Depression Recovery

Question:

Andrea-Glad you are home without any MAJOR problems.  Though it sounds as if your hospital visit was eventful, even for you.   God bless sugar.  Healing prayers headed your way. Char "Remember, I’m pulling for ya’.  We’re all in this together."  Red Green

Response:

Yikes Andrea!  What a time you have had.  I am eagerly awaiting part 2.  I hope it is calmer and less painful for you than Part 1 was…grin. I hope you are resting and feeling a whole lot better. Cheers, Rosanne

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went. > I was admitted into hospital Monday 19 November and had a room with a > nice view! That was a nice change. I usually look over a dull courtyard. > After all the admitting stuff (blood tests, paper work, etc.) the > anaesthetist came in to introduce himself. Unfortunately, my favourite > anaesthetist was unavailable. Anyway, he sat down and discussed his > plans for the surgery. I told him about my pre existing conditions and > he was not interested. Rather arrogant and sure of himself, he did not > consider me as a patient with potential for things to go wrong. I was > talking at him, but he just was not listening. (My friend who drove me > up to Bath commented on this after he left.) He did listen enough to > register the possibility of EDS related heart problems and the fact that > my last ECG was in 1999. He said he would get one done and disappeared, > leaving me a bit flustered. I thought about it for a moment and then > decided to let his attitude ride. My ortho would be there and he is very > sharp, so I decided to leave my safety in his very capable hands. > The next morning, I am able to take my morning tablets with water, but > no food or other liquids. I do an extra dose of inhalers and take my > stomach med. so that I don’t have gastric reflux during the surgery. I > would normally take that later in the day. I am then assisted in donning > the fetching, modesty preserving hospital gown, the sexy TED stockings > and the fashion statement paper knickers. As the ECG has not been done, > I ask the nurse. What a surprise, the paperwork was never submitted. The > nurse gets things moving and the anaesthetist calls up in a panic while > the ECG is under way. My ECG is normal, so I still have no heart > problems (yet). The good result stunned the resident, has he never > expected anything to do with me to be normal. This is the poor man who > has to do my IVs, blood tests and such, so he knows that my body and how > it works is very abnormal. > Eventually they are ready for me and I am off to theatre in my hospital > bed. (As handling me can be problematic, they try to limit the amount of > times I am moved.) In order that I do not get motion sick, I am allowed > to wear my glasses until I get into the anaesthetic room. The cocky > anaesthetist administers the drugs and I drift off to sleep. > Some number of hours later, I wake up in the High Dependency Unit wired > up like an astronaut. When they notice that I am back in the land of the > living, the nurse responsible for me comes over to explain. It turns out > that about half way through the surgery, my sat (oxygen levels in the > blood, expressed as a percentage) dropped like a stone, down from 99 to > 80. This was immediately followed by me coughing. Mad panic ensues, > certainly on the part of the anaesthetist. He assumes that the coughing > is caused by gastric reflux and then me aspirating that fluid, a problem > that can be very serious and sometimes life threatening. A chest x-ray > rules this out. After some frantic work, he gets me stabilised and the > surgery resumes. As a result, I spend all afternoon in the High > Dependency Unit until they are sure I am stable, at which point I return > to the ward. It took three people and a bit of chaos on the way, though. > I am in my hospital bed. My right arm is in a Bradford Sling hanging off > an IV pole. The contents of the sling are swathed with as little of > Plaster of Paris as possible (due to the weight, but this gives better > support than a fibreglass plaster cast) and a very impressive bandage. > Pillows are under the sling to stop my right shoulder from dislocating. > On my left, there is an IV tree with several bags hung up, including the > IV antibiotics and a morphine pump. I am disconnected from all the > monitoring equipment, but I am on oxygen, so the mask is switched from > the wall system and connected up to an oxygen tank that they then have > to hang off the head of the bed. These beds don’t steer well at the best > of times, and all the extra equipment just makes matters worse. > The nurses welcome me back, get me sorted and finally allow me to have a > drink of water. The nerve block on the arm is still working, so my pain > control is good. They managed to do the surgery without harvesting bone > from the hip, which was great news. I had been a bit worried about that. > My ortho sticks his head around the door and expresses his thoughts on > how the surgery went. ("Everything below the elbow went well.") After > several hours on clear liquids, I start feeling like I may live. This > doesn’t last long, as I start the projectile vomiting thing. Every > liquid in my stomach is impressively expelled. Luckily I managed to move > the oxygen mask out of the way just in time, so I don’t aspirate any. I > now feel like I am dying and there is much bustling of nurses and what > have you. I am quickly given an anti sickness drug and the ward sister > calls my ortho. After they are sure I am stabilised yet again, I am > allowed back on clear liquids. I spend a restless night, as I am being > monitored every fifteen minutes. Blood pressure, sat levels, > temperature, pulse, etc. > Wednesday dawns. Despite the almost constant monitoring, I have actually > managed to get some sleep. Probably through sheer exhaustion. I am > greeted with a cup of tea and pour that down my throat once my tablets > are in. although the nerve block is still complete (no controlled > movements at all), the pain is breaking through. This is when we > discover that my IV is no longer flowing, which means that I cannot get > any morphine in. The resident comes fully prepared and finally gets a > successful IV site up and working. The IV plumbing is reattached and the > morphine started flowing. It is PCA, with a maximum dose of 1 mg every 5 > minutes. > You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest! > — > Andrea Fuller > Winchester, England > HEDS (VEDS overlay), FMS, OA, Seronegative RA, IBS, lumbar scoliosis, tinnitus, > some hearing loss, stomach problems, chronic depression, multiple allergies, > asthma… > Please excuse any typos or odd phrases. I am talking to the Dragon.

