stevenpiziks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stevenpiziks) wrote2017-11-02 01:44 pm
stevenpiziks) wrote2017-11-02 01:44 pm
Entry tags:
Yet More of the Stoning of Steven
WARNING: This blog entry gets a little explicit. It's also long. But I process events by writing about them, and I want to get it down.
We had a major day yesterday.
My surgery was scheduled for 1:00, with an 11:00 arrival time. "No eating after midnight!" went the instruction. Right. No eating for 13 hours before surgery? Six to eight is the recommended, and even that's based on research from the 50s, when anesthesia was a mask full of ether and no respirator. So I ate breakfast normally and drank my fluids, thank you.
Darwin and I drove to the hospital in Detroit where Dr. L--, the kidney stone specialist, set up shop. I was frightened and anxious and everything else. I'd asked the hospital if I could get a pill or something to calm me down on the way to the procedure, but they refused. So it was just me.
Henry Ford Hospital covers three city blocks and is an enormous complex of brick buildings. As a result, it took considerable time to park and find our way to the surgical ward on the fourth floor. The waiting area was set up like a huge living room, complete with several fake fireplaces and TVs. It was crowded with people waiting for surgery and the ones who came with them.
We checked in and a few minutes later a nurse came out for me. Darwin would be allowed in the pre-op area once the initial parts of the procedure had been finished.
In the pre-op room, the nurse took me through the usual shit, but I was getting more and more anxious. Finally, I said I needed Darwin to calm me down. They were reluctant at first, but I was adamant. "Is there anything he shouldn't see?" I asked. At last, another nurse ushered him into the pre-op area, which helped me.
It took a long time to get ready. The anesthetist came in for an extended conference with me ("What have you eaten today?" he asked at one point. "Nothing," I said blandly), and then he left. We waited quite a while for the doctor. I was the second-to-last surgery of his day, which meant, I was sure, my surgery would be long and complicated. You put simple ones early so things move on time, you see, and long ones go at the end in case they run over.
At last Dr. L-- came in. I had a long list of questions for him, which he answered. He had found three stones on my right and three remaining in my left after the procedure Dr. S-- had completed on me. He planned to take my right ones out by either pulling them with a basket scope or using a laser to break them up, whichever seemed to work best once he could see them closely. Yes, he would have to put in a stent, and I panicked again. He said he'd put in the smallest stent they could, but this information didn't help much.
"How much pain can I expect?" I asked, and he gave me a regretful look.
"Different people react differently," he said, "so it's hard to say, but we'll give you pain meds."
I already knew I reacted badly to stents, but there wasn't much to do about it. Without the stent, there was a good chance my ureter would swell shut after the procedure, and that would cause even worse problems.
I also asked if I had to come back to the hospital for the stent removal, or if I could go see Dr. B--, my current urologist, for that.
"Well, here's the thing," Dr. L-- said. "The stones on your left should come out. I was thinking we could do both at once--remove the stent, then go after the other stones in one shot."
Fuck. I'd been hoping the other stones wouldn't need an operation, or that we could use shock wave treatment for them. But no, they need to be pulled out. This would involve at least two more hospital trips, because there'd almost certainly be a stent involved on my left again, and it would have to come out later. I was anxious all over again, and sweating now.
I met more people. This surgical team had several men on it, which made me feel better. I got the chance to ask more questions, as well. Dr. S--'s team had rushed me into surgery and rushed me back out again, and I didn't have a chance to ask much, which added to my overall anxiety. Darwin being there helped a lot. I had several anxiety attacks during pre-op, and I freaked out again when they said they were ready to take me down, but off we went.
In the OR, the anesthetist was waiting for us. In our earlier meeting, he seemed impressed that I was a novelist. They got me on the table--and here it makes me shaky to write about it--and started up the anesthesia.
I woke up in the recovery ward, feeling awful. I was dizzy and heavy from the anesthesia and my entire lower body hurt like I had been smashed by a sledgehammer. Darwin was nowhere to be seen. I asked the recovery room nurse what time it was, but I couldn't understand the answer. And I hurt. Oh, I hurt.
This seemed the unkindest part. These procedures are supposed to quick and easy and low pain. But every time I've had them, I'm in screaming agony afterward. And the hospital won't administer pain meds preemptively. The nurse asked how much pain I was in on the 1-10 scale, and I said 6 or 7. It was horrible.
At last he gave me a shot, which helped but didn't end the pain entirely. He also sent for Darwin, who arrived a moment or two later.
"What time is it?" I gasped between spasms.
Darwin told me. I'd been in surgery for nearly two hours.
After some rest and yet another pain shot, I tried to use a urinal. It made me scream all over again, and there was a lot of blood. The nurse ran a scan--I was so glad he was male--and said I had quite a lot more that I had to pass, but I couldn't do it.
"Let's try standing up," the nurse offered.
Eventually I got to my feet, with both Darwin and the nurse holding me up. They half-carried me to the bathroom, where I spent several agonizing minutes with another urinal. I finally managed it, but I was howling so loud, the entire ward could hear me, I'm sure. The pain in my groin and bladder were tearing my in half. It was horrible, and exactly what I'd been afraid of. I couldn't help screaming, the pain was so bad. I was leaning on Darwin, panting heavily throughout. His presence made it bearable.
