So here I am blagging on about how regularly I take my Vicodin like a good little opiate-eater... and then this afternoon I'm out on the patio (Worldwide Plaza is my new living room. Want to see me? Swing by the Plaza on an afternoon. There I be with the rest of the infirm out taking our afternoon 'walk'. I'm the one without a bored-looking nurse in tow) with my girlfriend and we're yakking up a good old ex-boyfriend-bash of a storm, and then I meander back inside and do my feel the burn routine, and not until about 7pm, after another set of friends have come by to visit and I start to feel the slightest twinge in my leg, just a mildly odd sensation, do I realize that I missed my 4pm pill-pop.
Which I think is a good thing, because a) clearly I'm not addicted if I can so casually forget;
and b) clearly the pain level is going down if my leg isn't reminding me at hour 8;
and c) clearly I don't have a c) but I felt like an a) and a b) alone were insufficient.
So, yay. Perhaps I'll be investigating a longer 'tween-pill stretch sooner than I thought. We'll see what happens tomorrow. In the meantime it is taking every ounce of discipline I possess not to rip off the surgical tape.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
8 - 4 - 12
A lot of people ask me if I'm in pain. And frankly, I'm not. I wake up sore from physical therapy every morning, plus aching ribs from the new upper body crutch challenge. And of course, my sacrum is still trying to get a divorce. But I am on a solid 8 hour Vicodin regime that does away with any meanderings down bone pain lane. I was advised not to play the bone pain game ("what happens if I wait to take my medication until I actually feel something inside my leg?") by several people, because by the time the meds ramp up again you've gone through a few hours of serious unpleasantness. And frankly, there was enough unpleasantness in the hospital. I feel no need to reenact that experience.
But it's interesting to be so medicated. First of all, I feel mildly dumb. Like my entries here aren't quite as sharp 'n' witty as they were pre-hospital. Also, I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting addicted. Around the 7 1/2 hour mark I often start to feel a little depressed, a little self-sorry, wondering if my hip is going to stick out like a shelf for the entire year that the metal plate is in, wondering if any man could possibly overlook a hip that sticks out like a shelf (I have some adorable - rather, formerly adorable - shorts with "Nantucket" across the bottom that I wear when I do my Fonda moves, and now due to my hip shelf, they say "NantucKET"), and so on. About an hour after I take my 2 Vicodin, the world is rosy again. Visiting Nurse Shannon did say that the meds would have an effect on my emotions, but she didn't say anything about it being so clockwork. In a few weeks I can start trying to space out the meds more and more; in the meantime, I guess fuzzy and emotional are where I'm at.
Scar is healing well. I still have the surgical tape on from the surgery, and I have to let it peel off as and when it desires. Definitely not allowed to pull the little strips off. However my new favorite pastime is to run my fingers along the scar and let the edges of the tape lift up like feathers. Not pulling, just encouraging. There are a few tiny spaces now where the tape lifts completely off and I can see the scar underneath. It looks like capellini. Actually what it really looks like are the intestinal worms that my dog had as a puppy. But capellini sounds better. Once the tape comes off completely, I'll post a picture. I know you're all waiting, baited. Personally I'm really curious to see what's under there.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Ow
Woke up so sore this morning from my new moves. Jane, I apologize.
My doctor friend said it's a sign you're getting better when the PT is kicking your ass. My ass is officially kicked.
The Wheelchair came and I love it. I'm going to be a speed demon. Mom looked nervous.
My doctor friend said it's a sign you're getting better when the PT is kicking your ass. My ass is officially kicked.
The Wheelchair came and I love it. I'm going to be a speed demon. Mom looked nervous.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Let's Get Physical
My physical therapist, Ruth, came today to check on my progress. Since I am mildly obsessive and very stubborn I'm making great strides! (Also to be fair to this body, it was in very good condition thanks to a daily yoga practice). She's given me several new exercises to do in addition to the old crew that I've been doing twice daily since the hospital. It's really funny stuff - all side leg lifts and ham curls. Some of them I can do no problem, but some, like lying on my back and lifting my leg straight up in the air, just won't happen. I can engage the muscles, but we don't go anywhere. But this is how it was with several of the old moves, and after serious effort a la Uma Thurman in the back of the truck in Kill Bill, I was able to do things like lift my foot off the ground and slide my leg sideways. So I'm hoping it will be the same with these. We also discussed some very mild yoga that I want to incorporate and she gave me the green light. I think I'm one of the more entertaining people she gets to visit - she said most of her patients are between 80 and 100 and really don't want to do any silly little repetitive exercises. I'm like - it's 75 degrees outside - I'll curl my hamstring 800 times a day if it gets me out there faster.
Another new development - it looks like I'm getting a wheelchair! This may sound like backwards movement, but it would allow me to go outside for more than 20 minutes at a time. Apparently the insurance will cover most of the cost of the rental and this way I can go to the park or maybe even to the movies... very exciting. I was getting depressed thinking I was going to miss Pirates of the Caribbean: Here's Johnny, Again.
