My family was given a number to track my status while I was in surgery. In the OR family waiting area, there is a screen, much like the one you would see at the airport with the tracking number and where the patient is. The surgeon scribbled down Josh’s cell phone number on a scrap piece of paper before wheeling me in for surgery. Josh would wait for his call when the surgery is complete. My mom said she had never been so worried in her life, her heart was pounding the entire time. Josh, my brother and my dad passed the time by snacking on junk food from the vending machine and the “Nutman”. The three of them argued over everything from climate change, the carbon tax, to China’s surveillance of the world. The surgeon called Josh 2 hours later and reported the surgery went well. During the surgery, they found another small nodule that was not visible on the MRI and it was successfully removed. My mom said she saw a surgeon out to talk with another family that was waiting and it did not look like it was good news. She was so relieved by the phone call that surgery was successful and they could go see me now.
The part where you enter the OR and within 5 minutes you are in a coma is great. It’s like you leave the world for a little while, you don’t have to worry about anything, you just have to believe that you are in capable hands where you would wake up as they promised (well actually they don’t promise anything, you sign a consent acknowledging that you may never wake up…) Gotta have a positive attitude right?
When I woke up, I literally thought I was going to die. I had this unbelievable headache, nausea, and eventually vomiting blood. The worst of it all was that I really had to pee and they didn’t put a catheter in the OR. The nurse I had was efficient and amazing, I was promptly taken care of (I asked to have a catheter put in) and she quickly gave me something for pain and nausea. I went from feeling like death to near death in about an hour. She did all this while my concerned family was buzzing around. I ended up spending a week on that unit because of complications associated with my Cushing’s disease. I had diabetes insipidus, I was so thirsty and everything I drank went right through me. I had no strength to get up to go to the bathroom every 15 minutes. I thought the Foley catheter was the greatest invention of all time. I lied in bed, drank, and waited for my bladder to contract. I kept meticulous record of my intake and output to pass the time because I couldn’t sleep despite how exhausted I was. When I was feeling a little bit better with a bit of energy, I was carrying my catheter bag around with me like a purse to walk laps around the unit – I thought about asking for a walker so I can hang the bag there and do my laps…. If you ever worked on a surgical unit, you would know that they call patients like me a “Walkie Talkie”. Aside from monitoring and managing my diabetes insipidus, I was improving little bits at a time and I was hopeful for a speedy recovery.
I braved every needle poke and it did not even faze me anymore when the vampires make their rounds (the only problem was that they ran out of good veins to poke because they were so bruised – I told them to just start drawing from the hand). I lost count after 30 pokes. The patient next to me had a malignant brain tumour (I think she was only in her late 40’s). I felt very fortunate that I had a tumor that is most likely benign and that surgery would yield a 70 to 80 percent cure rate of Cushing’s Disease. After spending a full week in the hospital, I was eager and felt ready to go home.
#writing #memoir #nonfiction #recovery #surgery
The surgeon’s office gave me two options for which day of the week I want the surgery on. Monday or Friday? Why can’t it be Tuesday? or Thursday? Not a day of the week where people feel hurried to get out of work for the weekend or just coming back possibly a little haggled from the weekend’s activities. In the end I picked Monday because from what I had read online about only staying in the hospital for a couple of days post op. I didn’t want to be kept over the weekend where my specific attending surgeon is not there and a bunch of dud residents are on call. In the end, it didn’t matter how I had planned that move meticulously because the office called me and switched my surgery date to a month later than originally planned. To a Friday over the long weekend nonetheless…
Leading up to the initial consult with my neurosurgeon I avoided watching Grey’s Anatomy. I googled my neurosurgeon to see if he looked like McDreamy. Because, you know, looks is very important to me. How trust worthy and competent you feel about someone (initially anyways) is basedon how they look. My dad asked me if I found a wallet on the streets would I chase the person and return it to whomever. My first reaction was “What did the person look like?”
If you google Transsphenoidal Surgery, google advises having an expert neurosurgeon to perform the surgery for obvious reasons. My expert neurosurgeon happens to be the only one that does it in Alberta. So I have to trust this guy with him prodding around a tiny bean-shaped pea sized gland that is basically the master controller in regulating vital body functions…that sits nice and snug against a couple of carotid arteries and the optic nerves…so no big deal.
He explained the procedure, the risks and benefits (all of which I already familiarized myself with by hours of articles on success rate etc.) On my consultation notes, he dictated that I was “keen” on having the surgery and proceeding with it after his due diligent in explaining what I already know. Josh was there to ask the more important questions that I never thought of. Like can I see how steady your hands are? Or how difficult is the surgery if you were to compare it to servicing a vehicle? For example, is it more or less difficult than an oil change? The surgeon assured us that it is easier than an oil change. It was like McDreamy being slightly arrogant about it and how a transsphenoidal surgery is a yawn fest of a 2 hour OR time.