Afterward, they brought me back to my bed. The anesthesia made me dizzy, of course, and so did the pain meds. And both my calves inexplicably hurt with bad muscle cramps. I couldn't figure out why. Hours later at home, I figured it out. Dr. L-- favored stirrups--I'd seen them in the OR--and I'd been in them in the same position with no padding for two hours. Hence the leg pain. They still hurt as I write this.
The nurse ran another scan and announced my bladder had only about a tablespoon of fluid in it, so I was okay there, but it still =felt= like I had to go.
The pain came back. The meds apparently are very short-term. The nurse gave me yet another shot, then gave me some apple juice to drink. (One of the crueler parts about anesthesia is that you have to fast beforehand, and you tell yourself that you'll get a nice, big meal of your favorite foods afterward to make up for being hungry so long, but when you come out of the little coma, food is the last thing you want.) I drank it--
--and threw it all up. They barely got me a basin in time. I was sitting there with this plastic bin that looked like a giant flask in my lap, heaving warm juice into it.
When it was over, I clung to Darwin and started to cry. My entire body shook with it. I cried and cried and cried and couldn't stop. I was angry and upset and scared and in pain, and I kept on crying. I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. Darwin's sweatshirt got damp. At last, I was able to pause a moment, just long enough to wipe my eyes, and then it started all over again. "I can't stop," I sobbed into Darwin's shoulder. "I feel so stupid. I can't stop."
Darwin turned to the nurse, who was watching impassively. "It's the anesthesia," Darwin said. "This happened to him the last time, too."
That surprised me. I hadn't known. When the crying storm passed, I asked Darwin if that were true.
"Completely," he said. "You even used the same words--that you couldn't stop and you felt stupid."
I didn't remember that in the slightest. It's another thing I hate about anesthesia. It steals memories which rightfully belong to you.
The pain meds were kicking in seriously, and I was still groggy from the operation, and I think I fell asleep abruptly, in mid-conversation with Darwin.
I was deeply asleep and even a little comfortable when the nurse shook my foot to wake me up. It was time to go.
Darwin gathered up my things and left to get the car while the nurse helped me get dressed. I staggered into a wheelchair, and some lady wheeled me to the main entrance so Darwin could drive me home.
Now I'm in Phase II, living with a stent. It hurts, hurts, HURTS every time I go to the bathroom, just like last time, which means I put off going until I can't wait any longer. It's bad to do it that way, but I can't bring myself to go more often. It just hurts too much, even with the pain meds.
And I still have to schedule the next procedure, which will likely go as this one did.
Thanks for putting up with my long entries about pain.
We had a major day yesterday.
My surgery was scheduled for 1:00, with an 11:00 arrival time. "No eating after midnight!" went the instruction. Right. No eating for 13 hours before surgery? Six to eight is the recommended, and even that's based on research from the 50s, when anesthesia was a mask full of ether and no respirator. So I ate breakfast normally and drank my fluids, thank you.
Darwin and I drove to the hospital in Detroit where Dr. L--, the kidney stone specialist, set up shop. I was frightened and anxious and everything else. I'd asked the hospital if I could get a pill or something to calm me down on the way to the procedure, but they refused. So it was just me.
Henry Ford Hospital covers three city blocks and is an enormous complex of brick buildings. As a result, it took considerable time to park and find our way to the surgical ward on the fourth floor. The waiting area was set up like a huge living room, complete with several fake fireplaces and TVs. It was crowded with people waiting for surgery and the ones who came with them.
We checked in and a few minutes later a nurse came out for me. Darwin would be allowed in the pre-op area once the initial parts of the procedure had been finished.
In the pre-op room, the nurse took me through the usual shit, but I was getting more and more anxious. Finally, I said I needed Darwin to calm me down. They were reluctant at first, but I was adamant. "Is there anything he shouldn't see?" I asked. At last, another nurse ushered him into the pre-op area, which helped me.
It took a long time to get ready. The anesthetist came in for an extended conference with me ("What have you eaten today?" he asked at one point. "Nothing," I said blandly), and then he left. We waited quite a while for the doctor. I was the second-to-last surgery of his day, which meant, I was sure, my surgery would be long and complicated. You put simple ones early so things move on time, you see, and long ones go at the end in case they run over.
At last Dr. L-- came in. I had a long list of questions for him, which he answered. He had found three stones on my right and three remaining in my left after the procedure Dr. S-- had completed on me. He planned to take my right ones out by either pulling them with a basket scope or using a laser to break them up, whichever seemed to work best once he could see them closely. Yes, he would have to put in a stent, and I panicked again. He said he'd put in the smallest stent they could, but this information didn't help much.
"How much pain can I expect?" I asked, and he gave me a regretful look.
"Different people react differently," he said, "so it's hard to say, but we'll give you pain meds."
I already knew I reacted badly to stents, but there wasn't much to do about it. Without the stent, there was a good chance my ureter would swell shut after the procedure, and that would cause even worse problems.
I also asked if I had to come back to the hospital for the stent removal, or if I could go see Dr. B--, my current urologist, for that.
