After my emergency room visit on Easter day, I was able to concentrate on recovery the rest of post op week three. I had a visiting nurse come out on Monday morning and check up on me. The cannulated stitch in my upper thigh from the bypass incision site was removed, and all my vitals were checked. I ran through a list of medications with her to update her on any changes. Nothing had been changed yet, as I had not started reducing the Prednisone yet. I was anxious to start getting off of it, though, because I struggled with the side effects. One minute I was doing okay, and the next I was angry or bawling my eyes out. It also made me feel like I could eat the entire sink and still be hungry, a typical steroid side effect. I started becoming concerned with the fact that I was not losing any more weight from the fluid retention, and instead the weight was staying on. I tried not to concentrate on that. Being a young female who had worked so hard on my physique before surgery, I was disappointed in the aftermath. I needed to remember that none of these factors were permanent and I would soon be able to tone my muscles back to where they were. I struggled with the first stages of atrophy and my joint pain increased throughout the week. I practiced the exercises I was assigned by the Occupational Therapist to begin the process of strengthening my upper body through a series of controlled stretches. These were inspiring as I felt myself getting a little more controlled and having increased endurance each day. I also continued a long walk each day with lots of movement in between. Beginning the process of strengthening myself and getting moving again kept me going.
Toward the end of the week the glue was working its way apart from the sternal scar. It peeled back slowly, mainly on it's own accord. I had to consciously not help it along, and wait for it to fall off naturally so that the scar could heal correctly. Once all the glue had fallen off, the scar was just a light wrinkle about four and a half inches long, barely noticeable under a necklace. This was inspiring to me, and I watched for the bruising to reduce on the rest of my body. I still have the fading hematoma on my thigh, it has not reduced yet. Also there are bruises on each elbow from IVs, and a yellowing bruise on the right side of the sternal incision. There was some bruising where the port was removed but it went away pretty fast. My body continued to heal, getting better by the day and able to do more without becoming short of breath. People who saw me could no longer tell that I had open heart surgery just three weeks before. My efforts could begin to concentrate on aligning my future plans, and finding some help with the burdens I was encountering financially (see 'Partners In Health'). By week four, I was well enough to begin my final exam essays for American History (my last high school class needed to graduate). The essays took the entire week, but by the time they were done I was so relieved I could have cried. I also did a lot of paperwork for state programs and tried to concentrate on deciding which issues in my life were more pressing than others. When there is so much going on at one time, that is when I begin to list. I had this pointed out to me by my incredibly intellectual boyfriend. He noticed that with my anxiety, I list all the possible negatives, the what ifs, and the oh-nos of anything currently overwhelming my life. Worrying about things does not get you anywhere, so when he notices me doing this he cuts me off and makes me recenter on the current situation. I do the same thing to help me stay organized as well though. I write out long lists and make notes as I accomplish things, and when enough of the list has been accomplished I make another list. It's cool to feel accomplished when you check items off of the list.
On week four I was taken off of the Cardiocom system that checked my vitals daily because I was doing so well and feeling stabilized. My Occupational Therapist came to my house and went on a walk with me for the final time, discharging me for good. I ventured out and about more often, for some short shopping trips and visiting friends, and did not feel as worn out by the movement. I began to feel more comfortable lifting a gallon of milk and pulling my car door closed as my muscles healed. I even picked up a cheap oximeter at Wal-Mart to measure my pulse through exercise and my oxygen levels if I need to. I improved my upper body exercises, and felt inspired to improve my walks with some uphill slopes. All these things fell into place, and I knew by the time I saw the surgeon for a check-up in another week I would be improved enough to be released to do more activity.
Showing posts with label hematoma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hematoma. Show all posts
Friday, May 2, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
Open Heart Surgery, ICU Recovery
It's called open heart surgery. Specifically it was an intra cardiac tumor removal by route of sternal incision. Since that is too technical, and people look at you funny when you respond with that as an answer to their simple question, they stick with a traditional approach, "I had open heart surgery."
