One week and all is well-(ish)

   Like any good patient, I came home from the hospital, and got right back to work. Cliffy was scolding me steady, but I just knew I was invincible. Until I woke up with a fever. Blah.
Back to emergency room I went. The attending doctor ordered the usual barrage of tests, and then began to try and find a "home" for me. The hospital where I had surgery said they had done their job, and I was sent home alive. The hospital where my attending nephrologist AKA Kidney Doctor works, said they would take me, but my usual nephrologist said he wouldn't admit me, because I wasn't yet on dialysis. WHAT THE?? That slight made me pretty mad, as I have been a patient of their practice since I was diagnosed.
   Luckily for me, they found a "good natured" doctor that agreed to take me on a patient. Time for the ambulance ride.
Ever ridden in an ambulance? No good. These Maine roads are bumpy and rocky enough, when you are driving or riding strapped into the seat of a car. If you take out the seat, add in a VERY narrow stretcher, take out normal clothes, and add a skinny scrap of cloth called a johnny, and take out seated facing forward so you can brace for any bumps you see in the road, and add in facing backwards strapped in like a mad man, and you have my ambulance ride to Lewiston.
   I understand needing belts and straps 'cause the last thing anyone wants is a patient falling off the stretcher en route to a hospital. However, I was one face mask away from being called Hannibal Lecter. I couldn't as much as scratch my nose, I was so confined. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and was starved by the time they sent me packing. All I could think about on the trip over was eating a big bowl of fava beans with a nice Chianti...and I don't even like wine.
    Once at the hospital, the medics opened the doors for my ambulance exit. They of course, have to pull out the stretcher, and hold it up while the legs, or well, for lack of a proper term, the landing gear drops down into place. That meant they had to hold me in mid air. On the stretcher. Lucky them.
     I said,"Ohhhh your poor backs!"
     One chappie said it wasn't too bad, but the beads of sweat that popped out on his forehead told a different story. I think I heard them say something about a pending hernia surgery, I don't know.
      Off we went to the fourth floor, and a quick admittance. The nurses were very nice, and let me have some water but alas, no food had been ordered. So, I had to wait on that, as I listened to the sights and sounds of the fourth floor. Some poor soul was hollering, and calling, and I felt bad, but really hoped they would sleep peacefully at night. They didn't.
      The doctor came in and ordered another complete round of lab work. I really didn't know why, since I had just had 6 tubes of blood drawn at the Bridgton Hospital before I was sent off on the "magic bus." Then a couple hours later, I had more drawn. You know how it says to use shampoo on the side of the bottle? "Lather, Rinse Repeat?" That was me with labs.
        Blood draw, drink some water, Blood draw. Most of the night. Any wonder my anemia has reached dizzying heights. I went to fold my flannel granny night gown, and my arms were so tired from holding it up to fold, I just rolled it into a ball and called it good. And switched to a short cotton nightie.
       I received antibiotics, (I prefer to call them Antibionics)
and that must be what they were because the next day the doctor said I was "too healthy to stay there." Now THAT'S a first, let me tell ya... I can't think of any other time I was told I was too healthy to stay in a hospital.
       I think he had second thoughts however, when he was telling me I was about to be discharged, and suddenly I said
"Hey! Am I peeing?????"
        The family all standing around me looked at me, with oh I don't know...fear? concern? embarrassment?
        "WHAT?" they all asked in unison.
         Now, in my own defense, I had my arms under the covers when I said that, so I couldn't see the trouble at hand.
         "Am I peeing or what is going on??" I asked again, as I pulled my arms out and lifted the blanket to see EXACTLY what was taking place under the ole sheets.
         The good doctor leaned in to see if I was going to be more of a challenge then he had originally thought, when we both saw it at the same moment. It, of course, was the fact that I had pulled out my IV line by catching it on the blanket, and let's just say, my blood thinners were indeed working. The blood was RUNNING out of my arm at a startling rate of speed, and was soaking my side, nightgown, and butt in very rapid fashion.
          "Oh," I said. "Whew, at least I'm not peeing."
           By now, the doctor had strolled out of the room to look for a little something to staunch the flow, and I has putting a dite of pressure on my arm. Brogan helped by pressing above the spot, but we didn't have one thing available to use to stop the flow. My brother was about to yank off his belt for a tourniquet but a nurse popped in to help. The doctor did his best impression of Michael Jackson, and 'Beat It.'
          I got my 'walking papers", and waited for my sister to come back and get me. She had been at the hospital earlier,  but left out of boredom. They do take forever to get a patient discharged.
          So, I am once again at home, with strict orders to rest.  I made an apple pie, brownies and a chicken dinner. Oh, and rolled my nightgown into a ball. Ahhh, it is good to be home!