Before I was wheeled in to the OR, Josh made a joke to McDreamy referencing the oil change. McDreamy didn’t laugh or acknowledge Josh’s anxieties. Josh told me he felt reassured after that exchange because he saw that the surgeon was focused and ready to work (even though it was 1 pm on a friday afternoon before the July long weekend).
To be Continued…
#medicalstories #memoir #nonfiction
According to WebMD, if you google “Tumor” – it is defined as an abnormal growth of cells that serves no purpose.
In the summer of 2018, we decided one last attempt at another cycle of Clomid trial. After all, it was something tried and conceived. It was my decision to not pursue alternative options that are more invasive at this time. It was difficult to try and maintain a positive attitude at first but what life experience taught me as an immigrant child being raised by a single mother was that nothing worth having comes easy. Josh had to remind me of my own mantra when I had moments of “I see the glass half full…but of poison” attitude. (Gold star for whoever can figure out where that reference came from)
This time it was different. My dosage had to be increased and I was still not ovulating after the first two cycles. The last cycle I felt so sick that I was seen at Urgent Care twice in a month for hypertension. This led to my endocrinology referral and subsequent diagnosis of Cushing’s Disease. My endocrinologist said I did not look “Floridly Cushing’s” Oh but I do… Clinically, I had all the signs and symptoms of Cushing’s Disease for about 5 years. The symptoms got worse in the last two years which coincided with taking Clomid for fertility. I had abnormal weight gain, terrible skin, my hair keeps falling out and growing in places that I do not particular want it to and my energy levels best described as an iPhone 5 with a shitty battery. The diagnosis of Cushing’s Disease lifted a lot of unwarranted guilt around not being able to exercise and eat a proper diet. I was always craving terrible foods. My bone density scan revealed that I was pre-osteroprorosis at 32 years old and at a higher risk of fractures (I guess I do not regret my decision to stop snowboarding a couple years ago) I creaked and struggle to get out of bed every morning like a senior and could not understand why other than blaming myself for not putting more effort into exercising instead of lying around like Darwin. Although, owning a French Bulldog do naturally make you less incline to leave the couch, just ask any Frenchie owners.
The physical symptoms gave me more appreciation for missing my work with seniors at the hospital. You can see them struggle but to be relatable usually takes time…like you have to be old to appreciate being old. And I was told 32 is not old.
The psychiatric and psychological disturbances caused by my Cushing’s Disease was perhaps the worst of the illness. As I got closer to a confirmed diagnosis of having a corticotroph pituitary adenoma (waiting for test results, trying to get an MRI in a timely manner so I actually paid for a private one…) increased my already high cortisol levels – while continuing work at the clinic where I only get to listen to other people’s problems all day. I was increasingly depressed and anxious. I basically looked at myself in the mirror and saw myself as a patient on unit 48 except with a 32 year old face.
To be Continued…
#memoir #stories #medicalstories #nonfiction #lifestories
Josh and I have been trying to start a family the last four years. We got married in 2014 and went on our honeymoon to Japan in 2015… Shortly after our honeymoon we felt like we were in a good place in our lives to start taking on more responsibilities instead of being just a “DINK” – Dual Income No Kids. Darwin, our French Bulldog also wanted to be a big brother so he could lick baby’s feet and nap with baby (he told me this with his big yearning yellow eyes…) After a year of no luck, I went to my family doctor and was diagnosed with PCOS and subsequently referred to the fertility clinic. That first year of trying to conceive on our own was so frustrating that led me to think about what else I want to do with my life instead of devoting all my time and effort in trying to be a mother. My revelation was to be Dora the Explorer! These stories will be in a different post later.
One of my favourite Woody Allen quotes: “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans” Things didn’t go exactly according to plan the next three years of my life.
Being a nurse, and most of my nursing friends would concur that we are “Planners” We love to plan! Plan trips, parties, and life. We take comfort in calculated certainties in how things will go smoothly as long as it goes according to our carefully crafted care plans. And most of my nursing friends (if not all) would know that in reality…the above Woody Allen quote is most fitting in our life circumstances.