Those words would not ring the same in my ears after this April fool's day in 2014. I knew this the night before the surgery, as I scrubbed down with antibacterial soap and lined my stuff up at the door. This was a telling moment for me, I would never again look in the mirror and see a scar free surface. The small white marks from previous laparoscopic procedures were about to be erased with the distraction of a morbid crease down the center of my body. I stared in the mirror for a long time, just processing the sight. I was mentally preparing myself for the hours, days, weeks, even months ahead. I knew that night was the end of something, maybe a sort of innocence or an unknown territory. Something was reaching a conclusion, and the fear was creeping over me.
I had to leave the house at around three in the morning so I spent the night in a weird mood, opting not to give myself the opportunity to lie in bed worrying and instead to curl up on the couch with someone who saw me for more than my future of pain and struggle. We talked for hours and kept my mind busy with our small conversations. He took pictures of me laughing beside him and reminded me that all was going to be okay. As much as I wanted to believe it, I wasn't so sure that it would be okay. What if it was not okay, and I was not prepared enough, or did not tell someone I loved them enough? What then? I couldn't help but let the thoughts creep around my brain. I crawled into the back of my mother's red SUV and the hour and a half trip began. Within minutes I was overwhelmed with a solemn feeling, and the tears streamed down my face. "I feel like you're driving me to my death" I cried as my parent's heart broke in the front seat. Shortly after the words left my mouth I was lulled to sleep and did not wake up until we reached the hospital parking garage close to five A.M.
When I stirred awake I felt terrible. The lack of sleep, stress, and anxiety left me wanting to just curl up in a corner and vomit. The last thing I could think about was worrying further about the inevitable situation I was walking towards. The rest of the morning moved pretty quickly, as we checked in and immediately I was given a room to change and wait for surgery. The nurses bustled to and fro, asking a million questions to check me in and placing an IV in my left arm. Thinking back on it now, I actually don't remember being fearful at that point of the preparation. I met the people responsible for my life, took a final picture with my mother, and was quickly swept to saying goodbye. I meant it when I told my parent's goodbye and that I loved them. I was at peace with the situation, but I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I thought that was it. A long seven years of Lyme suffering and medical mystery to be put to death by the irony of my case. I had always said 'Out of all my problems, I am thankful that at least my heart is okay!' and here I was facing the largest road bump in my trip through life thus far, being cut down the middle and spread like a sub roll for this operation. As grueling as it sounds, you must understand that the war going on emotionally inside me was much deeper. I was comforted by my faith, and I knew God had purpose and would see me through. I was worried for not my own well being, but the friends and family around me that needed me to make it through okay. I was encouraged by the possibility of an opportunity to experience something that might help me better support someone in my future. All these mixed emotions that I could hardly process, and the fear of the unknown left me numb.
They rolled the bed down a hallway and into a room full of people, shiny silver tools, equipment, and nothing I'd ever seen before. Technicians picked through buckets of stainless steel scissors and clamps on a platform straight ahead without turning around, and I became aware of the sedative not working enough to leave me uncaring. The blue sterile field I slid my own body onto was quickly surrounded by foggy faces who covered me in stickers, and placed cool patches across my center back and front as I lowered myself flat onto the table. I began to feel less scared, it was in full swing and there was no going back now. Before long I drifted to a point where I vaguely remember being asked where I went to school, and then the world faded from my senses.
The next 48 hours are a mixture of foggy memories and traumatizing moments. I did not care much for my surroundings, and I suffered through ICU with severe nausea and pain. I remember fits of throwing up, maybe four different times and the IV Zofran not being enough to stop the reaction. I remember bleeding from my canulated leg incision where the heart and lung bypass machine was run into my major vein. I didn't notice much as nurses tackled me to apply pressure and a brick of sand to the leg to stop the hemorrhage. Even two weeks later I still have a large bruise called a hematoma covering my entire thigh from that one wound.
I begin to remember my experiences on day two of post surgery life. I truly do believe this is for the best, because I have a feeling that the ICU stay after the four hour surgery and day one of recovery were the worst time in my life. The body tends to block out trauma from our memories, in an amazing phenomena not yet fully understood by psychology. All I know is it was certainly on my side through that part of the surgery. Also on my side, the hands of the surgeon and team that got me through that surgery. I may not have realized it immediately, but I was alive and I would appreciate that quality so much more from then on out.
