My unlucky housemates

I am putting my granny panties to full use these days. I hike 'em up to my waist (or, where a waist should be) and they cover my stapled mid-section quite nicely. I feel things sort of need to be "held in", and by golly, I hold 'em in.

The incision stings, particularly at one point where the skin is not quite rejoined (at my tummy roll - see, I told the doc the roll would present trouble but he ignored me!). Now, more than ever, I wish I had flat abs. This roll is trouble with a capital T!

I'm getting around like a old man with arthritis. I stagger half-erect in Matt's robe, barking things like, "Get that damn Jello away from me!" and "Your stupid dog pooped on my carpet!" (My mother keeps making me JELLO of all things, and to make things fair, her dog DID poop on my already stain-riddled carpet. A person who spent time in a hospital on a clear liquid diet loathes Jello.)

Last night at 3 pm I started coughing. Coughing makes my insides feel like little explosions and I grabbed my abdomen, holding tightly, hoping the staples wouldn't pop out. I told Matt to please get me some water. He looks into our bathroom and says, "There are no glasses." And he's just standing there, like a goofball as my innards are bouncing around and I'm groaning in agony. So, I said what any reasonable person in pain would say: "WHERE DO YOU THINK THERE ARE GLASSES, MATT, UH, UHHH, COME ON, WHERE DO (COUGH) THINK, UHHH? GO TO THE DAMN KITCHEN (COUGH) OR I SWEAR TO GOD (COUGH COUGH)...." So the poor boy booked it downstairs for some water and came back up with a tall glass of the stuff, to which I tried to drink and promptly spilled all the contents on the mattress as I could hardly raise my body in my stapled state. "I NEED A (COUGH) DAMN STRAW YOU MONKEY!"

So that's how it pretty much is these days. I am a lovely house companion, and my mom and Matt mostly move out of the way when they see my shadow stumbling their way. Speaking of, someone get me my Percocet!

Surgeon-isms

Surgeon-isms of Dr. P:

November:
"It looks like a bomb went off in there!" (As he motions to my abdomen.)

Today:
"Just a couple of days ago I sliced you open like a fish! And now look how great you're doing!" (As he gives me the green light to go home.)

"Oh, yeah, it was gross in there!" (Commenting after I asked how everything looked inside.)

And now I'm home to heal!


Pictured: Not Dr. P.

Perfect Patient

So, the GI surgical team thinks I am a rock star. Okay, okay....fine, fine, that's a slight exaggeration, but they are all highly impressed with my beauty and recovery. FINE! Another exaggeration...just my recovery.

I have been having bms (not a nice consistency or anything) but nonetheless things have been MOVING since late last night. The surgical team said my recovery mimics that of a laproscopic surgery and my surgeon will be visiting me tomorrow bright and early and may clear me to go home! They also took me off of my IV pain meds and I've been holding steady on pills, and are impressed that I've been handling real food well all day. (Although things have been loudly gurgling and I've been going to the bathroom often.) This is normal. My surgeon thinks my small intestine was like a bottleneck and things were getting blocked up there. Now, that it's removed, things will be traveling faster and hopefully (fingers crossed) the pain will abate. (Although I hope not too fast - I really don't want to start the Crohn's bathroom runs again!)

Of course, it's still very slow going getting up, and when I have to cough I go in full "hunker down" mode. I just reached far for my laptop and my incision is stinging, and I'm tired and can only read for so long. But...I feel great! I'm looking forward to a few weeks on the couch enjoying some pain-free reading, Oprah and Ellen watching, and, of course, blogging!

Thank you to Leigh Ann and Kate for visiting me in my luxe hospital suite and bringing the type of high-brow reading I adore (e.g. "Are you there, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea.")!

Sschwooooch!

At about 8:00 pm EST today I ...wait for it....PASSED GAS! Farting is a very big deal after GI surgery, I have learned, and I announced this with a very pleased look on my face to my night nurse, Tiffany. Tiffany and I are both happy with my bowel developments. Next up: the big BM!!! (When this is made, I fully expect confetti to drop from the ceiling. This is a revered right of passage after intestinal surgery, ensuring that everything is in full, working order.) Of course, you can also expect an exuberant announcement here, too. Matt and I are like expectant parents - we can't wait until our little BM comes! (Did I just take this too far?)

It takes a lot to look this good, kids.

This is me blowing into my "anti-lung-collapsing" contraption.

Two words: Sex appeal.

Surgery update!

I will never take getting up from a bed and running to the bathroom for granted ever again. To use my bedside "commode" is a five minute ordeal (down from yesterday's 15), but still pain ridden and an utmost annoyance. I have no less then four tubes coming out of me or going into me. There's the one out of my nose that monitors my breathing and feel like two big boogers. There's my IV, my oxygen line, and another on my finger monitoring my heart rate that leads to one of those cool contraptions with the jagged up and down lines. A few times I accidentally sat on the line or stopped breathing when trying to get out of bed (I think your automatic reaction to pain is to hold your breath) and the machine went haywire, beeping so loudly I'm positive the whole floor could hear and the squiggly line went limp just like in the movies! I surely thought nurses would rush into the room because I was OBVIOUSLY flat-lining, but no!, they meandered in and told me to quit sitting on my tubes. I guess that happens a lot. So much for excitement.

I am hooked up to all of these contraptions because I'm on a high dosage of a strong narcotic that is continually going through my IV. I realized how well it works when I asked Matt to give me a backrub (and his backrubs are full-force attacks on your knots) and his fingers just felt like he was grazing my skin.

