Let me draw the blinds for you.
We can watch the sunset from the bed in your hospital room.
-----
Well children, this will probably be my last blogthing for a bit because I am GOING THE FUCK HOME TODAY and I am currently internet-deprived at home. On one hand I think paying Comcast $70+ for monthly internet service is a tad ridiculous and for a good long while I was hijacking my neighbors' wifi however I've come to discover they have since moved out so no more free interwebs for this guy. (I do not feel the slightest bit bad about doing this because I managed to figure out their password. On the first try. So my contention is that if you don't want people hopping on your bandwidth then make your password a little harder to discern.)
Now don't get me wrong, this is not to say that staying with my parents has been miserable or anything but it's almost like being in a different hospital. They live in the middle of nowhere amongst the trees and the wild beasts and it's miles to get anywhere, quite unlike my little city of Dover. I'm a 7 or 8 minute walk from civilization and that suits me just fine. Of course now I have to tackle deep cleaning my place so it's comfy and livable again but I'm looking forward to it. Pretty soon I'll have people over again and it'll be nice.
So today's agenda consists of seeing Dr. Auty to get my feeding tube taken out, restringing the new guitar, clean the apartment a bit, band practice and then sleeping in my very own bed. Huzzah! Then back to work tomorrow. All in all I'd say this is a good day.
I'll be back on here periodically when I get random wifi or come back to the parentals' house and such. I'm still a sick dude but I'm looking forward to things for the first time in a long time. It feels like and I'm told that most of my issues are now taken care of so let's see if I can start living a real life again, shall we?
That's it for now. Heading out to do my thing.
Peace.Love.Applesauce.
PS. I'm actually going to start using my Instagram now so if you feel so inclined, follow me or whatever @padraigtherobot
Monday, March 18, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Part Twenty-Five: For A Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic
(for today's writing soundtrack we visit an old favorite from way back in 2007, Paramore's Riot!. Yes, sometimes I am a high school girl.)
This week has been a busy one, or to put it more specifically (as I'd like to call it) the Dococalypse of 2013. I've had three different doctor's appointments this week and they've all been fairly fruitful. Let's take a trip down recent memory lane, shall we?
1. Endocrinology/Diabetes Educator on Tuesday morning.
I was a tad apprehensive to start here because my old diabetes educator Megret is pretty sweet and hooks me up with lovely life-sustaining tools like needles, insulin, test strips, etc. and she's just easy to talk to. However now that I'm officially seeing an endocrinologist they have a new team of people for me to go see. Oh boy!.
My fears were for naught as my new lady, Bonnie, is definitely different but still a good resource and person to have in my corner. She was impressed by the amount I already know about my disease(s) and how I know how to take care of myself. Makes her job easier. I get it. Seems to be the common course as I meet new doctors and specialists. They're prepared to give me a dissertation on what's wrong with me but I kind of beat them to the punch. Speaking as a professional patient I will say this, kids: it is in your best interest to know as much as you can about what is or could be potentially wrong with you. Makes the healthcare rat race smoother and with no short bit of hyperbole could help save your life.
The More You Know... (cue music)
After what took longer than expected I was good to go on to my next appointment of the day with my primary care doc:
2. Dr. Mark Berman, Tuesday afternoon.
I've been seeing Dr. Berman ever since I first got sick and he's a good guy. My one point of contention is that his office is at the top of a bomb-ass hill by Wentworth-Douglas and it's a literal pain to walk up that hill. Let me back up.
I had a few hours to kill between appointments so my father dropped me off at my place in Dover to hang out for a bit while he and my mother were off to take care of some business of their own. It was the first time since the end of January that I spent any real time in my place and it was kind of nice, except that I need to clean like a motherfucker. See, leading up to my Happy Go Lucky Barrel Of Monkeys Spleen Time I was getting increasingly sick so apartment upkeep was the least of my concerns. No more! I'm clearing out the aura of awful, getting a new fish (RIP Captain Ahab) and going to enjoy my little slice of Dover.