Surveying the damage from the tree that fell

Certainly a Day like No Other....

    

My pristine left arm

        As many of you know, I had my fistula surgery last Tuesday, and as many of you might suspect, (if you have been following my blogs for any length of time) things didn't go QUITE as planned. But then, with us Homeland Farmers, do they ever??
        The day started gray and cloudy, as was my humor. I don't do "no food after midnight" well. Actually, it was fine, until around 10 am, when we left to go to the hospital. By then, I was rather 'peckish', and could have eaten about anything, including the bone we fed Annalee the pup before we left. She doesn't like to be left alone, so I have her an extra large bone to keep her busy, so she wouldn't chew my shoes.
       Cliffy and I picked up Mother at her house and off we went to Maine Medical Center. Getting signed in went smoothly, as did going over the paperwork with the nurses. Then, it was time to wait. My sister Kim had planned on coming down with us as well, but she had to get her kids off the bus before I would be done, so she volunteered to go by the house and check on the dogs.
       I was due to go "under the knife" at 12:30. When Brogan came in at 11:00, I knew things weren't "good". She had received a phone call from Kim. Apparently, my pup hadn't just "chewed" something. No, she managed to drag a large over stuffed chair the entire length of the living room, and was headed out into the dining room with it. If it hadn't gotten wedged in the doorway, I think she would have been reclining

Brogan and Cliffy

in the kitchen, by the time we got home. The chair was of course, ruined. Ahh, puppies. Now I remember why I like older dogs.
        Kim barricaded the dogs into the dining room, for fear of my couch would be ruined as well, gave Annalee another bone, and left. The poodle Lacy was merely shaking her head in disappointment, most likely saying " I get in trouble when I pee a little spot on the rug, the puppy gets a bone for ripping apart a chair..Life just isn't fair for us little dogs."
        Once I heard that news, I told Brogan she better head back home, as she was going to stay with the puppy until I got home. But before she could leave, they came to get me.  Everyone kissed me goodbye, and off I went to the Operating Room.

Off to see the Wizard

        The operating room is always a flurry of activity, with nurses running around, and the anesthesiologist and the doctor conferring about what meds to use and how much etc. I remembered the nurse scrubbing my arm with betadine and doing a sponge count, and then that was it. Out went the lights.
         The operation was supposed to take 30 minutes, but as this is me we are talking about, it ended up being 2 hours. Turns out my veins weren't as nice and juicy as the Doctor had thought. Mother and Cliff were both waiting when I was wheeled back to my room.

Dreaming of goats??

        I don't recall much arm pain initially, but I knew my legs were really sore. I am plagued by leg cramps, and I assume laying flat on my back caused me to have a few while in surgery. I of course, had a logical explanation for why my legs hurt. Apparently, the first words out of my mouth were, "Owww..my legs hurt. The darn goats kicked me." Yeah, sure, in the operating room. Goats are everywhere in there.
      I remember Cliffy rubbing my legs and that of course made me all better. He is a very talented fella. Then, my arm pain kicked in, and it was pain medicine time. My arm was really swollen and black and blue, but it didn't look too bad. The nurse got me right up, and into the bedside chair.
      I sat for awhile, and I think dozed off and on. I don't really remember much about leaving the hospital, and I certainly don't remember the ride home. I think I remembered it being dark outside, but that was it.
      Cameron came home with us from the hospital, as he lives in Portland and walked over after class. Liam, Brogan and the dogs were all happy to see us arrive home, but not as happy as I was to GET home!
       I went right to bed, and the dogs were right beside me every minute. They are very attached to their "mother". I was feeling pretty good, and was pleased to not be in excruciating pain. I hadn't known what to expect, but I have had a lot worse pain then that.
      I fell right asleep, and was so comfortable, I didn't move for a couple hours. When Cliffy came to bed, I went to roll off my right side and noticed my arm was kind of stuck to my side. I asked Cliffy to turn on the light so I could see.
       He turned on the light, and I could see my dressing was blood soaked, and it was leaking out. I said "Crap! What do I do? I am supposed to leave the dressing on for two days."
        Cliffy is full of wisdom, and suggested I call the doctor to ask what to do, since I had been sent home with very little after surgery care instructions. I decided I had better do that.
        I paged the doctor, and was lying in bed waiting for the call back. I could hear the wind picking up outside, and wondered if it was raining out. The phone rang, and it was the doctor. As near as I can remember, this is how the phone conversation went.
        "Hello", said Doc.
        "Yes, hi," said patient, that would be me. "I had surgery today and I was wondering....there is quite a bit of blood on my bandage and SHIT! SHIT SHIT! SHIT!!!"
         CRACK!! CRASH!!!! went the huge maple tree, as it CRASHED TO THE GROUND OUTSIDE MY WINDOW! Dogs were barking! Cameron thundered downstairs bellowing, the cats scrambled to far points in the house, Cliffy hollered bloody murder and ran outside, and I jumped up and swore into the phone, with yes indeedy, my loudest 'outside voice.'
         I heard a startled silence..then I think the doc said something??? I really don't have a clue. I said something along the lines of, "Sorry, a huge tree fell on my house..thank you., bye."
         I leaped out of bed, threw on a jacket, and realized our outside floodlight had burned out and I couldn't see a thing. So, naturally, I hopped in the car, got the dog inside, (Annalee, poor abandoned Lacy was still under the covers) hollered to Cameron to go get his brother (and Lacy), and turned the lights on bright to see what had happened.