Response:

Don’t you just love the way they listen to you, amazing what they can do to tortue and you still live thru out.  Happy recovery thoughts! Peggy

Response:

Welcome home. Take care and don’t over do it .   Ally

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went. > I was admitted into hospital Monday 19 November and had a room with a > nice view! That was a nice change. I usually look over a dull courtyard. > After all the admitting stuff (blood tests, paper work, etc.) the > anaesthetist came in to introduce himself. Unfortunately, my favourite > anaesthetist was unavailable. Anyway, he sat down and discussed his > plans for the surgery. I told him about my pre existing conditions and > he was not interested. Rather arrogant and sure of himself, he did not > consider me as a patient with potential for things to go wrong. I was > talking at him, but he just was not listening. (My friend who drove me > up to Bath commented on this after he left.) He did listen enough to > register the possibility of EDS related heart problems and the fact that > my last ECG was in 1999. He said he would get one done and disappeared, > leaving me a bit flustered. I thought about it for a moment and then > decided to let his attitude ride. My ortho would be there and he is very > sharp, so I decided to leave my safety in his very capable hands. > The next morning, I am able to take my morning tablets with water, but > no food or other liquids. I do an extra dose of inhalers and take my > stomach med. so that I don’t have gastric reflux during the surgery. I > would normally take that later in the day. I am then assisted in donning > the fetching, modesty preserving hospital gown, the sexy TED stockings > and the fashion statement paper knickers. As the ECG has not been done, > I ask the nurse. What a surprise, the paperwork was never submitted. The > nurse gets things moving and the anaesthetist calls up in a panic while > the ECG is under way. My ECG is normal, so I still have no heart > problems (yet). The good result stunned the resident, has he never > expected anything to do with me to be normal. This is the poor man who > has to do my IVs, blood tests and such, so he knows that my body and how > it works is very abnormal. > Eventually they are ready for me and I am off to theatre in my hospital > bed. (As handling me can be problematic, they try to limit the amount of > times I am moved.) In order that I do not get motion sick, I am allowed > to wear my glasses until I get into the anaesthetic room. The cocky > anaesthetist administers the drugs and I drift off to sleep. > Some number of hours later, I wake up in the High Dependency Unit wired > up like an astronaut. When they notice that I am back in the land of the > living, the nurse responsible for me comes over to explain. It turns out > that about half way through the surgery, my sat (oxygen levels in the > blood, expressed as a percentage) dropped like a stone, down from 99 to > 80. This was immediately followed by me coughing. Mad panic ensues, > certainly on the part of the anaesthetist. He assumes that the coughing > is caused by gastric reflux and then me aspirating that fluid, a problem > that can be very serious and sometimes life threatening. A chest x-ray > rules this out. After some frantic work, he gets me stabilised and the > surgery resumes. As a result, I spend all afternoon in the High > Dependency Unit until they are sure I am stable, at which point I return > to the ward. It took three people and a bit of chaos on the way, though. > I am in my hospital bed. My right arm is in a Bradford Sling hanging off > an IV pole. The contents of the sling are swathed with as little of > Plaster of Paris as possible (due to the weight, but this gives better > support than a fibreglass plaster cast) and a very impressive bandage. > Pillows are under the sling to stop my right shoulder from dislocating. > On my left, there is an IV tree with several bags hung up, including the > IV antibiotics and a morphine pump. I am disconnected from all the > monitoring equipment, but I am on oxygen, so the mask is switched from > the wall system and connected up to an oxygen tank that they then have > to hang off the head of the bed. These beds don’t steer well at the best > of times, and all the extra equipment just makes matters worse. > The nurses welcome me back, get me sorted and finally allow me to have a > drink of water. The nerve block on the arm is still working, so my pain > control is good. They managed to do the surgery without harvesting bone > from the hip, which was great news. I had been a bit worried about that. > My ortho sticks his head around the door and expresses his thoughts on > how the surgery went. ("Everything below the elbow went well.") After > several hours on clear liquids, I start feeling like I may live. This > doesn’t last long, as I start the projectile vomiting thing. Every > liquid in my stomach is impressively expelled. Luckily I managed to move > the oxygen mask out of the way just in time, so I don’t aspirate any. I > now feel like I am dying and there is much bustling of nurses and what > have you. I am quickly given an anti sickness drug and the ward sister > calls my ortho. After they are sure I am stabilised yet again, I am > allowed back on clear liquids. I spend a restless night, as I am being > monitored every fifteen minutes. Blood pressure, sat levels, > temperature, pulse, etc. > Wednesday dawns. Despite the almost constant monitoring, I have actually > managed to get some sleep. Probably through sheer exhaustion. I am > greeted with a cup of tea and pour that down my throat once my tablets > are in. although the nerve block is still complete (no controlled > movements at all), the pain is breaking through. This is when we > discover that my IV is no longer flowing, which means that I cannot get > any morphine in. The resident comes fully prepared and finally gets a > successful IV site up and working. The IV plumbing is reattached and the > morphine started flowing. It is PCA, with a maximum dose of 1 mg every 5 > minutes. > You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest! > — > Andrea Fuller > Winchester, England > HEDS (VEDS overlay), FMS, OA, Seronegative RA, IBS, lumbar scoliosis, tinnitus, > some hearing loss, stomach problems, chronic depression, multiple allergies, > asthma… > Please excuse any typos or odd phrases. I am talking to the Dragon.