Back on track: the walk to Dr. Berman's from my apartment is only roughly 7/10ths of a mile but it's almost entirely uphill and after being bed-ridden for over a month it was quite the arduous task to make the walk but I did it, damnit and I'm glad I did. I need to keep pushing myself at this point even if that means facing an unpleasant death march to see my doctor.
Upon arriving early the receptionist checked me in with nary a word from me and after some perusing of Fall Out Boy and Muse articles in Rolling Stone my number got called. A funny thing happened that makes me uncomfortable every time it does. The intake nurse (who's name I forget but she's always my intake nurse there) started in on how I look good despite everything and that they've all read a lot about me the past few weeks and were concerned. Nothing big there. But then she pulled out the big guns and told me how strong I am for enduring all of this. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't consider myself to be a terribly strong person. I have/had great doctors and I happened to pull through this so far. The fact that I should probably be dead many times over by now is not lost on me, however I don't think of myself as some stoic soldier of resilience in the face of death. I live. It's what I do. It's what we all do, just some of us do it under worse circumstances than others.
So to recap: if you see me on the street or something please do not stop me and pull any of that crap. I'd like to live as normal a life as is afforded to me at this point, thanks.
Sidenote: my left wrist tattoo says "We are blessed, we endure", a line from a Five Iron Frenzy song that I got when I was 20 or 21 and it's only since I got sick that it's really taken on a more profound meaning than I had originally intended. Funny how that works out.
After my slightly awkward intake I got to see Dr. Berman and he was beyond impressed with everything. His exact words were "You look better now than I've ever seen you." Score! How's that for post-surgery living? After that I met with the case manager and we chatted for a bit. She wanted to know how things were, if there was anything else they could do at this point, etc. No thanks madam, I'm all set for now.
3. Infectious Disease on Wednesday
Last appointment of the week. Whew. I had to go back to W-D to see Dr. Mendoza at ID. This was my most nerve-wracking appointment because I hadn't yet heard the results of some recent blood work I had done and the last thing I needed to hear was that my insides were still abuzz with microscopic critters. Nope, he came in and let me know that my white cells are good, platelets are good, and I'm showing no signs of continuing infection. Huzzah! Unless something comes up like serious vomiting, fevers, chills, or general signs of sickness I'm cleared to not have to see him again. As much as I like my doctors personally it's nice when I'm not required to see them.
So that was my week of the Dococalypse. Next week I only have one appointment (with Dr. Auty) to *fingers crossed* get my feeding tube out. My JP hasn't drained much of anything since I left the hospital save for maybe 25 or 30ml which means my stomach has finally healed up and I can start to get back to normal. Unfortunately Dr. Auty says that even with the feeding tube out she wants to keep the JP in place for a few more weeks to make sure nothing's wonky on the inside. Alright madam, I'll see your caution and raise you discomfort. But it's not like I haven't had JP's before.
As for real life I was/am? supposed to spend some time with a friend today but she hasn't called or contacted yet so I'm not sure if we're still on for anything. Harumph. On a bright note my dear old friend Mike has graciously gifted me a guitar to replace the one that my asshole brother walked off with. What a guy, right? She'll get put to good use as I'm set to make my return to the stage at the end of the month. Real life, right?
Alright kiddos, that's enough for now. My back is sore from being in this chair and I feel like working on some new songs. Later skaters.
This week has been a busy one, or to put it more specifically (as I'd like to call it) the Dococalypse of 2013. I've had three different doctor's appointments this week and they've all been fairly fruitful. Let's take a trip down recent memory lane, shall we?
1. Endocrinology/Diabetes Educator on Tuesday morning.
I was a tad apprehensive to start here because my old diabetes educator Megret is pretty sweet and hooks me up with lovely life-sustaining tools like needles, insulin, test strips, etc. and she's just easy to talk to. However now that I'm officially seeing an endocrinologist they have a new team of people for me to go see. Oh boy!.