Dear visiting people - please keep visiting I love seeing you all. Come back as many times as you want. However please don't bring any more cookies with you. I have a lot of cookies now. And already a hip that sticks out sideways like a shelf. And not a lot of exercise overall apart from my Jane Fonda moves. Please come and eat the cookies that are here and don't bring any more.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Don't Ask Any Questions
My mom and I negotiate each other pretty well, as it turns out. She's recognizing my need to be able to do as many things for myself as I can (which on a good day makes me feel great, and on a day when it's been several hours since my last Vicadin, makes me feel like I'm on the special bus: "Good for you Sarah! You can pick up your socks with your toes!"). As much as possible, she's letting me do for myself. There are non-negotiables, like supervised middle of the night bathroom trips, but a few days ago she said to me, "You just tell me when you need my help, and otherwise I'll let you do things on your own."
"Perfect," I replied, as it was.
Then a few hours later as I reached across the table for the remote: "You just let me know, and I'll help you."
"Yes. Awesome. Thank you."
And then again, as I counted out seven and a half Coumadin: "You just tell me whenever you need my help."
Really very adorable and mom-like, and we laughed pretty hard when I pointed out to her that it was the third time she had told me that I could tell her if I needed help. Honestly I think she's showing a lot of restraint.
Then my brother came over that evening (he and his fiance are leaving for California; I'm selfishly sad to lose them but excited for their L.A. adventure) and mom asked him several times if he wanted anything to eat. (I guess if you're a mom you never think that your kids are not hungry?)
"Mom," I said, "Maybe the rule that we established today would work for Matt too."
"What rule?" Matt asked.
"I don't get to ask any questions," she said meekly.
Which about put me on the floor laughing. And it has come to be our code: when she instinctively reaches out to take the top off the medicine bottle that I'm holding and then catches herself and pulls her arm back, or when she goes to take something out of a drawer that I can now trundle over to on my own, I remind her - "Don't ask any questions."
Of course, my growing independence has its drawbacks. It's not such a bad thing to be completely waited on hand and foot, have your meals brought to you on a tray, your back rubbed, your sudoku handed to you with the pencil already attached to the book... now when there's something I can easily manage on my own, like refilling my water bottle, I feel sort of lame still asking my mom to do it for me. I tell myself that she wants to do it. Matt said that when she's done here she can come to L.A. and take care of him.
In other news, I went outside for the first time yesterday since I got back from the hospital. Those of you here in NYC know what a perfectly beautiful day it was. I walked about 50 yards up the street with my walker (Visiting Nurse Mike said that the walker's good for outside; people see it and get out of your way) and then turned around and came back inside and took a big nap. Standing up for long periods of time is still hard - I can handle about 15-20 minutes before I get tired. To feel the breeze and the sun on my face was amazing. As my friend Eve said today when she came over to visit, "I remind myself to go skip outside in my flip-flops because there are some people who can't". So stop reading this and go outside! It's spring!
Outside with Matt and Marla, and clean hair:
"Perfect," I replied, as it was.
Then a few hours later as I reached across the table for the remote: "You just let me know, and I'll help you."
"Yes. Awesome. Thank you."
And then again, as I counted out seven and a half Coumadin: "You just tell me whenever you need my help."
Really very adorable and mom-like, and we laughed pretty hard when I pointed out to her that it was the third time she had told me that I could tell her if I needed help. Honestly I think she's showing a lot of restraint.
Then my brother came over that evening (he and his fiance are leaving for California; I'm selfishly sad to lose them but excited for their L.A. adventure) and mom asked him several times if he wanted anything to eat. (I guess if you're a mom you never think that your kids are not hungry?)
"Mom," I said, "Maybe the rule that we established today would work for Matt too."
"What rule?" Matt asked.
"I don't get to ask any questions," she said meekly.
Which about put me on the floor laughing. And it has come to be our code: when she instinctively reaches out to take the top off the medicine bottle that I'm holding and then catches herself and pulls her arm back, or when she goes to take something out of a drawer that I can now trundle over to on my own, I remind her - "Don't ask any questions."
Of course, my growing independence has its drawbacks. It's not such a bad thing to be completely waited on hand and foot, have your meals brought to you on a tray, your back rubbed, your sudoku handed to you with the pencil already attached to the book... now when there's something I can easily manage on my own, like refilling my water bottle, I feel sort of lame still asking my mom to do it for me. I tell myself that she wants to do it. Matt said that when she's done here she can come to L.A. and take care of him.
In other news, I went outside for the first time yesterday since I got back from the hospital. Those of you here in NYC know what a perfectly beautiful day it was. I walked about 50 yards up the street with my walker (Visiting Nurse Mike said that the walker's good for outside; people see it and get out of your way) and then turned around and came back inside and took a big nap. Standing up for long periods of time is still hard - I can handle about 15-20 minutes before I get tired. To feel the breeze and the sun on my face was amazing. As my friend Eve said today when she came over to visit, "I remind myself to go skip outside in my flip-flops because there are some people who can't". So stop reading this and go outside! It's spring!
Outside with Matt and Marla, and clean hair:
Friday, May 4, 2007
Day of Little Annoying Things
In case any of you thought my life had become more dignified now that I am out of the hospital, no longer bound to an IV or leg squeezing mechanisms or an epidural needle or a catheter (although in a perverse way, I really miss the catheter - you can't feel it and you never have to get up to pee! Drink all the water you want! Carry your pee around with you in a bag!) there are some minor indignities that I currently face on a daily basis.
To wit:
Extra-wide, for my extra wideness. Actually it's more about the height - I can't sit that far down yet, although my knee-bending skills are getting better and better every day. Yesterday for the first time I lifted my foot one inch off the floor for a half millisecond! Very exciting! Today I did it for a whole millisecond!