Response:

I first read this as Andrea surviving the ordeal of my visit. LOL You are quite right, she did! Hildagh – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – > Andrea, so glad to hear you’ve survived the ordeal and a visit from > Hildagh. I keep thinking maybe I should get myself into the hospital to get > a visit from her myself!! > Take care and get plenty of rest. > Kelly C.;o) > I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went. > I was admitted into hospital Monday 19 November and had a room with a > nice view! That was a nice change. I usually look over a dull courtyard. > After all the admitting stuff (blood tests, paper work, etc.) the > anaesthetist came in to introduce himself. Unfortunately, my favourite > anaesthetist was unavailable. Anyway, he sat down and discussed his > plans for the surgery. I told him about my pre existing conditions and > he was not interested. Rather arrogant and sure of himself, he did not > consider me as a patient with potential for things to go wrong. I was > talking at him, but he just was not listening. (My friend who drove me > up to Bath commented on this after he left.) He did listen enough to > register the possibility of EDS related heart problems and the fact that > my last ECG was in 1999. He said he would get one done and disappeared, > leaving me a bit flustered. I thought about it for a moment and then > decided to let his attitude ride. My ortho would be there and he is very > sharp, so I decided to leave my safety in his very capable hands. > The next morning, I am able to take my morning tablets with water, but > no food or other liquids. I do an extra dose of inhalers and take my > stomach med. so that I don’t have gastric reflux during the surgery. I > would normally take that later in the day. I am then assisted in donning > the fetching, modesty preserving hospital gown, the sexy TED stockings > and the fashion statement paper knickers. As the ECG has not been done, > I ask the nurse. What a surprise, the paperwork was never submitted. The > nurse gets things moving and the anaesthetist calls up in a panic while > the ECG is under way. My ECG is normal, so I still have no heart > problems (yet). The good result stunned the resident, has he never > expected anything to do with me to be normal. This is the poor man who > has to do my IVs, blood tests and such, so he knows that my body and how > it works is very abnormal. > Eventually they are ready for me and I am off to theatre in my hospital > bed. (As handling me can be problematic, they try to limit the amount of > times I am moved.) In order that I do not get motion sick, I am allowed > to wear my glasses until I get into the anaesthetic room. The cocky > anaesthetist administers the drugs and I drift off to sleep. > Some number of hours later, I wake up in the High Dependency Unit wired > up like an astronaut. When they notice that I am back in the land of the > living, the nurse responsible for me comes over to explain. It turns out > that about half way through the surgery, my sat (oxygen levels in the > blood, expressed as a percentage) dropped like a stone, down from 99 to > 80. This was immediately followed by me coughing. Mad panic ensues, > certainly on the part of the anaesthetist. He assumes that the coughing > is caused by gastric reflux and then me aspirating that fluid, a problem > that can be very serious and sometimes life threatening. A chest x-ray > rules this out. After some frantic work, he gets me stabilised and the > surgery resumes. As a result, I spend all afternoon in the High > Dependency Unit until they are sure I am stable, at which point I return > to the ward. It took three people and a bit of chaos on the way, though. > I am in my hospital bed. My right arm is in a Bradford Sling hanging off > an IV pole. The contents of the sling are swathed with as little of > Plaster of Paris as possible (due to the weight, but this gives better > support than a fibreglass plaster cast) and a very impressive bandage. > Pillows are under the sling to stop my right shoulder from dislocating. > On my left, there is an IV tree with several bags hung up, including the > IV antibiotics and a morphine pump. I am disconnected from all the > monitoring equipment, but I am on oxygen, so the mask is switched from > the wall system and connected up to an oxygen tank that they then have > to hang off the head of the bed. These beds don’t steer well at the best > of times, and all the extra equipment just makes matters worse. > The nurses welcome me back, get me sorted and finally allow me to have a > drink of water. The nerve block on the arm is still working, so my pain > control is good. They managed to do the surgery without harvesting bone > from the hip, which was great news. I had been a bit worried about that. > My ortho sticks his head around the door and expresses his thoughts on > how the surgery went. ("Everything below the elbow went well.") After > several hours on clear liquids, I start feeling like I may live. This > doesn’t last long, as I start the projectile vomiting thing. Every > liquid in my stomach is impressively expelled. Luckily I managed to move > the oxygen mask out of the way just in time, so I don’t aspirate any. I > now feel like I am dying and there is much bustling of nurses and what > have you. I am quickly given an anti sickness drug and the ward sister > calls my ortho. After they are sure I am stabilised yet again, I am > allowed back on clear liquids. I spend a restless night, as I am being > monitored every fifteen minutes. Blood pressure, sat levels, > temperature, pulse, etc. > Wednesday dawns. Despite the almost constant monitoring, I have actually > managed to get some sleep. Probably through sheer exhaustion. I am > greeted with a cup of tea and pour that down my throat once my tablets > are in. although the nerve block is still complete (no controlled > movements at all), the pain is breaking through. This is when we > discover that my IV is no longer flowing, which means that I cannot get > any morphine in. The resident comes fully prepared and finally gets a > successful IV site up and working. The IV plumbing is reattached and the > morphine started flowing. It is PCA, with a maximum dose of 1 mg every 5 > minutes. > You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest! > — > Andrea Fuller > Winchester, England > HEDS (VEDS overlay), FMS, OA, Seronegative RA, IBS, lumbar scoliosis, > tinnitus, > some hearing loss, stomach problems, chronic depression, multiple > allergies, > asthma… > Please excuse any typos or odd phrases. I am talking to the Dragon.

Response:

Welcome home kiddo!!! — Ichy http://www.arthritisinsight.com/community/folding/ ——- – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – >I am home. Finally!