My fears were for naught as my new lady, Bonnie, is definitely different but still a good resource and person to have in my corner. She was impressed by the amount I already know about my disease(s) and how I know how to take care of myself. Makes her job easier. I get it. Seems to be the common course as I meet new doctors and specialists. They're prepared to give me a dissertation on what's wrong with me but I kind of beat them to the punch. Speaking as a professional patient I will say this, kids: it is in your best interest to know as much as you can about what is or could be potentially wrong with you. Makes the healthcare rat race smoother and with no short bit of hyperbole could help save your life.
The More You Know... (cue music)
After what took longer than expected I was good to go on to my next appointment of the day with my primary care doc:
2. Dr. Mark Berman, Tuesday afternoon.
I've been seeing Dr. Berman ever since I first got sick and he's a good guy. My one point of contention is that his office is at the top of a bomb-ass hill by Wentworth-Douglas and it's a literal pain to walk up that hill. Let me back up.
I had a few hours to kill between appointments so my father dropped me off at my place in Dover to hang out for a bit while he and my mother were off to take care of some business of their own. It was the first time since the end of January that I spent any real time in my place and it was kind of nice, except that I need to clean like a motherfucker. See, leading up to my Happy Go Lucky Barrel Of Monkeys Spleen Time I was getting increasingly sick so apartment upkeep was the least of my concerns. No more! I'm clearing out the aura of awful, getting a new fish (RIP Captain Ahab) and going to enjoy my little slice of Dover.
Back on track: the walk to Dr. Berman's from my apartment is only roughly 7/10ths of a mile but it's almost entirely uphill and after being bed-ridden for over a month it was quite the arduous task to make the walk but I did it, damnit and I'm glad I did. I need to keep pushing myself at this point even if that means facing an unpleasant death march to see my doctor.
Upon arriving early the receptionist checked me in with nary a word from me and after some perusing of Fall Out Boy and Muse articles in Rolling Stone my number got called. A funny thing happened that makes me uncomfortable every time it does. The intake nurse (who's name I forget but she's always my intake nurse there) started in on how I look good despite everything and that they've all read a lot about me the past few weeks and were concerned. Nothing big there. But then she pulled out the big guns and told me how strong I am for enduring all of this. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't consider myself to be a terribly strong person. I have/had great doctors and I happened to pull through this so far. The fact that I should probably be dead many times over by now is not lost on me, however I don't think of myself as some stoic soldier of resilience in the face of death. I live. It's what I do. It's what we all do, just some of us do it under worse circumstances than others.
So to recap: if you see me on the street or something please do not stop me and pull any of that crap. I'd like to live as normal a life as is afforded to me at this point, thanks.
Sidenote: my left wrist tattoo says "We are blessed, we endure", a line from a Five Iron Frenzy song that I got when I was 20 or 21 and it's only since I got sick that it's really taken on a more profound meaning than I had originally intended. Funny how that works out.
After my slightly awkward intake I got to see Dr. Berman and he was beyond impressed with everything. His exact words were "You look better now than I've ever seen you." Score! How's that for post-surgery living? After that I met with the case manager and we chatted for a bit. She wanted to know how things were, if there was anything else they could do at this point, etc. No thanks madam, I'm all set for now.
3. Infectious Disease on Wednesday
Last appointment of the week. Whew. I had to go back to W-D to see Dr. Mendoza at ID. This was my most nerve-wracking appointment because I hadn't yet heard the results of some recent blood work I had done and the last thing I needed to hear was that my insides were still abuzz with microscopic critters. Nope, he came in and let me know that my white cells are good, platelets are good, and I'm showing no signs of continuing infection. Huzzah! Unless something comes up like serious vomiting, fevers, chills, or general signs of sickness I'm cleared to not have to see him again. As much as I like my doctors personally it's nice when I'm not required to see them.
So that was my week of the Dococalypse. Next week I only have one appointment (with Dr. Auty) to *fingers crossed* get my feeding tube out. My JP hasn't drained much of anything since I left the hospital save for maybe 25 or 30ml which means my stomach has finally healed up and I can start to get back to normal. Unfortunately Dr. Auty says that even with the feeding tube out she wants to keep the JP in place for a few more weeks to make sure nothing's wonky on the inside. Alright madam, I'll see your caution and raise you discomfort. But it's not like I haven't had JP's before.
