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| Abdominal Hysterectomy - TAH/BSO - Kathy's Story |
Date : 04-12-2003 - 11:23 AM - Readers : 5494 |
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Princess Kathy's Story
On June 12, I headed into Pre-Op for an easy check-in. They took my insurance information, had me fill out some forms and then sent me to have some blood drawn. Once that was done, I was on my way out of there to await June 17. It had gone very fast: about 45 minutes total. My directions were to show up at 8 a.m. for my 9 a.m. surgery. Nothing to drink or eat after midnight the night before. Light food the day before. Whoopee! He didn't order an enema nor a shave. I am thrilled!
Wednesday morning I get up, shower, brush my teeth and pull on the most comfy jeans and t-shirt I own. I'm hungry, but nervous too. Thirst is more on my mind. My husband puts me in the car about 10 minutes till 8. We don't live far from the hospital. I get to the hospital, check-in with the receptionist and within 5 minutes a nurse calls my name. I hug my husband goodbye. Behind a door, she weighs me (for the correct amount of anesthesia, she says) and pulls a curtain around me and hands me a lovely backless gown just for moments like these. I get to keep my socks. I crawl into bed while she asks questions: allergies? When did I eat last? Drink last? She gives me a pill to help me "relax" she says. I'm relaxed already I tell her as a gulp it down. The assistant surgeon comes over to meet me. The anesthesiologist comes by and I tell him I am worried about throwing up. The last time I had surgery, when I was 18, I threw up while I was waking up. When I had my babies (two of them) I threw up from the demoral and assorted stuff in my IV. He tells me he will put antibiotics in one pouch and an anti-nausea med in the other. I'm happy. He runs my IV and they wheel me into the OR while my husband waves goodbye. In the OR I'm moved from my bed to the table. I lay my head back down on the table and I'm gone. I don't remember seeing anything else.
In no time at all to me and yet to my husband and the rest of the world, it was two hours later, I am awakened in the recovery room. The morphine pump is explained to me and I click it, realizing I'm hurting. I drift off to sleep with my daughter, my husband and a few friends watching me in all my glory. When I do wake up, I find that I am packed into my bed with pillows all around me. I have a catheter. I had an IV still attached with morphine and antibiotics. I sleep through the remainder of the day without much of a care in the world. My total abdominal hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo oopherectomy was all done. Recovery was in front of me.
The next day the nurse decides I should get up. I throw up instead. All day I spend sick as a dog while I complain about the pressure in my bladder and the nauseated stomach I own. Around 4 o'clock they get the go ahead to change my IV from morphine to (you guessed it) demoral. The nurse clicks it several times to get a large dose in me and yet I am in pain and complaining. I click and click and I get no relief. When my husband comes unglued with the nurse, we discover that there is a kink in the IV tube and I've gotten nothing at all for about 45 minutes of clicking and clicking. The nurse unclogs the tube and I get a HUGE dose of demoral and I start throwing up violently. I'm very sick. The catheter is removed as they discover it is not draining. The end of the catheter must have been against the bladder wall, blocking it from draining. I can't urinate on my own even with my bladder so full and it goes back in. Oddly, it didn't hurt. Back to the IV: I am sick. The nurse, in a panic, calls my doctor who allows her to give me liquid Toradol in my IV instead and I finally get some pain relief and can sleep. By the next morning, I have clicked "none" and she removed the pump and puts me on oral toradol pills. I like those pills. The next morning, too, I am removed from the catheter and can urinate all by myself. I feel like a big girl! I finally get a shower and head down the hallway with a nurse dragging my weary body every step of the way. By the end of the second day, I am back among the land of the living.
The third day is release day. I finally eat a bit of food. My husband, on his way to pick me up can't get the car started. He tinkers with the battery cable, discovering it is not attached snugly and grounds his wedding band to the body of the car. He now wears a permanent wedding band scar on his left ring finger in honor of the 22 years we've been married. While this is going on at home, my long time friend drives across town to pick me up and bring me home to my hurt husband. The house is clean. My bed is turned down. There are pillows everywhere on the bed to tuck me in. I fall to sleep while my friend fixes dinner for my hurt husband and my daughter. Later in the day my son, in the Air Force, calls to check on me, along with the rest of the family: my dad, my mother and father in law.
By the week's anniversary of my TAH/BSO I am still not feeling well. I am sick feeling and not at all bouncing back. I am driven to the doctor's office who checks me for an infection (nope) and takes my temperature (normal). I'm sent home again with orders to stay in bed and rest. By the 2-week checkup, I am feeling a bit better but still have a hard time sitting in the office waiting my turn. I'm a limp dishrag. My tummy hurts, not the incision, but my abdomen. I figure out panty girdles help to make my tummy snug. I love these things! My doctor tells me that he is surprised I didn't bounce back sooner since I was in good shape going into the surgery. (I'm 5'3" and weigh 130 pounds. To me, this is 10-15 pounds too much, to my doctor; I'm in good shape?) Each day my husband tells me I am doing better. I get up more often. I eat better. My gassy/bloated tummy goes down. Each day he encourages me that he sees progress. I'm glad he sees it. I don't feel it. It’s a tough road for me.
By the time my six-week check up rolls around I am not ready to hear the magic words. You are fine. You can go back to work. I cry on my way home from the doctor's office. I'm not ready to head back to the classroom and yet, time is up. He tells me to keep in touch about the hormones. (He is a hormone nut. I like this about him. He wants to make sure I get the right kind and dosage. )
Its now 3 months post op. I still tire easily and have changed my hormones several times. My tummy is still sore and bruised feeling. I guard it as I walk down the halls of the middle school where I teach. I fully expect to learn to live with my new body but each day has its own challenges. I look forward to the one-year anniversary of my surgery with hope: that my hormones will be balanced and my body will be strong. God has walked me through a tough thing. He will continue to see me through.
Blessings galore,
Kathy
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