Those words would not ring the same in my ears after this April fool's day in 2014. I knew this the night before the surgery, as I scrubbed down with antibacterial soap and lined my stuff up at the door. This was a telling moment for me, I would never again look in the mirror and see a scar free surface. The small white marks from previous laparoscopic procedures were about to be erased with the distraction of a morbid crease down the center of my body. I stared in the mirror for a long time, just processing the sight. I was mentally preparing myself for the hours, days, weeks, even months ahead. I knew that night was the end of something, maybe a sort of innocence or an unknown territory. Something was reaching a conclusion, and the fear was creeping over me.
I had to leave the house at around three in the morning so I spent the night in a weird mood, opting not to give myself the opportunity to lie in bed worrying and instead to curl up on the couch with someone who saw me for more than my future of pain and struggle. We talked for hours and kept my mind busy with our small conversations. He took pictures of me laughing beside him and reminded me that all was going to be okay. As much as I wanted to believe it, I wasn't so sure that it would be okay. What if it was not okay, and I was not prepared enough, or did not tell someone I loved them enough? What then? I couldn't help but let the thoughts creep around my brain. I crawled into the back of my mother's red SUV and the hour and a half trip began. Within minutes I was overwhelmed with a solemn feeling, and the tears streamed down my face. "I feel like you're driving me to my death" I cried as my parent's heart broke in the front seat. Shortly after the words left my mouth I was lulled to sleep and did not wake up until we reached the hospital parking garage close to five A.M.
When I stirred awake I felt terrible. The lack of sleep, stress, and anxiety left me wanting to just curl up in a corner and vomit. The last thing I could think about was worrying further about the inevitable situation I was walking towards. The rest of the morning moved pretty quickly, as we checked in and immediately I was given a room to change and wait for surgery. The nurses bustled to and fro, asking a million questions to check me in and placing an IV in my left arm. Thinking back on it now, I actually don't remember being fearful at that point of the preparation. I met the people responsible for my life, took a final picture with my mother, and was quickly swept to saying goodbye. I meant it when I told my parent's goodbye and that I loved them. I was at peace with the situation, but I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I thought that was it. A long seven years of Lyme suffering and medical mystery to be put to death by the irony of my case. I had always said 'Out of all my problems, I am thankful that at least my heart is okay!' and here I was facing the largest road bump in my trip through life thus far, being cut down the middle and spread like a sub roll for this operation. As grueling as it sounds, you must understand that the war going on emotionally inside me was much deeper. I was comforted by my faith, and I knew God had purpose and would see me through. I was worried for not my own well being, but the friends and family around me that needed me to make it through okay. I was encouraged by the possibility of an opportunity to experience something that might help me better support someone in my future. All these mixed emotions that I could hardly process, and the fear of the unknown left me numb.
They rolled the bed down a hallway and into a room full of people, shiny silver tools, equipment, and nothing I'd ever seen before. Technicians picked through buckets of stainless steel scissors and clamps on a platform straight ahead without turning around, and I became aware of the sedative not working enough to leave me uncaring. The blue sterile field I slid my own body onto was quickly surrounded by foggy faces who covered me in stickers, and placed cool patches across my center back and front as I lowered myself flat onto the table. I began to feel less scared, it was in full swing and there was no going back now. Before long I drifted to a point where I vaguely remember being asked where I went to school, and then the world faded from my senses.
The next 48 hours are a mixture of foggy memories and traumatizing moments. I did not care much for my surroundings, and I suffered through ICU with severe nausea and pain. I remember fits of throwing up, maybe four different times and the IV Zofran not being enough to stop the reaction. I remember bleeding from my canulated leg incision where the heart and lung bypass machine was run into my major vein. I didn't notice much as nurses tackled me to apply pressure and a brick of sand to the leg to stop the hemorrhage. Even two weeks later I still have a large bruise called a hematoma covering my entire thigh from that one wound.
 |
| Right thigh, hematoma, before it got worse! |
I begin to remember my experiences on day two of post surgery life. I truly do believe this is for the best, because I have a feeling that the ICU stay after the four hour surgery and day one of recovery were the worst time in my life. The body tends to block out trauma from our memories, in an amazing phenomena not yet fully understood by psychology. All I know is it was certainly on my side through that part of the surgery. Also on my side, the hands of the surgeon and team that got me through that surgery. I may not have realized it immediately, but I was alive and I would appreciate that quality so much more from then on out.
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