As for real life I was/am? supposed to spend some time with a friend today but she hasn't called or contacted yet so I'm not sure if we're still on for anything. Harumph. On a bright note my dear old friend Mike has graciously gifted me a guitar to replace the one that my asshole brother walked off with. What a guy, right? She'll get put to good use as I'm set to make my return to the stage at the end of the month. Real life, right?
Alright kiddos, that's enough for now. My back is sore from being in this chair and I feel like working on some new songs. Later skaters.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Part Twenty-Four: N P Oh oh oh my god
It's quarter past nine a.m. on Monday and I'm in my parents' cold office hooked up to my feeding machine and listening to a David Cross interview from what I assume is 2004 because it deals largely with the RNC and George W. Bush. To get off on a bit of an off-topic tangent for a second I will say that while I absolutely don't miss the years we suffered under the Bush regime I must say that people have short memories in this country because these days the right-wing pundits are all a flutter with their "Obama is a communist, socialist, Muslim, America-hating Nazi who wants to kill us all and bleed us dry economically and spritually. Oh, and there's still a war on Christmas." and they love it. I can tell that Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly sit in their offices counting their vast mile-high stacks of money, twiddling their fingers and just think "Fuck YES! FINALLY! The soul-sucking liberals had us over a barrel for eight years but now it's OUR TURN, MOTHERFUCKER!" Now, don't get me wrong, I'm an equal-opportunity critic of the current and former administrations but every complaint these people have about Obama being fiscally irresponsible and not getting his shit together after five years in office can't hold a candle to the truly evil and awful things that went on under Bush that our children's children's children will feel the repercussions of.
Ok, the soap box is put away now. Just felt I had to get some of that out.
I've got my first (well, technically second) post-hospital doctor's appointment this afternoon with my surgeon, Dr. Auty. In hindsight I must say that despite the fantastic jobs that both Dr. Marcello and Dr. Pompiselli at Lahey did Dr. Auty is my favorite surgeon thus far. Not quite sure what it is but she puts me more at ease than any other doctor I've had, especially one that's been wrist-deep inside my abdomen. It could be that I just feel more comfortable at W-D than I do at Lahey too. Hmm.
I'm not exactly sure what we're supposed to be doing today being so close to my discharge but I do know that I have a confession to make to her. Post-surgery we discovered that my stomach was still leaking and we were resting it for a bit so it would close itself up (some organs heal themselves, kids) so the plan was to be NPO (again, "nothing by mouth") for at least two weeks while the feeding tube did its magic. Well, being a professional patient I get a little antsy and impatient because a. that's my nature and b. at this point I can read my body pretty well. Now, I'm not supposed to be fully NPO; I've been given the OK to chew ice chips and have sips of water to keep my mouth from getting too dry and such. But give some people an inch and they'll see how far they can jog. See, I reasoned that I should experiment to see what I can handle and try to advance my recovery as best as possible because let's face it, having a tube shoved up and down your nose stinks and the sooner I get it out the better. It works like this:
If my stomach is still leaking then about a half hour after I ingest anything more substantial than water or clear liquids it'll show up in my JP drain because my JP is placed at the head of the leaks in what's left of my pancreas and my stomach. In the hospital we used the "Jell-O Test" (I would eat some bright-colored Jell-O and wait. If my stomach was leaking then my JP drain would be full of that color. Simple.) This applies to any food that my stomach needs to process SO I took it upon myself to try little things while here to see if I was healed up.
Pros: I discover my stomach is healed and I can get this damn tube out and move on with my life.
Cons: My stomach is still leaking and I need to chill and stay NPO for a bit longer.