Anyway, this is the latest setup:
Which I was really excited about because up til now it's been washcloths in bed. The bench came 2 days ago and the building maintenance people removed the glass shower doors to fit it in. We ordered a rubber nozzle attachment to go onto the tub faucet and yesterday was supposed to be the day that I got to take a real shower like a real person (if that real person was sitting down) including my first shampoo since before the hospital. Only when my mom tried to attach the nozzle it didn't work with our faucet because of the pin that sticks up (you can see it in the picture) for when you want the regular shower to work, because you are a regular person without special sitting down needs. Rraargh.
And then the basket for the front of my walker also arrived yesterday. Said basket frees my mom from having to be my personal backpack from room to room... and then back to the other room. I have a surprising number of things that need to be near me: medication, water, crackers, notebook, pen, blackberry, reading book, sudoku, mechanical pencil, butt pillow, Life&Style magazine, bon bons...
But of course, when we tried to attach the basket to the front of the walker, it didn't fit properly, although it does sort of hang well enough to fudge it, but now creates an irritating squeak as I trundle along.
None of which would be that big of a deal if my world wasn't two rooms-sized. And if it hadn't been such a beautiful looking day outside. And if my hair wasn't 2 weeks dirty. Several batches of crying jags ensued.
But then, as always with life, good news started peaking its nose in. I got the go ahead from the visiting nurse to go OUTSIDE! In the sun! With the other people! And a beautiful bouquet of flowers was delivered from Ubuntu (they do incredible life-changing work go write them a check right now). And my dad and stepmom sent a huge care package of cookies. And my mom figured out I could sit on the bench and use a pitcher from the kitchen to pour water over myself for a bath, which was amazing. And this morning I washed my hair as well. Ahh, bliss. Mom is going over to my old apartment to get my backpack and attach it to the front of the walker so I'll be squeak free. Life is good again. Now if only my sacrum would chill out...
To wit:
Extra-wide, for my extra wideness. Actually it's more about the height - I can't sit that far down yet, although my knee-bending skills are getting better and better every day. Yesterday for the first time I lifted my foot one inch off the floor for a half millisecond! Very exciting! Today I did it for a whole millisecond!
Anyway, this is the latest setup:
Which I was really excited about because up til now it's been washcloths in bed. The bench came 2 days ago and the building maintenance people removed the glass shower doors to fit it in. We ordered a rubber nozzle attachment to go onto the tub faucet and yesterday was supposed to be the day that I got to take a real shower like a real person (if that real person was sitting down) including my first shampoo since before the hospital. Only when my mom tried to attach the nozzle it didn't work with our faucet because of the pin that sticks up (you can see it in the picture) for when you want the regular shower to work, because you are a regular person without special sitting down needs. Rraargh.
And then the basket for the front of my walker also arrived yesterday. Said basket frees my mom from having to be my personal backpack from room to room... and then back to the other room. I have a surprising number of things that need to be near me: medication, water, crackers, notebook, pen, blackberry, reading book, sudoku, mechanical pencil, butt pillow, Life&Style magazine, bon bons...
But of course, when we tried to attach the basket to the front of the walker, it didn't fit properly, although it does sort of hang well enough to fudge it, but now creates an irritating squeak as I trundle along.
None of which would be that big of a deal if my world wasn't two rooms-sized. And if it hadn't been such a beautiful looking day outside. And if my hair wasn't 2 weeks dirty. Several batches of crying jags ensued.
But then, as always with life, good news started peaking its nose in. I got the go ahead from the visiting nurse to go OUTSIDE! In the sun! With the other people! And a beautiful bouquet of flowers was delivered from Ubuntu (they do incredible life-changing work go write them a check right now). And my dad and stepmom sent a huge care package of cookies. And my mom figured out I could sit on the bench and use a pitcher from the kitchen to pour water over myself for a bath, which was amazing. And this morning I washed my hair as well. Ahh, bliss. Mom is going over to my old apartment to get my backpack and attach it to the front of the walker so I'll be squeak free. Life is good again. Now if only my sacrum would chill out...
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Pissy Sacrum, and the Reappearance of My Right Knee
So we all know what we're talking about:
Mine is having a serious fit. It is not at all happy with what I've done to my leg, because it had organized my whole spine around how things used to be and done such a good job that I had no back pain. Now I go and change everything, and it's pissed, big-time. Not only is it pissed, but it's running for the hills. It's literally moved up and to the left, as far away from the incision as it can get. If it could speak, it would be saying "Who the fug turned on the lights in here? What the hell is going on? A little heads up would have been nice... I don't get no respect..." (I guess my sacrum is Rodney Dangerfield)
It's the biggest discomfort that I'm having right now, varying from slightly uncomfortable to seriously protruding and swollen, like - I can't even think of what it looks like. A mini-boob? Weird, I know, but take pity. I haven't been outside in a while. Apparently there's just a lot of fluid that's not draining because I'm not moving around alot and it's pooling at the sacrum. Time for me to get up on my crutches a lot more and start doing hallway laps.
Good news is the swelling in my leg keeps going down and my right knee has actually reappeared as a knee - hooray! I'm still twice as wide on the right side as on the left, but it's narrowing down from front to back, if that makes sense. My left leg is also getting smaller daily as the muscles atrophy from disuse... I'm the incredible shrinking lady.
