT socks that stretched up to my mid-thighs.

The fainting spell, meanwhile, was attributed to the op. There's Part 2 to this story, but later.

Lunch was a few pieces of fish and some mouthfuls of soup, courtesy of Janice & Ade. Corinne kept me company as well. It was pretty scary trying to talk. I kept losing breath. How did an op manage to zap so much of my energy??

More meds came through the IV, as with an anti-clotting injection. The doctor was afraid I would develop the fatal DVT. Aside: I could actually feel the antibiotic burn my bloodstream as it was injected. Ouch.

The evening passed quite uneventfully. Thank God. Slight fever but nothing serious. Back and the heels of my legs were starting to ache with little movement though. Bro helped by massaging my feet. My left hand was swelling slightly due to the IV catheter as well.

It was another night of interrupted rest as a result of a slight fever. He took over Mom's overnight duty. In order to ensure I could wake the sleepyhead, he moved the couch right beside me so I could literally slap him awake. Which I did in the morning when the nurses came to check on me. Hah.

Day 3. I could now order my breakfast, morning break, lunch and dinner from the menu! I think I would have been seriously overfed, if not for my complete loss of appetite. There were five meals served! Doc came by again in the early afternoon to show me my fibroid. Gosh it was HUGE! And bloody. And chopped up, since there was no way he could get it out of the smaller incision.

Doc also wanted me to walk today. The pressure bandage on my wound was removed. My urine bag was removed. So was my IV catheter. Both didn't hurt. So insertion He was hoping to discharge me already, you see.

Big mistake.

Since I had fairly good energy levels, Mom encouraged me to try sitting by the couch first. I managed to transfer myself slowly. Hmm no dizziness, I thought happily to myself. I sat there and rewarded myself with two McNuggets.

Ok time to try getting to the bathroom. Mom hoisted me by my left armpit, Bro on my right. It was very slow progress. Halfway through the approximately 5m route, I started to pant heavily. I felt myself leaning heavily on my supports. I don't remember how, but by the time I was seated on the toilet seat, I was about to faint. Again.

I could feel the symptoms washing over me and gasped for Bro to get the nurse. Blackout again. My body hung limp as my mom supported my chin and repeatedly asked me to open my eyes. I could hear her but my body did not work of my own volition. I was deathly white (according to Mom). One nurse came in, then a houseman, then two more nurses. It was pandemonium.

I can't remember exactly what they did in those few moments. Might have been a BP check or something. The mayhem, coupled with my near loss of consciousnessness, made the initial details blurry. That is, until I heard the houseman wanting to poke me again. No actually it was the pain that brought me back, albeit only slightly. For that moment, I thought he had injected something into me. In reality, the pain came from the immense tightness of the surgical glove he had wrapped upon my left upper arm, in an attempt to insert an IV catheter. He failed to get my vein. (I only knew the details on hindsight, with Mom helping to fill the gaps.)

A staff nurse then suggested she would try on my right. It was then I realized they were trying to inject something into me. The reality of the feared IV insertion still had not sunk in. In my fear of needles, I think I protested weakly, "No I'm okay." My eyes remained closed. Obviously no one heard me.

You know, there is a reason that an LA jab is needed to insert the IV catheter, okay? Because it darn hurts. That was when I finally managed to blink open my eyes. The sitting position must have helped me to regain some consciousness as well. My first blink captured some disturbance. Hmm what's happening? My eyes shut again. My next blink saw the nurse spreading a waterproof sheet on her lap as she knelt beside me. Back to blackness. Then owwww! The IV catheter was in. Wow that hurt. (Again Mom filled in the details - apparently nurse's hands were all stained with my blood as the IV catheter went in. I only recalled dried bits on blood on the transparent plaster afterwards.)

At that point, I think I must have heard the houseman saying I needed to be quickly flooded with the drip, and another IV had to be inserted. Oh that was the keyword needed to jolt me awake. "I'm okay," I protested rather lamely again.