Poor old Tree

        There was a 120 plus year old Maple tree standing about 15 feet off the corner of our front porch. She has been looking sad for a lot of years, and we had planned on taking it down this fall, as the tree was aimed right for our house. Well, let me tell you..that chunk of tree fell and landed approximately 2 feet from the truck, 3 feet from the car, and directly in front of the porch.The only damage was a small hole in the porch ceiling, the vehicles are both fine. If the tree fell where it should have fallen, it would have crushed the entire porch. We were all amazed. Mother and Daddy came down from next door, and marveled at the miracle of the tree placement.
       The problem was the remaining tree was still blowing, and the last big part of it was directly over our house. Liam and I sat in the car and watched gust after gust shake the tree, blowing it this way and that. I sat in the car probably an hour, and then realized I now had blood running down my arm. Time to go in.

Close!

       We said one last prayer to my Guardian Angel, that I KNEW had been with me in the operating room, and also there when that tree crashed down. Liam and I prayed it would stay up, and not come down on the house, during the storm.
       We went inside and Liam slept on the couch, Cliffy and I cleaned up my arm, and went to bed, and Cameron stayed up until the wind died down, then slept upstairs. The wind blew HARD, all night, but...the tree stayed up.
       Cliffy and I were awake off and on, the rest of the night.  I was off and on in pain, and still thinking about the tree, and how lucky and blessed we were to have been spared. I told Cliffy I thought my guardian angel was certainly on over time, and I bet that it was because we had so many people praying for me.
         At 5:00 am, I woke up and went to the bathroom, came back and snuggled under my covers. I rolled over, and got ready to go to sleep.
         "Carmen."
          I was like.."Huh?" What Cliffy?"
          "What?" He said..
          "Did you say my name?" I asked.

The next day

           "No, I didn't say anything."
           I said, "Who said my name?"
           He said, " I didn't hear anything."
            I did. I heard, what I swear, was a mans voice, calm, and serene, saying my name. I wasn't asleep, or on pain meds, as I hadn't taken any all night.
           I laid there awake, trying to decide if it was the same voice that I had heard say my name many years ago. In that situation, a tree was about to crash down, instead of having already crashed down. I think it was my Guardian Angel, letting me know everything was going to be fine, and that he was (again?) there for me.
          PS..I told Cliffy we need to move to Kansas..NO TREES!

         

Goat on clean up duty!

      

    

T'was the Night Before Surgery

 T'was the night before surgery,
 and all through the farm,
 Carmie was wondering,
 if she'd come to harm.

 Cliffy had hung the laundry with care,
 since Carmie would no doubt,
 need a fresh pair.

 The house was all cleaned,
 the dishes done too,
 Now if only Annalee
 hadn't chewed up the shoes.

 Baby Nibs had been warned,
 over and over in fact,
 if you pee on the rug,
 you will be sacked.

 The children were told,
 your mom is going under the knife,
 you better behave,
 if you value your life.

 Off to bed we go,
 To get a good rest,
 I can't eat I'm told,
 that Dr's a pest.

 In the morning, no coffee,
 no cereal, no toast,
 I'm thinking I'll starve..
 no, maybe lose one pound, at most.

