Surgery 2010- Day 1- Part 1- Checking it Twice, and Off to Sleep

Lady  and I arrived at the hospital at 6 AM Newfoundland time with my suitcase. I didn't see the point in getting dressed just to have to get undressed again, so I went in fuzzy blue bunny pyjamas, because that's how I roll.

We made our way to the Day Surgery unit, even though I was having nothing resembling day surgery. I didn't have to wait long before being called back to a room that had 6 or 7 curtained cubicles with stretchers. My nurse introduced herself as Wendy and asked when I had eaten last, to be sure I had fasted from food at 12 midnight and clear fluids from 4 AM as requested at pre-op the previous day. When I told her I had, she gave my my usual morning meds for acid reflux,  plus an *a*t*i*v*a*n for pre-surgery anxiety, which I had in spades.

I honestly think that with 8 other surgeries under my belt before this one, I can have some pretty serious trauma responses to hospital smells and procedures. I tried to remember that breathing is essential to living as I put on a gown and little booties. It was also a little nervewracking to have to correct the nurse a few times as she said "You're having a right foot triple arthrodesis right?"

"No no, left! Please don't have the surgeon open the right foot, that's already done!"

Had a few quick teary moments as I realised just how *close* I was to putting myself in the hands of the new, unfamiliar Adult healthcare system. I had complete, multidisciplinary CP care until I was 19.

They took me from Lady at about 7:30 AM and brought me in further. I was on a line of gurneys and people kept making sure my name was Ashley and that I was having a triple arthrodesis. (I was getting tired of it until someone asked me if my name was Kelly, and if I was having surgery on my stomach. Then I made sure I answered as clearly as possible- Every time.)

Finally, Dr. Rock's intern Dr. K came to see me and I *begged* him to initial the proper foot. He obliged. In big letters. Then I met with Dr. Bird, the resident from Anasthesia and her boss, Dr.Nibble.

(I'm loving the pseudonyms here!)

I have a history of hallucinations and breathing difficulty with heavy doses of IV m*o*r*p*h*e*n*e, so we chatted about that, and agreed to use general anasthesia, but also to place an epidural and deliver a "numbing" medication, similar to what you receive at the dentist, that would bathe the nerves of my spinal cord and numb most of the initial post-surgery pain. This would also require placement of a urinary catheter, but I was fine with that.

Part of my Cerebral Palsy gives me serious spasticity in my left hand. It's good for typing, but not much else. My right hand does everything for me. Therefore, I asked Dr. Nibble to avoid putting the IV in my right hand at all costs, as I wouldn't even be able to feed myself if it was out of commission. He agreed. However, when I made it into the OR itself, he found that even with a shot of "freezing" medicine he couldn't get a large enough needle into the vein in my left arm or hand to sustain me after surgery, and that the right hand didn't look much better.

I had two choices; I could have Dr. Nibble put me out with the small needle he managed to get into my arm and then he could place a "central line" in my neck, straight into my jugular vein, but if I was unconscious he couldn't administer the epidural for pain control, thus putting myself at risk for lung problems and a psychological condition known as ICU psychosis. Or, I could stay awake for the central line, he would talk me through every step, and then I could have more anti-anxiety meds by IV before the epidural was put in.

That a*t*i*v*a*n must have been good stuff, because I agreed to the central line while awake as long as he would talk to me and someone else would hold my hand. The nurses working that day were ex-pediatric nurses, so they were very experienced hand holders. Dr. Nibble seemed relieved, and told me that was a really good idea.

He froze the area on the right side of my neck with an injection he warned me would sting (it did) and then, while I looked to the left, draped my face in sterile pads. The nurse who held my hand also held up the drapes from over my eyes so I could see *her*, just not Dr. Nibble. After the freezing, he found my jugular vein with ultrasound, and then passed a guide wire into it. This was kind of weird- Lots of pressure, and a metalic taste in my mouth. He had to do a little bit of fiddling to get the wire exactly where he wanted it to go- Then he slid a hollow rubber catheter over it, and pulled the wire back out. Some tape, and two stitches in the already numb skin of my neck, a clear plastic dressing, and I was the proud owner of a central line.