Response:

Wow Andrea, this reads like a novel.  You should become a writer.  I can’t wait for part 2.  I am sorry that you have gone though so much, lets hope now that you will be on the road to recovery. debbie m. http://www.angelfire.com/ga2/angels1/

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went. > I was admitted into hospital Monday 19 November and had a room with a > nice view! That was a nice change. I usually look over a dull courtyard. > After all the admitting stuff (blood tests, paper work, etc.) the > anaesthetist came in to introduce himself. Unfortunately, my favourite > anaesthetist was unavailable. Anyway, he sat down and discussed his > plans for the surgery. I told him about my pre existing conditions and > he was not interested. Rather arrogant and sure of himself, he did not > consider me as a patient with potential for things to go wrong. I was > talking at him, but he just was not listening. (My friend who drove me > up to Bath commented on this after he left.) He did listen enough to > register the possibility of EDS related heart problems and the fact that > my last ECG was in 1999. He said he would get one done and disappeared, > leaving me a bit flustered. I thought about it for a moment and then > decided to let his attitude ride. My ortho would be there and he is very > sharp, so I decided to leave my safety in his very capable hands. > The next morning, I am able to take my morning tablets with water, but > no food or other liquids. I do an extra dose of inhalers and take my > stomach med. so that I don’t have gastric reflux during the surgery. I > would normally take that later in the day. I am then assisted in donning > the fetching, modesty preserving hospital gown, the sexy TED stockings > and the fashion statement paper knickers. As the ECG has not been done, > I ask the nurse. What a surprise, the paperwork was never submitted. The > nurse gets things moving and the anaesthetist calls up in a panic while > the ECG is under way. My ECG is normal, so I still have no heart > problems (yet). The good result stunned the resident, has he never > expected anything to do with me to be normal. This is the poor man who > has to do my IVs, blood tests and such, so he knows that my body and how > it works is very abnormal. > Eventually they are ready for me and I am off to theatre in my hospital > bed. (As handling me can be problematic, they try to limit the amount of > times I am moved.) In order that I do not get motion sick, I am allowed > to wear my glasses until I get into the anaesthetic room. The cocky > anaesthetist administers the drugs and I drift off to sleep. > Some number of hours later, I wake up in the High Dependency Unit wired > up like an astronaut. When they notice that I am back in the land of the > living, the nurse responsible for me comes over to explain. It turns out > that about half way through the surgery, my sat (oxygen levels in the > blood, expressed as a percentage) dropped like a stone, down from 99 to > 80. This was immediately followed by me coughing. Mad panic ensues, > certainly on the part of the anaesthetist. He assumes that the coughing > is caused by gastric reflux and then me aspirating that fluid, a problem > that can be very serious and sometimes life threatening. A chest x-ray > rules this out. After some frantic work, he gets me stabilised and the > surgery resumes. As a result, I spend all afternoon in the High > Dependency Unit until they are sure I am stable, at which point I return > to the ward. It took three people and a bit of chaos on the way, though. > I am in my hospital bed. My right arm is in a Bradford Sling hanging off > an IV pole. The contents of the sling are swathed with as little of > Plaster of Paris as possible (due to the weight, but this gives better > support than a fibreglass plaster cast) and a very impressive bandage. > Pillows are under the sling to stop my right shoulder from dislocating. > On my left, there is an IV tree with several bags hung up, including the > IV antibiotics and a morphine pump. I am disconnected from all the > monitoring equipment, but I am on oxygen, so the mask is switched from > the wall system and connected up to an oxygen tank that they then have > to hang off the head of the bed. These beds don’t steer well at the best > of times, and all the extra equipment just makes matters worse. > The nurses welcome me back, get me sorted and finally allow me to have a > drink of water. The nerve block on the arm is still working, so my pain > control is good. They managed to do the surgery without harvesting bone > from the hip, which was great news. I had been a bit worried about that. > My ortho sticks his head around the door and expresses his thoughts on > how the surgery went. ("Everything below the elbow went well.") After > several hours on clear liquids, I start feeling like I may live. This > doesn’t last long, as I start the projectile vomiting thing. Every > liquid in my stomach is impressively expelled. Luckily I managed to move > the oxygen mask out of the way just in time, so I don’t aspirate any. I > now feel like I am dying and there is much bustling of nurses and what > have you. I am quickly given an anti sickness drug and the ward sister > calls my ortho. After they are sure I am stabilised yet again, I am > allowed back on clear liquids. I spend a restless night, as I am being > monitored every fifteen minutes. Blood pressure, sat levels, > temperature, pulse, etc. > Wednesday dawns. Despite the almost constant monitoring, I have actually > managed to get some sleep. Probably through sheer exhaustion. I am > greeted with a cup of tea and pour that down my throat once my tablets > are in. although the nerve block is still complete (no controlled > movements at all), the pain is breaking through. This is when we > discover that my IV is no longer flowing, which means that I cannot get > any morphine in. The resident comes fully prepared and finally gets a > successful IV site up and working. The IV plumbing is reattached and the > morphine started flowing. It is PCA, with a maximum dose of 1 mg every 5 > minutes. > You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest! > — > Andrea Fuller > Winchester, England > HEDS (VEDS overlay), FMS, OA, Seronegative RA, IBS, lumbar scoliosis, tinnitus, > some hearing loss, stomach problems, chronic depression, multiple allergies, > asthma… > Please excuse any typos or odd phrases. I am talking to the Dragon.