To me it's a no-brainer so I've had little bits of things like chicken soup, Gatorade, slice of deli turkey, scrambled eggs...and guess what? Nothing's headed into my JP. Sure, there's a little bit (and by little bit I mean MAYBE 10ml in 48 hours) there but that's the normal fluid that's been in there all along. If my stomach was leaking that thing would be full of processed food bits. Yes, I feel guilty about going against Dr. Auty's wishes and advancing my process faster than she wanted but the faster I get back to eating for real the faster I get back to real life. I'm sure she'll understand.
After my appointment we're stopping by my place to pick up a few things and back to the house here in the middle of nowhere. I miss my Dover. I miss my restaurant. I miss my friends.
"I will fuck this up. I fucking know it."
Before it gets too far along in the day I'm going to call Angel to see if he wants to hook up today. I need to return some of his cookbooks and FINALLY give he and Hannah their Christmas presents. Through purely cosmic means we lost touch over the past few months (my phone got shut off, lost my internet, got sick, etc.) but we're mending those fences now. Those two are as much my family as my blood and it breaks my heart that at times we let ourselves grow apart. Funny story: Angel is listed as one of my emergency contacts and when I was getting intake at endocrinology done they asked about it and when I said yes, he is an emergency contact they said that he's listed as my brother. I kind of laughed a little bit and said well, that's kind of true, actually. Silly medical records.
"Isn't it amazing in this world that anyone can love anyone at all?"
That's one thing that I'll never get used to about being in the hospital for extended periods. For me time stops and I forget that the world moves on for everyone else. It's kind of a strange concept and if you've ever spent a good amount of time in that kind of situation you may be able to relate. I would say it's kind of like going on extended vacation but I wouldn't exactly compare being in the hospital to being on vacation. Like when I visited the restaurant and said hello to some of my people, it was weird seeing things arranged differently and hearing certain things about certain people. That's just something I'll have to wrap my head around and process in my own time. People move on even when you're locked in somewhere else.
"I'm getting good at saying goodbye."
Ok, the soap box is put away now. Just felt I had to get some of that out.
I've got my first (well, technically second) post-hospital doctor's appointment this afternoon with my surgeon, Dr. Auty. In hindsight I must say that despite the fantastic jobs that both Dr. Marcello and Dr. Pompiselli at Lahey did Dr. Auty is my favorite surgeon thus far. Not quite sure what it is but she puts me more at ease than any other doctor I've had, especially one that's been wrist-deep inside my abdomen. It could be that I just feel more comfortable at W-D than I do at Lahey too. Hmm.
I'm not exactly sure what we're supposed to be doing today being so close to my discharge but I do know that I have a confession to make to her. Post-surgery we discovered that my stomach was still leaking and we were resting it for a bit so it would close itself up (some organs heal themselves, kids) so the plan was to be NPO (again, "nothing by mouth") for at least two weeks while the feeding tube did its magic. Well, being a professional patient I get a little antsy and impatient because a. that's my nature and b. at this point I can read my body pretty well. Now, I'm not supposed to be fully NPO; I've been given the OK to chew ice chips and have sips of water to keep my mouth from getting too dry and such. But give some people an inch and they'll see how far they can jog. See, I reasoned that I should experiment to see what I can handle and try to advance my recovery as best as possible because let's face it, having a tube shoved up and down your nose stinks and the sooner I get it out the better. It works like this:
If my stomach is still leaking then about a half hour after I ingest anything more substantial than water or clear liquids it'll show up in my JP drain because my JP is placed at the head of the leaks in what's left of my pancreas and my stomach. In the hospital we used the "Jell-O Test" (I would eat some bright-colored Jell-O and wait. If my stomach was leaking then my JP drain would be full of that color. Simple.) This applies to any food that my stomach needs to process SO I took it upon myself to try little things while here to see if I was healed up.
Pros: I discover my stomach is healed and I can get this damn tube out and move on with my life.
Cons: My stomach is still leaking and I need to chill and stay NPO for a bit longer.