Physical therapy has begun in earnest. I'm doing about 45 minutes to an hour twice a day. Some of the exercises involve actually moving and some are just isometric (which is what, dear students?) It's quite funny though, there are some things that my right leg just won't do no matter how much I try. Sitting up I can now bend my right knee enough to put my foot on the floor and sit comfortably at the computer to type this. But I literally cannot lift my right leg straight up and take my foot off the floor. I also can't move my right leg sideways to the right very much. So these are all exercises that I work on. Apparently eventually I will be able to lift my foot and move the leg and all that. But it's pretty bizarre not to be able to do such simple moves. I'm on the walker/crutches for the next 5 weeks until my next post-op appointment with Dr. Buly, but I can't put any serious weight down on my right foot. Not that I want to. When I stand up my right leg feels incredibly heavy.
In this as in all things, just working on coming back to the tranquil center. When I meditate now the words "I am not the body and mind" have special resonance. Even in my moments of sadness and depression (and the nurse said that the Vicadin would make me a little loopy, but I think this situation in itself is enough to make anyone a little loopy) I remind myself that this is just my mind having a little fit, but it is not who I am. It's the tapas, the challenges in life that mold us into who we are.
Mine is having a serious fit. It is not at all happy with what I've done to my leg, because it had organized my whole spine around how things used to be and done such a good job that I had no back pain. Now I go and change everything, and it's pissed, big-time. Not only is it pissed, but it's running for the hills. It's literally moved up and to the left, as far away from the incision as it can get. If it could speak, it would be saying "Who the fug turned on the lights in here? What the hell is going on? A little heads up would have been nice... I don't get no respect..." (I guess my sacrum is Rodney Dangerfield)
It's the biggest discomfort that I'm having right now, varying from slightly uncomfortable to seriously protruding and swollen, like - I can't even think of what it looks like. A mini-boob? Weird, I know, but take pity. I haven't been outside in a while. Apparently there's just a lot of fluid that's not draining because I'm not moving around alot and it's pooling at the sacrum. Time for me to get up on my crutches a lot more and start doing hallway laps.
Good news is the swelling in my leg keeps going down and my right knee has actually reappeared as a knee - hooray! I'm still twice as wide on the right side as on the left, but it's narrowing down from front to back, if that makes sense. My left leg is also getting smaller daily as the muscles atrophy from disuse... I'm the incredible shrinking lady.
Physical therapy has begun in earnest. I'm doing about 45 minutes to an hour twice a day. Some of the exercises involve actually moving and some are just isometric (which is what, dear students?) It's quite funny though, there are some things that my right leg just won't do no matter how much I try. Sitting up I can now bend my right knee enough to put my foot on the floor and sit comfortably at the computer to type this. But I literally cannot lift my right leg straight up and take my foot off the floor. I also can't move my right leg sideways to the right very much. So these are all exercises that I work on. Apparently eventually I will be able to lift my foot and move the leg and all that. But it's pretty bizarre not to be able to do such simple moves. I'm on the walker/crutches for the next 5 weeks until my next post-op appointment with Dr. Buly, but I can't put any serious weight down on my right foot. Not that I want to. When I stand up my right leg feels incredibly heavy.
In this as in all things, just working on coming back to the tranquil center. When I meditate now the words "I am not the body and mind" have special resonance. Even in my moments of sadness and depression (and the nurse said that the Vicadin would make me a little loopy, but I think this situation in itself is enough to make anyone a little loopy) I remind myself that this is just my mind having a little fit, but it is not who I am. It's the tapas, the challenges in life that mold us into who we are.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
"They're Making a Movie of Cats!"
Aka, my life is one long production number. Got sprung from the hospital Saturday which was fantastic. Did my lap of the floor and 4 stairs up and down (I don't know why it's sideways and I don't have the wherewithal to figure it out right now - y'all just have to tilt yourselves) and got the ok from the PT to go home. Never been so happy to leave a place. As we were driving across town I couldn't believe all the regular people going about their lives on a sunny Saturday afternoon, walking on 2 legs, as if nothing had happened. Show-offs.
My mom and I have settled into a routine, but everything takes forever and I have to nap afterwards. Getting clean requires a nap. Moving from bed to couch requires a nap. Eating requires a nap. I have to keep reminding her that when she tidies up, which she likes to do (and don't get me wrong- without her here I would be so screwed) that although the crutches look neater up against the wall, I am then stuck where I am until she comes back into the room. Arms reach is my limit; anything farther away might as well be in Siberia.
Visiting nurse came yesterday - my blood pressure is low and I have a fever, but apparently neither are unusual. I'm supposed to get a lot of sodium and water to help balance things out. I'm also freaking nauseous if I don't constantly eat (my pregnant friend, who has suffered horribly with morning sickness, came over with 2 huge boxes of Special K; it's been a lifesaver). I'm on a medication called Coumadin to keep my blood thin so that it doesn't clot, because that would be superbad and happens easily, and every Monday and Thursday a lab tech comes to draw blood to test. The annoying thing about it is that all green vegetables are off limits, because they contain vitamin K, which is a coagulant. With vegetables as the cornerstone of my normal diet, I can only say oy. And this will be for the next 6 weeks. Double oy.
The leg is pretty big still but going down a little every day. We took some incision pictures yesterday morning but frankly, they're obscene. Scar porn, if you will. Even with my high tolerance for grossness, and your odd desire to know every intimate detail of my life, I dare not defile our relationship quite so soon, Gentle Reader.