Oh god regaining some consciousness made the pain at the back of my right hand hurt even more...

It was still pretty chaotic, as it was Sunday and the ward was obviously short-handed. I remember the houseman's mobile ringing several times, and a nurse being berated for attempting to summon him, given that he was trapped in my crisis. Doc then said he needed me back on the bed, since there was little space to maneuver in the bathroom. They pushed the movable commode seat in to transport me. Everything became much clearer after I lay down. I was hooked up to oxygen that helped me breathe, in addition to some machine regulating the two IV drips. The nurses pasted little bits of stickers all over my chest to do an ECG. It was pretty scary being all wired up.

Some rest ensued. Again I don't remember much, but I presume a blood test must have been conducted to obtain my haemoglobin (HB) levels. The houseman came in to give his recommendation, and I jibed him for the painful jabs. He stared at me blankly. Poor guy must have been pretty spooked out by me. But then he panicked when that was the last thing he should have done! Oh well he's a trainee, what to do?

In the end, I was told that I needed blood transfusion, something that my attending surgeon had so far avoided. There are possibly repercussions from taking someone else's blood, mostly in the range of allergies and such. Both mom and I glanced suspiciously at Mr Barry Houseman, and asked if it was absolutely necessary. He said so without much conviction, even though we were told that the opinion concurred with the senior doctor. At that point, it sure felt like I was putting my health in the hands of a guy younger than myself... Yeah he looked closer to Bro's age than mine. Goodness...

I signed the indemnity form accepting the possibility of negative reactions to the two packs of blood I was to receive, but it was almost midnight before the lifeline arrived from the Blood Bank.

Meanwhile, he came back to hospital, after going home for a shower and nap. "You missed all the excitement!" Mom exclaimed. He looked blankly at my wasted face roped with the oxygen tubing, and said: "How come she's like that? I was only gone for a few hours."

Sigh.

Oh by the way, oxygen smells different from regular air. How should I describe it? It's not unpleasant at all, but there is a faint tinge of chemical about it? I definitely prefer fresh mountain air in any case.

The bedpan was also a rather novel experience! I only had to lift my backside for them to slide it under me. Although urine would flow to the back, it never once dripped onto the bed, despite my lying position. Amazing...

I was groggy with sleep when the blood pack finally came. Nurses checked in regularly on my transfusion progress, but it was moving too slowly and the blood was due to expire five hours from the start of the process. The pack was therefore inflated to exert pressure on the inward flow.

It HURT. My arm ached like someone was massaging my muscles that have raised dumbbells a thousand million times. I whimpered.

Unfortunately, I got no sympathy, except a "Just bear with it". I cried and cried, and called for Mom to come back quickly. Poor me.

Thankfully, the second pack of blood went in quickly. Three hours. No allergies. I slept like a baby after the emotional outburst.

Monday. Doc came early morning before his ops to check on me. Apparently, I had lost another 15% of my blood, making it a total of 30%. Doc didn't know where it went to, however. Internal bleeding possibly.

The blood worked like a lifeline though. I could sit up without back support, and transfer to the commode to do my business. Doc was keeping me another day for observation, just to ensure my blood count was stable.

Lunch was a busy affair. Colleagues and Corinne came.

I later attempted to walk to the toilet with Mom's help. Yay success! No fainting. Thank goodness. I also got to wash my hair for the first time since my admission. It was really oily and stinky by then. Yuck. Mom made a mess out of the washing though. Water and hair everywhere!

I slept the best on Monday night. The nurses pretty much left me to my own devices.

Tuesday morning was a flurry of activity before I was discharged. I had my blood test taken again, a visit from Doc, the physiotherapist, the pharmacist, and finally, finally, all the IV catheters removed.

It was strange seeing the outside of my room for the first time. I had been in the ward for four days, but I had never seen how it was really like in the hallways.

The heat, bustle and sunlight outside also hit me. I felt as if I was returning to civilization after a long time.