To me it's a no-brainer so I've had little bits of things like chicken soup, Gatorade, slice of deli turkey, scrambled eggs...and guess what? Nothing's headed into my JP. Sure, there's a little bit (and by little bit I mean MAYBE 10ml in 48 hours) there but that's the normal fluid that's been in there all along. If my stomach was leaking that thing would be full of processed food bits. Yes, I feel guilty about going against Dr. Auty's wishes and advancing my process faster than she wanted but the faster I get back to eating for real the faster I get back to real life. I'm sure she'll understand.
After my appointment we're stopping by my place to pick up a few things and back to the house here in the middle of nowhere. I miss my Dover. I miss my restaurant. I miss my friends.
"I will fuck this up. I fucking know it."
Before it gets too far along in the day I'm going to call Angel to see if he wants to hook up today. I need to return some of his cookbooks and FINALLY give he and Hannah their Christmas presents. Through purely cosmic means we lost touch over the past few months (my phone got shut off, lost my internet, got sick, etc.) but we're mending those fences now. Those two are as much my family as my blood and it breaks my heart that at times we let ourselves grow apart. Funny story: Angel is listed as one of my emergency contacts and when I was getting intake at endocrinology done they asked about it and when I said yes, he is an emergency contact they said that he's listed as my brother. I kind of laughed a little bit and said well, that's kind of true, actually. Silly medical records.
"Isn't it amazing in this world that anyone can love anyone at all?"
That's one thing that I'll never get used to about being in the hospital for extended periods. For me time stops and I forget that the world moves on for everyone else. It's kind of a strange concept and if you've ever spent a good amount of time in that kind of situation you may be able to relate. I would say it's kind of like going on extended vacation but I wouldn't exactly compare being in the hospital to being on vacation. Like when I visited the restaurant and said hello to some of my people, it was weird seeing things arranged differently and hearing certain things about certain people. That's just something I'll have to wrap my head around and process in my own time. People move on even when you're locked in somewhere else.
"I'm getting good at saying goodbye."
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Part Twenty-Three: re:Start
Seeing as how I've let my little corner of the interwebs fall behind over the past year or so I'm back at it again. Oh my, aren't you excited?! The impetus behind restarting this whole project comes from the fact that yes my friends, I found myself under hospital care for an extended period again. This time for a whopping 30 days in the loving arms of those fine folks at Wentworth-Douglas. In my usual fashion I'll go over some of the finer points here:
(before I get into too much gory detail I'd like to point out that this morning, Saturday March 2nd, 2012 at 8:17 is the first time I've actually listened to any music, at all, in the past month. I already feel better about my life. Also, it happened to come on to the Punk Vs. Classic Rock record that reminds me of work, and more importantly, His Dark Lord Clarcula, because of all the things I play at work this is probably his favorite record because he actually knows the songs. Oh, Clarke...)
More on my love of my restaurant and my coworkers later. On to the sick bits!
January 29th I was having a rough time. I had spent a good portion of the night profusely vomiting blood, passing out, and generally being in not a good state. I did what any forward-thinking lad in my position would do and called my doctor's after-hours care line and said something along the lines of
"So, I'm fairly certain I know what you're going to tell me but this is what's going on and I'm pretty sure I need to go to the hospital right now."
"Sir, yes, call 911 immediately and go to the emergency room."
"K, toodles."
(Alright, I made up the toodles part.)
This being the first time I'd ever called 911 I was a bit excited and scared at the same time. I mean c'mon, it's 91freaking1. How often do you get to dial those magical three numbers in your lifetime? Hopefully never, really. But the dispatcher was very nice and helpful and the EMT's came promptly though I was embarrassed that they had to see my house in a state of utter disarray. Hey, even though technically I was close to dying I still have a little bit of pride.
(I'd like to take this opportunity to say that I half-hoped to see Kelley come through that door because she passed her NH EMT classes in December and thought that would be delicious irony if she got the call. Ah well.)
The fine gentlemen did their EMT thing, strapped me down, got me all ambulance-d and away I went up the street to the infamous W-D ER.