Also my sacrum has swollen from only being able to sleep/nap/live on my back. Not to put too fine a point on it, but my butt hurts. Obviously the scar side I can't lie on and the other side is hard too because of the weight of my Frankenleg bearing down on it. I managed to flip over onto my stomach holding onto the headboard and with my good leg wedged under the other. It felt so good to be on my belly for a few minutes, although the entire maneuver was a little My Left Foot. Physical therapist starts coming today so I'll find out if that's even allowed.
And basically that's it. I'm crazy tired a lot, and have the unfortunate position of asking friends not to visit for too long because I get tired so quickly, although my energy seems to come and go in waves. Writing this has taken the better part of today, in shifts. Every 10 mins I have to ask my mom to get me something and she is being a superstar. Probably only a mother would have the patience for this job. I am so lucky to have her here taking care of me. I love you mom.
P.S. The first person to email me with the name of the play that the title quote comes from wins a copy of my latest book, Sudoku: Cool Breeze Over the Mountains of My Brain.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Notes from the bedside
I'm still in the hospital working on my walking skills. I have to be able to do a lap of the floor and a set of stairs before they release me. Up til today I could only manage a few steps without feeling like I was going to pass out, but this afternoon I made it all the way down to the nurses station. Of course then I had to be carted back to my room but it was an improvement.
My op leg is about twice the size of my other leg but the stitches are clean and dry. Right now I'm working on figuring out what medication will not make me nauseous. I had dilaudid in my pain pump that they took away from me on day two. Perhaps because between the hours of 4am and 8am I hit the button 49 times... Not that it delivers all those times but it may have made them nervous. But something they don't tell you about dilaudid is that it makes you insanely itchy all over! I couldn't figure out what was going on and I couldn't stop scritching and scratching. It was like an acid trip gone terribly awry...
I'm not hooked up to anything anymore and my parents scored me an amazing private room with views of the East River on two sides. So as soon as I get some more walking under my belt, and learn the crutches (up til now it's been the granny walker) then I can leave.
Thank you all for your support and emails and visits. It means the world to me. I'm looking forward to blowing this pop stand as soon as I can.
My op leg is about twice the size of my other leg but the stitches are clean and dry. Right now I'm working on figuring out what medication will not make me nauseous. I had dilaudid in my pain pump that they took away from me on day two. Perhaps because between the hours of 4am and 8am I hit the button 49 times... Not that it delivers all those times but it may have made them nervous. But something they don't tell you about dilaudid is that it makes you insanely itchy all over! I couldn't figure out what was going on and I couldn't stop scritching and scratching. It was like an acid trip gone terribly awry...
I'm not hooked up to anything anymore and my parents scored me an amazing private room with views of the East River on two sides. So as soon as I get some more walking under my belt, and learn the crutches (up til now it's been the granny walker) then I can leave.
Thank you all for your support and emails and visits. It means the world to me. I'm looking forward to blowing this pop stand as soon as I can.
Progress...
Sarah has been moved to a private room on the fifth floor of the Hospital for Special Surgery -- with great views down the East River. She took 12 steps on Thursday... and used a proper toilet for the first time since the operation! Hoorah! She probably will not be discharged today... perhaps on Saturday.
To everyone that has visited her in the past couple of days and/or kept her in your thoughts, our family sends our deepest thanks.
To everyone that has visited her in the past couple of days and/or kept her in your thoughts, our family sends our deepest thanks.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Surgery Update
Sarah's surgery is complete -- all went well. She is in recovery right now. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.
Matt
Matt
Monday, April 23, 2007
Day Before the Day: Later On
Here's my brother and his godchild Imogen. Your updates are in his hands.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Dear Dr Buly:
I know that many decisions made in the OR can't be predetermined, but I have one request. Even if you are tempted, please do not remove my gallbladder through my vagina.
Sincerely,
Sarah
P.S. This all assumes I will return from paradise. I may just set up residence here and sell fruit on the beach.
Sincerely,
Sarah
P.S. This all assumes I will return from paradise. I may just set up residence here and sell fruit on the beach.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Pre-op Day!
So much to do! So many people to give blood and other things to!
Blood donation first. At a different hospital down a few blocks from HSS (as my technician told me, HSS has a blood bank, just not a blood donation facility).
I've tried to give blood before and it's gone poorly. Not that I faint or freak out, more that I never make it past the initial interview. When it's for your own surgery they don't care about what potential little critter demons may be lurking in your veins, but when someone else's life is involved in the mix, be warned - you may be tripped up by such questions as:
What country did you grow up in? (England, it turns out, is a bad answer, as I may have some dormant mad cow disease just laying in wait for a really bad time to attack.)
Have you traveled out of the country in the past 5 years? (Yes, because I am not a hermit...?)
What country/countries have you traveled to? (South Africa, Uganda, Namibia... I should just stop here because that look you're giving me tells me that you don't want my dirty dirty blood... oh well.)
But this time all they cared about was my iron level. "It has to be over 11 or you can't donate," said the technician as she pricked my finger.
(oh please let the coma-inducing iron that I've only taken for 5 days be working!!!)
I rocked out a 12, people. I am very impressed with myself.
Then into a room with about 10 huge recliners and several people in various stages of donation. And a strange party-like atmosphere. I truly felt a cocktail would not have been out of order.
I lay down in my recliner and a male tech came over wearing a badge that read 'Ask me if I've cleaned my hands'. I couldn't resist.
"Have you cleaned your hands??!?!"