Response:

> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went.

Welcome back Andrea!  Wow sounds like quite an ordeal, you just had to create a scene (G) with the DRs.  I am glad it turned out fairly well.  Speaking of well   I hope you get well soon! — MZ — website: http://members.home.net/mzuschlag

Response:

> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone.

Thank you for a look at the real world and how it went for you.  You are a strong person who sees things as they are and how they went. Harv

Response:

> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went. > (snipped) > You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest! > — > Andrea Fuller > Winchester, England > HEDS (VEDS overlay), FMS, OA, Seronegative RA, IBS, lumbar scoliosis, tinnitus, > some hearing loss, stomach problems, chronic depression, multiple allergies, > asthma… > Please excuse any typos or odd phrases. I am talking to the Dragon.

My goodness, Andrea, I cannot believe what all you go through — bless your heart and a ton of purrs in sympathy for your long ordeal!  Here’s congrats on finally being home; I’m sure it will be a huge relief to be in your own place after such a long hospital stay. Sending headbutz, meatloaf meditations and all sorts of applied cat medicine to help you heal.  Thinking of you and sending healing thoughts your way. Christine (meowmie to Omar, Midnight, Shetra & Oreo)

Response:

Andrea, so glad to hear you’ve survived the ordeal and a visit from Hildagh. I keep thinking maybe I should get myself into the hospital to get a visit from her myself!! Take care and get plenty of rest. Kelly C.;o)