"Well, here's the thing," Dr. L-- said. "The stones on your left should come out. I was thinking we could do both at once--remove the stent, then go after the other stones in one shot."
Fuck. I'd been hoping the other stones wouldn't need an operation, or that we could use shock wave treatment for them. But no, they need to be pulled out. This would involve at least two more hospital trips, because there'd almost certainly be a stent involved on my left again, and it would have to come out later. I was anxious all over again, and sweating now.
I met more people. This surgical team had several men on it, which made me feel better. I got the chance to ask more questions, as well. Dr. S--'s team had rushed me into surgery and rushed me back out again, and I didn't have a chance to ask much, which added to my overall anxiety. Darwin being there helped a lot. I had several anxiety attacks during pre-op, and I freaked out again when they said they were ready to take me down, but off we went.
In the OR, the anesthetist was waiting for us. In our earlier meeting, he seemed impressed that I was a novelist. They got me on the table--and here it makes me shaky to write about it--and started up the anesthesia.
I woke up in the recovery ward, feeling awful. I was dizzy and heavy from the anesthesia and my entire lower body hurt like I had been smashed by a sledgehammer. Darwin was nowhere to be seen. I asked the recovery room nurse what time it was, but I couldn't understand the answer. And I hurt. Oh, I hurt.
This seemed the unkindest part. These procedures are supposed to quick and easy and low pain. But every time I've had them, I'm in screaming agony afterward. And the hospital won't administer pain meds preemptively. The nurse asked how much pain I was in on the 1-10 scale, and I said 6 or 7. It was horrible.
At last he gave me a shot, which helped but didn't end the pain entirely. He also sent for Darwin, who arrived a moment or two later.
"What time is it?" I gasped between spasms.
Darwin told me. I'd been in surgery for nearly two hours.
After some rest and yet another pain shot, I tried to use a urinal. It made me scream all over again, and there was a lot of blood. The nurse ran a scan--I was so glad he was male--and said I had quite a lot more that I had to pass, but I couldn't do it.
"Let's try standing up," the nurse offered.
Eventually I got to my feet, with both Darwin and the nurse holding me up. They half-carried me to the bathroom, where I spent several agonizing minutes with another urinal. I finally managed it, but I was howling so loud, the entire ward could hear me, I'm sure. The pain in my groin and bladder were tearing my in half. It was horrible, and exactly what I'd been afraid of. I couldn't help screaming, the pain was so bad. I was leaning on Darwin, panting heavily throughout. His presence made it bearable.
Afterward, they brought me back to my bed. The anesthesia made me dizzy, of course, and so did the pain meds. And both my calves inexplicably hurt with bad muscle cramps. I couldn't figure out why. Hours later at home, I figured it out. Dr. L-- favored stirrups--I'd seen them in the OR--and I'd been in them in the same position with no padding for two hours. Hence the leg pain. They still hurt as I write this.
The nurse ran another scan and announced my bladder had only about a tablespoon of fluid in it, so I was okay there, but it still =felt= like I had to go.
The pain came back. The meds apparently are very short-term. The nurse gave me yet another shot, then gave me some apple juice to drink. (One of the crueler parts about anesthesia is that you have to fast beforehand, and you tell yourself that you'll get a nice, big meal of your favorite foods afterward to make up for being hungry so long, but when you come out of the little coma, food is the last thing you want.) I drank it--
--and threw it all up. They barely got me a basin in time. I was sitting there with this plastic bin that looked like a giant flask in my lap, heaving warm juice into it.
When it was over, I clung to Darwin and started to cry. My entire body shook with it. I cried and cried and cried and couldn't stop. I was angry and upset and scared and in pain, and I kept on crying. I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. Darwin's sweatshirt got damp. At last, I was able to pause a moment, just long enough to wipe my eyes, and then it started all over again. "I can't stop," I sobbed into Darwin's shoulder. "I feel so stupid. I can't stop."
Darwin turned to the nurse, who was watching impassively. "It's the anesthesia," Darwin said. "This happened to him the last time, too."
That surprised me. I hadn't known. When the crying storm passed, I asked Darwin if that were true.
"Completely," he said. "You even used the same words--that you couldn't stop and you felt stupid."
I didn't remember that in the slightest. It's another thing I hate about anesthesia. It steals memories which rightfully belong to you.
The pain meds were kicking in seriously, and I was still groggy from the operation, and I think I fell asleep abruptly, in mid-conversation with Darwin.
I was deeply asleep and even a little comfortable when the nurse shook my foot to wake me up. It was time to go.
Darwin gathered up my things and left to get the car while the nurse helped me get dressed. I staggered into a wheelchair, and some lady wheeled me to the main entrance so Darwin could drive me home.
Now I'm in Phase II, living with a stent. It hurts, hurts, HURTS every time I go to the bathroom, just like last time, which means I put off going until I can't wait any longer. It's bad to do it that way, but I can't bring myself to go more often. It just hurts too much, even with the pain meds.
And I still have to schedule the next procedure, which will likely go as this one did.
Thanks for putting up with my long entries about pain.
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Hoping the pain subsides quickly..
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