He took it well. I'm sure he gets it all day long.
He set up a pouch next to my recliner on top of some machine that rocked it back and forth as my blood ran out into it. Apparently this is so that the blood is mixed with the anti-coagulant in the bag and doesn't... congeal. Ew. Also he told me that a pint is about 2 cups, which was the grossest thing I think I heard all day, because cups are for cooking.
It went pretty quickly, and then he also took some into vials "to test for West Nile, Hepatitis, other things" (um... like HIV? Pretty sure that's on the list.)
And then I was unhooked and taken into the little kitchenette to drink my juice and eat some cookies. The little fridge in the kitchen said in big letters "FOOD ONLY" which I thought was hilarious. An older, quite glamorous woman came in after me and sat down at my table.
"Can I ask - are you a dancer?"
"No," I said. "I'm a yoga teacher."
"I just knew you did something interesting with your body."
(In another setting that would be a come-on, but this woman was so cool. She was who I want to be when I grow up. We chatted for a while. This was her fourth surgery.)
Then a nurse hurried past. "I've got a nauseous!"
Very glad I wasn't a nauseous. I wasn't even a light-headed. The fig newtons probably helped.
There was a plaque on the wall for the "20 Gallon Donor Club" with several gold-plated names. 20 gallons of blood, people. That's a veritable Carrie-style bloodbath. Seriously though, I'm glad they're around. People need blood for surgery and ticking bombs like me aren't helpful. Bet they don't travel much though.
And that was really the most exciting part of the day. I met with an internist who asked me a bunch of general health questions. She was interested in my vision-obscuring bout with a blood clot a few years ago as apparently hip surgery makes you prone to clots, but since there was a specific reason for the clot that is no longer around, she didn't think it was a big deal. In her words, I'm as healthy as a horse.
And then a nurse who drew more blood, and an echocardiogram to make sure my heart beats (which was pretty cool I got to see it on a monitor like on the doctor shows) and a chest X-ray to make sure I have lungs.
There was also a pastoral care request form - I could have any sort of priest or chaplain or imam or rabbi I wanted, pre- or post-experience. I could even get a prayer rug. I kind of wanted to check 'prayer rug' and 'Roman Catholic priest' just to see what would happen, but I refrained. I had already bugged the clean hands guy.
Dear Ones, I take my leave of you tomorrow for my Bahamian vacation. If I can access, I may post, or I may not, as you will no longer feel sympathetic and will hold back on the gifts and visits out of spite. Soon after I return the surgery will be upon us. I will try to set things up so my brother can put out a little "she's fine" on here, but if you don't hear anything for a while, do not worry. All is well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
And I shall be taking copious notes for some ferocious post-op posting.
Blood donation first. At a different hospital down a few blocks from HSS (as my technician told me, HSS has a blood bank, just not a blood donation facility).
I've tried to give blood before and it's gone poorly. Not that I faint or freak out, more that I never make it past the initial interview. When it's for your own surgery they don't care about what potential little critter demons may be lurking in your veins, but when someone else's life is involved in the mix, be warned - you may be tripped up by such questions as:
What country did you grow up in? (England, it turns out, is a bad answer, as I may have some dormant mad cow disease just laying in wait for a really bad time to attack.)
Have you traveled out of the country in the past 5 years? (Yes, because I am not a hermit...?)
What country/countries have you traveled to? (South Africa, Uganda, Namibia... I should just stop here because that look you're giving me tells me that you don't want my dirty dirty blood... oh well.)
But this time all they cared about was my iron level. "It has to be over 11 or you can't donate," said the technician as she pricked my finger.
(oh please let the coma-inducing iron that I've only taken for 5 days be working!!!)
I rocked out a 12, people. I am very impressed with myself.
Then into a room with about 10 huge recliners and several people in various stages of donation. And a strange party-like atmosphere. I truly felt a cocktail would not have been out of order.
I lay down in my recliner and a male tech came over wearing a badge that read 'Ask me if I've cleaned my hands'. I couldn't resist.
"Have you cleaned your hands??!?!"
He took it well. I'm sure he gets it all day long.
He set up a pouch next to my recliner on top of some machine that rocked it back and forth as my blood ran out into it. Apparently this is so that the blood is mixed with the anti-coagulant in the bag and doesn't... congeal. Ew. Also he told me that a pint is about 2 cups, which was the grossest thing I think I heard all day, because cups are for cooking.
It went pretty quickly, and then he also took some into vials "to test for West Nile, Hepatitis, other things" (um... like HIV? Pretty sure that's on the list.)
And then I was unhooked and taken into the little kitchenette to drink my juice and eat some cookies. The little fridge in the kitchen said in big letters "FOOD ONLY" which I thought was hilarious. An older, quite glamorous woman came in after me and sat down at my table.
"Can I ask - are you a dancer?"
"No," I said. "I'm a yoga teacher."
"I just knew you did something interesting with your body."
(In another setting that would be a come-on, but this woman was so cool. She was who I want to be when I grow up. We chatted for a while. This was her fourth surgery.)
Then a nurse hurried past. "I've got a nauseous!"
Very glad I wasn't a nauseous. I wasn't even a light-headed. The fig newtons probably helped.
There was a plaque on the wall for the "20 Gallon Donor Club" with several gold-plated names. 20 gallons of blood, people. That's a veritable Carrie-style bloodbath. Seriously though, I'm glad they're around. People need blood for surgery and ticking bombs like me aren't helpful. Bet they don't travel much though.