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went. > I was admitted into hospital Monday 19 November and had a room with a > nice view! That was a nice change. I usually look over a dull courtyard. > After all the admitting stuff (blood tests, paper work, etc.) the > anaesthetist came in to introduce himself. Unfortunately, my favourite > anaesthetist was unavailable. Anyway, he sat down and discussed his > plans for the surgery. I told him about my pre existing conditions and > he was not interested. Rather arrogant and sure of himself, he did not > consider me as a patient with potential for things to go wrong. I was > talking at him, but he just was not listening. (My friend who drove me > up to Bath commented on this after he left.) He did listen enough to > register the possibility of EDS related heart problems and the fact that > my last ECG was in 1999. He said he would get one done and disappeared, > leaving me a bit flustered. I thought about it for a moment and then > decided to let his attitude ride. My ortho would be there and he is very > sharp, so I decided to leave my safety in his very capable hands. > The next morning, I am able to take my morning tablets with water, but > no food or other liquids. I do an extra dose of inhalers and take my > stomach med. so that I don’t have gastric reflux during the surgery. I > would normally take that later in the day. I am then assisted in donning > the fetching, modesty preserving hospital gown, the sexy TED stockings > and the fashion statement paper knickers. As the ECG has not been done, > I ask the nurse. What a surprise, the paperwork was never submitted. The > nurse gets things moving and the anaesthetist calls up in a panic while > the ECG is under way. My ECG is normal, so I still have no heart > problems (yet). The good result stunned the resident, has he never > expected anything to do with me to be normal. This is the poor man who > has to do my IVs, blood tests and such, so he knows that my body and how > it works is very abnormal. > Eventually they are ready for me and I am off to theatre in my hospital > bed. (As handling me can be problematic, they try to limit the amount of > times I am moved.) In order that I do not get motion sick, I am allowed > to wear my glasses until I get into the anaesthetic room. The cocky > anaesthetist administers the drugs and I drift off to sleep. > Some number of hours later, I wake up in the High Dependency Unit wired > up like an astronaut. When they notice that I am back in the land of the > living, the nurse responsible for me comes over to explain. It turns out > that about half way through the surgery, my sat (oxygen levels in the > blood, expressed as a percentage) dropped like a stone, down from 99 to > 80. This was immediately followed by me coughing. Mad panic ensues, > certainly on the part of the anaesthetist. He assumes that the coughing > is caused by gastric reflux and then me aspirating that fluid, a problem > that can be very serious and sometimes life threatening. A chest x-ray > rules this out. After some frantic work, he gets me stabilised and the > surgery resumes. As a result, I spend all afternoon in the High > Dependency Unit until they are sure I am stable, at which point I return > to the ward. It took three people and a bit of chaos on the way, though. > I am in my hospital bed. My right arm is in a Bradford Sling hanging off > an IV pole. The contents of the sling are swathed with as little of > Plaster of Paris as possible (due to the weight, but this gives better > support than a fibreglass plaster cast) and a very impressive bandage. > Pillows are under the sling to stop my right shoulder from