 So, as I hop in the car,
 to my Cliffy give a whistle,
 away I will go,
 to Maine Med like a missile.

 And I hear the surgeon say,
 As the anesthesia kicks in,
 "Where's that damn sponge?"
 " Oh Crap! Not again!!"

The "ONE WEEK AND COUNTING" List

 TOP TEN THINGS TO DO IN THE UPCOMING WEEK BEFORE SURGERY:

  Number 10. Get apartment painted and cleaned

  Number 9. Get hair done so I dont look like the "Wreck of the Hesperus", as Nanny used to say

  Number 8. Get my house clean..It needs to be clean in case I croak, and also if I dont.

  Number 7.  Eat one more lobster roll for the season

  Number 6.  Bust out a new razor. It is after all, a special occasion.

  Number 5.  Stock up on magazines.

  Number 4. Stock up on dog and cat food, in case I am incapacitated for a couple days. Or if I croak.

  Number 3.  Call my kidney doctor and tell him HE WINS!

  Number 2. Smooch on Cliffy

  Number 1. Stick not one, but TWO bottles of Champagne in the fridge for once the "deed" is done.

Practicing a Cliffy Smooch!

  

T-minus 10 days and counting...

    The countdown has begun..10 days until my surgery. I have had a couple calls from the staff at Maine Medical Center, where I will be undergoing the "procedure". I guess they do everything but the actual surgery before hand. I had a call from admitting, all checked in. I had a call from the nurse, who took a complete history and meds list over the phone, all done. Now, I am awaiting a call from the anesthesiologist (spell check don't fail me now!!). I am sure he will ask about any prior surgeries I had the pleasure of having had done, and how I fared during them.
    I only hope this doctor is a better doctor then the one I had for Liam's c-section. I can't recall his name, but I usually just refer to him as Dr.'Where's that damn sponge'. Oh I didn't tell you? Yes, I'm sure you have perhaps heard a joke about doctors "losing things" during surgery, but alas, I can tell you it happened to me.
      I have three children, all born via c-section. Brogan was in a breech position, so she had to be a c-section baby. With Cameron, I did my level best to pop him out, but I couldn't do it, so another c-section was had. With Liam, it was a nightmare from the word PUSH!! After struggling mightily with Cameron, I told the last obstetrician I used, " NO LABOR! I want a c-section before labor".
     I was scheduled to go in for surgery on a Monday, and of course, went into labor Saturday night. Ow, ow, ow! After allowing me to labor along with NO PAIN MEDS, the doctor finally allowed me to go to the hospital for surgery, (had to get the ole golf game out of the way..)
      The anesthesiologist met with me, and arranged for a spinal. Poof, it was done in a flash and blessed relief enveloped me at last. So, time for the baby to be born. I was on one side of the curtain, and the doctor was on the other, when suddenly Voila!! It's a boy! Tears of joy, congratulations were said, baby cried, life was good. For a minute.
      Having had this done before, I was pretty familiar with the whole show..spinal, baby, suture up, done. The first two were phases complete, but it seemed the third phase was taking wayyy too long. I suddenly became aware of the clanging of metal trays, sputtering and a general flurry of activity I hadn't recalled during my last two operations.
      Then, suddenly, I literally felt what I like to call a "rooting around" sensation. In my stomach. Accompanied by those words a patient never wants to hear on an operating room table. "Where is that damn sponge???"
       I was becoming acutely aware as the moments ticked by, that I was indeed actually FEELING the doctor inside me, not just feeling the movement. I was getting a sharper more insistent pressure and pain, and said, "Umm...I can feel that..."
      The good doctor tersely snapped, "Feel what??"
       "I can feel you inside me," I managed to squeak out, as I was rocked back and forth on the table, as the sponge search continued.
       At that point, the doctor yelled, "GIVE HER MORE MEDS!" The last thing I remembered as I went back under, was the anesthesiologist muttering, "this is taking too long.." and a very distant "I found the sponge!"
      I woke up later, and was all nice and tidy, but in great pain, and with an incision that didn't heal for about 3 months. "NO more kids!" said I, oh, and of course, "TIME FOR A NEW DOCTOR!!"
      So, perhaps that too is part of why I put off the fistula surgery as long as I have. I hate the thought of surgery again, but there isn't much chance of a missing sponge this time. I don't think. Right? Sponge? Hello..??

 

Photo left to right....Cameron, Sponge, Brogan