The fertility clinic gave me a plan to follow. Great. I love planning. I knew that having PCOS – the odds are stacked against me. I just have to beat the odds and how hard could it be to beat the odds when you are calculating how much sex you are having, when to have it and testing to see if Josh “hit the back of the net” as he calls it. And so I followed the plan…take some pills, eat a healthier diet, and minimize stress with activities that I enjoy. Well if you thought sex was one of them…you were wrong. It eventually became a chore when both of us continue to work full time (I was doing shift work and Josh was working 12 – 14 hour days running a company basically) We were exhausted. The first two trials of Clomid and carefully timed romantic intercourse with jazz music on Spotify and scented candles yield no return. Yet, I still thought to myself, third time’s the charm?
Third time was the charm. We found out I was 5 weeks pregnant and Josh was doing a hula “look I have a watermelon in my belly” dance. For some strange reason though, I was not as elated and actually had a terrible feeling of doom (I didn’t say this out loud though) Also, I had a trip planned to Oslo in 2 months! This was not in my plan! How am I going to travel on my own with morning sickness?? Josh called my traveling partner Princess Pea because by week 6 the size of the embryo would be a Pea. As it turns out, my intuition was right and I lost the pregnancy the following week just as I was starting to feel hopeful about my potential traveling Pea.
To be continued…
#nursing #memoir #nonfiction #lifestories #story
I am one of those people that always have the “Parking Luck” – It would be Boxing Day or Black Friday at the busiest shopping mall in the city but somehow always manage to snag a good parking spot within 5 minutes of pulling in while other patrons have seemingly circled the parkade for hours. Josh used to be mad and then dumbfounded by my “Parking Luck” When he drives and I am in the passenger seat, our luck would be split. He would pull up near someone leaving but another person have JUST beat him to it coming from the other side or he would drive right by an open one and then someone behind him snagged it. When I drive and he is in the passenger seat, maybe it would take me an extra 5 minutes to get a parking spot on Christmas Eve at Superstore…
I always wondered where I earned this “Parking Luck” from… Why the Universe grant me this special power in life.
The day I had my surgery, Josh and my mom came home to grab a few things in the evening. When Josh walked in the house, an original Japanese woodblock print of two Shinto Samurais (gifted by my favourite psychiatrist at the clinic) that was hung on the wall for two weeks prior to my surgery had “flew off the wall” – Glass shattered to tiny pieces all over the living room floor. It also knocked off my Darwin painting below it but it was not damaged at all. The frame did not break but it landed far from the wall and the delicate print was intact and found out of the frame another feet away from it. My mom said Josh looked like he had just seen a ghost… They vacuumed up the shattered glass (which took a very long time) and Josh did not want to sleep at our home by himself that night so he went over to my parents for the night. Mom kinda teased him about being a “scaredy cat” – I can empathize with the reaction that Josh had because he had seen what my mom did not when I was a few hours post op and was throwing up blood through my nose and mouth looking like death and having to have a foley catheter put in on the unit because I could not get up to go to the bathroom. He probably never seen anyone that sick in his life.
Josh and my mom didn’t tell me this had happened (they did not know whether this was a bad omen or not because I had only came out of surgery) Not until I was discharged home the first time. Josh and I walked in the house and he froze and looked at the wall as he sat some stuff down on the kitchen table. I said “you look like you had just seen a ghost…what is it?” I had not noticed that the two pieces of art on my wall was not there anymore. That was when he told me what had happened. We kinda mulled over it for a little while over the Poltergeist phenomena and just chalked it up to it being a good omen instead because I am home now from the hospital (did not think that I would be returning to ER just 10 hours after)
When I started writing this part of the story, I looked at the print again (actually I had looked at it several times the last two days since I had been home) because it kept me curious… Josh had asked me what those two figures are. They are Shinto Samurais. Anybody have some understanding of Japanese culture and been to Japan may know that there are two kinds of places of worship in Japan. Buddhist temples and Shinto Shrines. Josh and I had been to both. Most recently in January before my tumor diagnosis. I prayed sincerely at both for good health for myself and my family. I think I have my answer of how and why that print had flew off the wall. The other piece of art left hanging on the wall is the self-portrait of me sitting in therapy with Darwin.
I don’t have a formal believe or declaration of a certain religion that I follow by any means. In fact, I am of the opinion that religion like Christianity is the biggest business driven conspiracy of all conspiracies…
What I do think is that the Universe work in mysterious ways (as cliche as that sounds) And that there are things that can be half explained and may not need to be fully understood but when you kind of get close to it, it is kind of mind-blowing… Like my mind is blown right now after writing this story.
One of my favourite Haruki Murakami quotes: “If you can’t understand it without an explanation, you can’t understand it with an explanation.”
To be continued…
#memoir #literature #nonfiction #supernatural #story #personalblog