dislocating. > On my left, there is an IV tree with several bags hung up, including the > IV antibiotics and a morphine pump. I am disconnected from all the > monitoring equipment, but I am on oxygen, so the mask is switched from > the wall system and connected up to an oxygen tank that they then have > to hang off the head of the bed. These beds don’t steer well at the best > of times, and all the extra equipment just makes matters worse. > The nurses welcome me back, get me sorted and finally allow me to have a > drink of water. The nerve block on the arm is still working, so my pain > control is good. They managed to do the surgery without harvesting bone > from the hip, which was great news. I had been a bit worried about that. > My ortho sticks his head around the door and expresses his thoughts on > how the surgery went. ("Everything below the elbow went well.") After > several hours on clear liquids, I start feeling like I may live. This > doesn’t last long, as I start the projectile vomiting thing. Every > liquid in my stomach is impressively expelled. Luckily I managed to move > the oxygen mask out of the way just in time, so I don’t aspirate any. I > now feel like I am dying and there is much bustling of nurses and what > have you. I am quickly given an anti sickness drug and the ward sister > calls my ortho. After they are sure I am stabilised yet again, I am > allowed back on clear liquids. I spend a restless night, as I am being > monitored every fifteen minutes. Blood pressure, sat levels, > temperature, pulse, etc. > Wednesday dawns. Despite the almost constant monitoring, I have actually > managed to get some sleep. Probably through sheer exhaustion. I am > greeted with a cup of tea and pour that down my throat once my tablets > are in. although the nerve block is still complete (no controlled > movements at all), the pain is breaking through. This is when we > discover that my IV is no longer flowing, which means that I cannot get > any morphine in. The resident comes fully prepared and finally gets a > successful IV site up and working. The IV plumbing is reattached and the > morphine started flowing. It is PCA, with a maximum dose of 1 mg every 5 > minutes. > You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest! > — > Andrea Fuller > Winchester, England > HEDS (VEDS overlay), FMS, OA, Seronegative RA, IBS, lumbar scoliosis, tinnitus, > some hearing loss, stomach problems, chronic depression, multiple allergies, > asthma… > Please excuse any typos or odd phrases. I am talking to the Dragon.

Response:

> You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest!

Whew! part 2??!?!  you wore me out with part 1! Glad to hear you’re back at home now and I hope you’re getting some well-earned rest.   Nann cut the cheer for my Gators to email me

Response:

Welcome home Andrea.   Sarah L "Friends are those people who know the words to the song in your heart and sing them back to you when you have forgotten the words."  (unattributed)

Response:

> I am home. Finally! Eight days in hospital. I am heading for bed after > this, so please do not call tonight. I won’t be answering the phone. > So, how the wrist arthrodesis surgery went. > You will have to wait for Part 2 for the rest!

Geez, Andrea, you don’t do *anything* easily, do you?  <g>  I’m glad you’re home.  You know….. there’s no place like it. I am looking forward to Part 2, because I want to know that all is good with you.  That’s the part you left out of Part 1. — Di take out the trash to email me "Never let it be said that I didn’t do the least that I could do." Hawkeye Pierce "When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world"  John Muir