I don't remember much of *exactly* what was said that day, but I do remember my hand holding nurse exclaiming,

"God, Josh," calling Dr. Nibble by his first name. "Don't let her see you, you're *filthy*- Can someone change Josh's scrubs please!" I went off into gales of giggles at this- They had tried so hard to keep my anxiety low, but I am enough of a medical geek to have known the only thing Dr. Nibble could have been "filthy" with was my own blood- Jugular vein is under a nice bit of pressure, and he had been digging in there with wire and needles and catheters oh my. He admitted it when I asked, then pulled up a sedative into a syringe.

"Nice big drink for you before the epidural." He promised. "You've earned it!"

I did feel a bit floaty after that, but I remember being turned onto my side for the epidural, and then a feeling of tremendous pressure in my spine. I think I whimpered a bit, because Dt. Nibble remarked, "You *would* be difficult to get an epidural in, too. Is the pressure going straight down your back? To your tail bone?"

"No... Left leg."

"That's not right, we''ll try again."  A brief rest, then more pressure.

"Straight down this time." I said- And then I don't remember anything else until after surgery.

Mom's clean when they're stressed? I seriously did not know this

So....

When I came home from my week at my friend's, I found my room spotless, bed made with love. My Mom did it.

I can only think of a few times since age 16 when my Mom has made my bed.... Usually after my surgeries when I'm too sick to think much about it.

In a way, I hate the way I did things last week- Just taking off like that. But I couldn't think of any other way, and it's all working out.... I hate that I hurt her, but hopefully with some space some healing can take place.

Security deposit paid on the apartment. They can't take it away now :)

Am still blocked on the Sensory Integration post ideas. Does anyone have any questions I could use as jump off points?

Also... I know this is a sensitive issue but I thought I might ask....

You all have such great advice...

I recently recieved confirmation that sexual abuse I remembered in my childhood did happen. I don't want to press charges- I don't even know what the statute of limitations would be, and I don't *want* to know...

But I've been on overdrive. Rapid heartbeat for days, sensory integration things so bad I can't brush my teeth (I *wish* I could....)

Mom desperately wants me to be able to forget about it... "Put it in a box" she said....

I don't think I can without....someting.

Typing away

I'm so glad that all of you lovely people want to follow me. I guess I'd better start typing.

Today I've realised the power of fear yet again- Not through myself this time. Fear can come from the oddest places- School, for example. And it can make us do the strangest things- Lie and avoid and lie so often that even *we* believe it... even lie to the people who love us, who would understand our fear and help us to bear it...

And this is from those of us with fairly good mental health!! What must it be like for kids with RAD who live every moment in fear that the people who love them must be kept away at the cost of life and death? Maybe this is a flawed understanding, but if fear is so paralysing for my nearest and dearest, and even to myself at times...

It's something to think about.

Pain is another thing that factors into my life and is a big part in my PTSD. During PT sessions when I was very small I was separated from my mother. If I cried during the painful stretches and exercises I would be taken out of the bright gym with toys and music and put into the "naughty girls room" with no toys, no music, and just the therapist until the hour was up...

To this day, I do not process pain correctly. If it is deep and real enough I will giggle hysterically. Those nearest to me now are helping me to realise that admitting to pain is okay, and I find that bloodstone helps with energy processes, so it's working out. Just some thoughts I wanted to share.

DAILY FUNNY

Just so you don't think this blog will be all introspection and doom and gloom (yours certainly aren't!) here is something funny that happened today. I have great friends- who will soon need pseudonyms- and today one of them had me in gales of laughter with a silly "Hate you" dance because she was jealous of a trip I could be taking...

Light, Love and Energy

Ashley