And that was really the most exciting part of the day. I met with an internist who asked me a bunch of general health questions. She was interested in my vision-obscuring bout with a blood clot a few years ago as apparently hip surgery makes you prone to clots, but since there was a specific reason for the clot that is no longer around, she didn't think it was a big deal. In her words, I'm as healthy as a horse.
And then a nurse who drew more blood, and an echocardiogram to make sure my heart beats (which was pretty cool I got to see it on a monitor like on the doctor shows) and a chest X-ray to make sure I have lungs.
There was also a pastoral care request form - I could have any sort of priest or chaplain or imam or rabbi I wanted, pre- or post-experience. I could even get a prayer rug. I kind of wanted to check 'prayer rug' and 'Roman Catholic priest' just to see what would happen, but I refrained. I had already bugged the clean hands guy.
Dear Ones, I take my leave of you tomorrow for my Bahamian vacation. If I can access, I may post, or I may not, as you will no longer feel sympathetic and will hold back on the gifts and visits out of spite. Soon after I return the surgery will be upon us. I will try to set things up so my brother can put out a little "she's fine" on here, but if you don't hear anything for a while, do not worry. All is well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
And I shall be taking copious notes for some ferocious post-op posting.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Iron-ic
So I received a bundle of instructions in the mail from the hospital the other day, partly about my pre-op day coming up on Tuesday when I donate blood and get cleared for surgery, and also several pages about how different things like the hospital stay and the anaesthetic will be billed separately and that I'm responsible for all of it, insurance or no, and then also this:
IRON SUPPLEMENT BEFORE BLOOD DONATIONS: (Begin one week prior to first blood donation)
(meanwhile it came 5 days before donation day but anyway)
Iron Sulfate - 325 mg.
1 tab by mouth three times per day until the day of surgery (Begin one week before first blood donation)
I didn't know there were different kinds of iron to take, and I'm already all over the folic acid situation, but ok, I looked it up online and ferrous sulfate is often prescribed to anemics or pre-ops. Got it. I'm down.
So I found it at the drug store but wasn't really paying attention to the amount - I felt like I needed to start shoving it into my system post-haste since it was less than a week to donate-day. But when I looked at the bottle more closely I saw that the one I bought was 65mg 3 times a day. And if I was going to get 325mg 3 times a day, which seemed like an enormous amount given that ONE 65mg tablet is already over 300% of the RDA, I would have to take 15 iron tablets every day. That seemed totally out of whack and ridiculous. 3x65mg a day is already making me so drowsy. Every morning when I am yanked awake by my alarm I feel like I've been whacked upside the head with a baseball bat. Plus my dreams are getting nutty. Nuttier.
So I went to another drug store and found a different brand with this on the label:
65mg iron from 325mg ferrous sulfate
AHA! You can't outfox me, HSS, with your misleading instructions! I will not be outfoxed, foxy people! I am so not taking 15 iron tablets a day on top of the 11 vitamin pills I already swallow! Whaddya think about that!?!
I'm sure they think nothing. They are far too busy with more important things. I'm just trying to take care of my fellow pre-op peeps who may read this so they don't turn into Wolverine as I was sure I would if I took 15 iron tablets a day.
IRON SUPPLEMENT BEFORE BLOOD DONATIONS: (Begin one week prior to first blood donation)
(meanwhile it came 5 days before donation day but anyway)
Iron Sulfate - 325 mg.
1 tab by mouth three times per day until the day of surgery (Begin one week before first blood donation)
I didn't know there were different kinds of iron to take, and I'm already all over the folic acid situation, but ok, I looked it up online and ferrous sulfate is often prescribed to anemics or pre-ops. Got it. I'm down.
So I found it at the drug store but wasn't really paying attention to the amount - I felt like I needed to start shoving it into my system post-haste since it was less than a week to donate-day. But when I looked at the bottle more closely I saw that the one I bought was 65mg 3 times a day. And if I was going to get 325mg 3 times a day, which seemed like an enormous amount given that ONE 65mg tablet is already over 300% of the RDA, I would have to take 15 iron tablets every day. That seemed totally out of whack and ridiculous. 3x65mg a day is already making me so drowsy. Every morning when I am yanked awake by my alarm I feel like I've been whacked upside the head with a baseball bat. Plus my dreams are getting nutty. Nuttier.
So I went to another drug store and found a different brand with this on the label:
65mg iron from 325mg ferrous sulfate
AHA! You can't outfox me, HSS, with your misleading instructions! I will not be outfoxed, foxy people! I am so not taking 15 iron tablets a day on top of the 11 vitamin pills I already swallow! Whaddya think about that!?!
I'm sure they think nothing. They are far too busy with more important things. I'm just trying to take care of my fellow pre-op peeps who may read this so they don't turn into Wolverine as I was sure I would if I took 15 iron tablets a day.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Hot Pocket
Got this done two days ago.
It was amazing. I do stuff like this about once a year.
But I was a human Hot Pocket. My pregnant Eastern European aesthetician rubbed me with essential oils and then wrapped me in something like tin foil and then covered me with more blankets and then turned on a heating pad underneath and let me cook while she gave me a facial. And at first it was just nice and warm and sort of a soothing, swaddling effect, kind of like the MRI without the jackhammering sounds and actually let's be honest a lot nicer, the MRI was a bitch.