Just laying in bed is a delicious treat. and I could of gone eons like this until the evil nurses (and by "evil" I mean proactive, helpful, and wonderful) took out my catheter, making me have to be somewhat mobile. I can honestly say I have never experienced pain like this. Once I'm actually out of bed I can schlep around, but getting out of bed requires stomach muscles, which is really inconvenient right now, if ya know what I mean. And they instruct you to hold a pillow to your abdomen tightly, applying pressure at all times. I have these horrible images of me not applying pressure and my guts falling out. I mean, didn't they sew and staple?!

But this morning I got up on my own. There was a lot of awkward grunting involved and thank god I have a private room because I'm flashing things that just shouldn't be flashed, but I did it! Last night I also took two laps around the wing with the nurse!

The surgery went well: my surgeon removed about a foot of badly diseased intestine, my appendix, and scraped out my abscess. He said the thing was stuck on my pelvic bone, which could have been causing my pain. I woke up still in the OR, when they were moving me from the operating table to my bed, and I immediately went all gangsta on them and said starting wailing and saying it hurt a gazillion times. Well, maybe that's more baby than gangsta.

They wheeled me into the recovery room and it took quite a while for the pain medication to catch up with me. I kept apologizing to the nurse and saying - only somewhat coherently - that I am really a nice person, but to UP MY PAIN MEDS NOW. The thing is, I've been on so many pain meds while at home, I now have a very high tolerance. A doctor came in and said I was young, so it was "probably safe" to up them. DAMN RIGHT IT WAS!! It took about an hour and a half to get me to a happier place, and at one point they even brought Matt in the room (which I don't think is generally allowed) to calm my crazy ass down. But think about it - I had woken up after major surgery, had just been sewn and stapled - of course it hurt!! I think you're actually supposed to wake up in recovery. Oh well.

I think the nurses took pity on me (or just didn't want me to bother anyone else). so I got a private room out of the deal! In retrospect it was totally worth it.

On Friday after the surgery I was not permitted to drink, but yesterday I was permitted sips of clear liquids. Today I believe I can get the clear liquid extravaganza, which ranges from broth to jello. There was a tasty lemon sorbet I've been eyeing on the menu; please try to hide your envy.

I am scared to really look at the bandage, but I did glance at it and it's a narrow white strip that is about 10 inches, from above my belly button to below.

Today I'm feeling more "with it" - yesterday I found it hard to read and almost impossible to type, so I must be improving! The pain hasn't decreased, however, so I'm hoping that's normal. I dread the day when they take me off the constant narcotics; I am like a junkie who needs her fix!!

I am also to breathe into this contraption ten times every hour. It makes you take deep breaths and the respiratory nurse said it prevents me from getting "a collapsed lung". Now, I'm not really sure how a lung collapses and what that really means, but it sounds terrifying so I've been dutifully blowing into that thing on the hour.

So that's that! Oh, I think my mom has a crush on my surgeon because she asked that I post a photo of him, so that's him - in all his doctorly glory - above. I think this borders on stalkerish, but who am I to argue with the woman who is going to be my caregiver and prepare me yummy, tummy-safe meals?!

Thank you for reading!

Kathryn's gonna kick some Crohn's ass - IN PHOTOS!!

Matt is anxiously cleaning for my Mom's stay;
he's even cleaning the stove!!!
(Which is more than I can say I've ever done.)

This is Penny saying goodbye to the favorite parent (me!).

Matt (whilst still cleaning!) contemplates a week without yours truly.
(And shudders at the thought, obviously.)
(Click on the photo for full facial effect.)

My best friend. (That is sarcasm. I mean, REALLY, AFTER A WHOLE BOTTLE OF MIROLAX AND DUXOLAX TABLETS, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE LEFT IN MY POOR COLON?!)

Me, freshly scrubbed and without make-up and contacts.
HERE GOES!!!!!

Thank you to everyone for your well wishes!

Hardy har har!

There's nothing like semi-palpable jokes to get you through the day! Here goes!:

The CEO of a large HMO dies and goes to heaven. St. Peter shows him to a lovely villa, wonderful music, great views, full staff of servants, gourmet meals, etc.

The CEO says, "This is terrific!"

"Don't get too comfortable," says St. Peter. "You're only approved for a three-day stay."

**************

A woman told the vet that something was wrong with her dog. He examined the animal and told her the dog was dead."I don't believe you", she said, "I'd like a second opinion"The vet said that would be fine. He went into the other room and got a cat. He put the cat up on the table with the dog. The cat sniffed the dog and jumped down. The vet then got a black lab, put him on the table and the lab sniffed and jumped down.The vet tells the lady again, "I'm sorry, but your dog is definitely dead. That will be $600 for the exam.""$600 is ridiculous, what are the charges for?" she exclaimed."$600 is a bargain," the vet explained. "$50 for me and only $550 for the cat scan and lab work."

Hardy har har.

In a Mirolax and Gatorade haze...

Okay...just got the call! Surgery is scheduled tomorrow at 3:15 pm, and I am to arrive at the hospital at 1:30 pm. They really make a girl wait!!

I bet they'd rather enjoy a walk.

"Does this LOOK like it was my idea, Mister!?"

"She promised me a Milkbone if I sit through this, so don't judge."

"Psst! Yo, photograher, quit standin' there gawkin' and SAVE US!"

Now for something a bit more amusing. (Although the gastrointestinal distress Crohn's causes is always amusing to the 12-year-old in me, sometimes a girl has gotta move on.)

Take, for example, this article that appeared in the NYT a couple weeks back. It's about "Doga" - or yoga, with your dog. I urge you to look at the photos accompanying the article and stare into the innocent dogs' eyes. Somehow, upper-middle-class urbanites and found a new breed of animal abuse. Poor things.

Bonding With Their Downward-Facing Humans
Published: April 9, 2009, NYT