And then when she wrapped my face with warm towels I started to get really, really hot. Like sweat rolling off my belly down the side of my body, from my scalp onto my neck, every part of my body is cooking in oil hot.
"Any time you need we give you water if you feel dehydrated," said the aesthetician. It felt a bit like a battle of wills, me against the sweat. I will not give in and ask to be unwrapped. I am not this body and mind (although I don't think this is what the ancient yogis had in mind). I will be the baddassest toughest strongest detoxifier this woman has ever seen (as if she gave a crap).
And then right at the moment when I thought I was going to cave, it was over. Showered and clean and walking out on the street I felt incredible. I highly recommend it (although the battle of wills part is optional I believe). They are also renowned for talking you into additional services while you are prone on the table (I cave every time on that part).
It was amazing. I do stuff like this about once a year.
But I was a human Hot Pocket. My pregnant Eastern European aesthetician rubbed me with essential oils and then wrapped me in something like tin foil and then covered me with more blankets and then turned on a heating pad underneath and let me cook while she gave me a facial. And at first it was just nice and warm and sort of a soothing, swaddling effect, kind of like the MRI without the jackhammering sounds and actually let's be honest a lot nicer, the MRI was a bitch.
And then when she wrapped my face with warm towels I started to get really, really hot. Like sweat rolling off my belly down the side of my body, from my scalp onto my neck, every part of my body is cooking in oil hot.
"Any time you need we give you water if you feel dehydrated," said the aesthetician. It felt a bit like a battle of wills, me against the sweat. I will not give in and ask to be unwrapped. I am not this body and mind (although I don't think this is what the ancient yogis had in mind). I will be the baddassest toughest strongest detoxifier this woman has ever seen (as if she gave a crap).
And then right at the moment when I thought I was going to cave, it was over. Showered and clean and walking out on the street I felt incredible. I highly recommend it (although the battle of wills part is optional I believe). They are also renowned for talking you into additional services while you are prone on the table (I cave every time on that part).
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Heart attack in the mail
RE: Participant: Sarah XXXX
Patient: Self
Eligibility: Plan 1 through 3/31/07
Dear Dr Buly:
This is in response to your recent letter regarding the above referenced patient.
We are unable to pre-authorize benefits for hip arthroscopy.
This participant's coverage terminated on March 31st, 2007, and they are no longer eligible for benefits. They may qualify for benefits upon receipt of a premium or self pay payment.
We regret this review could not be more favorable, &c.
(cue sharp belly drop)
Guess someone forgot to pay their insurance premium. Classic.
In my defense, the bill never came in the mail.
God bless 'em though for having an automated phone payment option.
Got that taken care of in 15 minutes. Mom, you can relax now.
Patient: Self
Eligibility: Plan 1 through 3/31/07
Dear Dr Buly:
This is in response to your recent letter regarding the above referenced patient.
We are unable to pre-authorize benefits for hip arthroscopy.
This participant's coverage terminated on March 31st, 2007, and they are no longer eligible for benefits. They may qualify for benefits upon receipt of a premium or self pay payment.
We regret this review could not be more favorable, &c.
(cue sharp belly drop)
Guess someone forgot to pay their insurance premium. Classic.
In my defense, the bill never came in the mail.
God bless 'em though for having an automated phone payment option.
Got that taken care of in 15 minutes. Mom, you can relax now.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
April 24th
Every now and then I'll run into someone I haven't seen in a while and they'll say, "Hey - did you have that hip thing done yet?" and I'll smile and say no, April 24th, and it always sort of surprises me on two levels. Firstly that the other person seriously thinks I would be up and walking and going about my life so soon (although this is probably my own downplaying of the seriousness of the situation) and secondly that the entire world could not be aware that everything is coming to an end (beginning? begending?) on April 24th. It stands out for me the way a birthday does. I see a billboard for a new movie coming out on April 20th and my first thought is "4 days before". People talk about plans in May and I calibrate where I guess I will be in my recovery and whether I can join them. Someone compared this surgery to a bomb going off in your leg. In my head it already feels like D-Day.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Go Yankees
Crazy 2 1/2 hour wait to see Dr. Helfet at HSS today. Had a nice conversation with a man from London who got called in before I could find out what he was there for. On the age scale I was by far the youngest for a while. Every now and then a young person would come in and you could feel the older patients wonder and concern at us babes. Turned out Dr. Helfet was seeing 82 patients in one day. Is that physically possible? By the time I left there were people waiting out in the hallway.
But the good news is that he agrees with Dr. Buly's plan! I have coxa valga (on the left above) and because of the cartilage deterioration on the femoral head he said that the PAO was not the right surgery because it doesn't address that issue the way the FO does. He certainly thought that if I was ever going to have a PAO I would need the FO as well. So in his words this was a good step one, to have the FO first and that it might preempt the need for a PAO at all. He even said that a regular PAO might not be the right one to have ever, that the acetabulum was retroverted and so if I ever had one done it would have to be a reverse PAO, but he seemed to think that because of the cartilage situation, and the fact that, in his words, I was 33 (regardless of their brilliance, none of these doctors can keep my age straight. One of them kept telling me I was 35. Have they no decency? Must they continue to age me?), that the whole 9 yards (PAO/FO combi pack) was better suited for someone younger (and he didn't mean just by a year) who didn't have the cartilage complication that I do.
So, full steam ahead. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the raised toilet seat of my near future:
Dignity. Always, dignity.
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