Apparently throwing up blood, and lots of it, isn't a good thing. Fun fact: humans need blood to live. They took my H&H (blood count) and I had basically a quarter of the blood in my system that I should have. Not good at all. Transfusion time!
I've had transfusions in the past but it was always FFP (Fresh Frozen Plasma) and not actual blood. I felt kind of like a vampire. They promptly moved me to CCU (Critical Care Unit, aka ICU/SICU) where I got the first of many blood transfusions. Hung out there with some nurses I recognized (It's sad when whatever floor I end up on I recognize people in that hospital) for a week? or so and was moved to a gen-pop floor.
Oh, almost forgot, I had splenetic thrombosis and had to have my spleen removed, the process of which made it necessary to remove a portion of my stomach, left kidney, and colon. My poor friggin' colon has had the worst luck. Hell, the rest of my insides too. So kids, running tally:
Pancreas: gone
Spleen: gone
Appendix: gone (not that you really need that anyway)
Kidney, left side: slightly compromised
Large intestine: Down about five feet and counting
On the plus side there really isn't much more they can take out of me at this point. It's all kind of essential now. Although, I have heard of kind of a new procedure where they can get your liver to perform some pancreatic function which is kind of exciting. One of my father's friends also has pancreatitis and she's a candidate for this operation. More power to her, I say. Let's all get back to relative normalcy, eh?
In the time it took to write that paragraph I heard Five Iron Frenzy, Incubus, and now Relient K. Today is indeed a good day.
Aaaand Eddie Money. Eff yes.
So yeah, more surgery, transfusions, and some of the most excellent nursing care I've had thus far. They gave me the option before my operation to do it there or transfer down to Lahey, given my history there. I said absolutely not, I want to stay in Dover. Why, you ask when I have such a successful track record of surgery at Lahey?
For starters I live less then a mile or so from W-D. Lahey is something like 60 miles away, give or take. Two, I needed this surgery done to save my life so I just wanted it done. Three, and this was the most important, I trusted my new surgeon, Dr. Auty and this isn't exactly a state secret but I prefer the nursing care at W-D over Lahey. Don't get me wrong, Lahey is a fine hospital and I highly recommend them, especially for emergent care, but I seem to have better luck with my care at W-D. It was a no-brainer.
Seven and a half hours of surgery later, crisis averted. Now children, if you don't know this, your spleen is sort of important. It deals with your white blood cells, platelets, infections, general body upkeep, etc. Now I'm spleen-less. What does that mean? Well, if my platelets get crazy out of control (which they did) I have a very strong chance of getting blood clots just about everywhere so I get lovely shots and meds to thin my blood out so that doesn't happen.
Blood clots are a bad idea.
Ah, a life of medication basically forever. Sweeeeet. Ah well, I'm still alive.
That's kind of the kicker here and what keeps me going: (not to be all sappy/sentimental/sad bastard)
I'm still alive.
Take that, universe.
Alright, that's enough for now. I'm going to get my mental mosh on with some FYS and get ready to flush my tubes, take my blood sugar, y'know, the fun stuff.
Hopefully I'll be keeping up with this blogthing a bit more than I have lately. I know at least eight people enjoy reading my little pearls of non-wisdom.
Take care, kiddos.
(before I get into too much gory detail I'd like to point out that this morning, Saturday March 2nd, 2012 at 8:17 is the first time I've actually listened to any music, at all, in the past month. I already feel better about my life. Also, it happened to come on to the Punk Vs. Classic Rock record that reminds me of work, and more importantly, His Dark Lord Clarcula, because of all the things I play at work this is probably his favorite record because he actually knows the songs. Oh, Clarke...)
More on my love of my restaurant and my coworkers later. On to the sick bits!
January 29th I was having a rough time. I had spent a good portion of the night profusely vomiting blood, passing out, and generally being in not a good state. I did what any forward-thinking lad in my position would do and called my doctor's after-hours care line and said something along the lines of
"So, I'm fairly certain I know what you're going to tell me but this is what's going on and I'm pretty sure I need to go to the hospital right now."
"Sir, yes, call 911 immediately and go to the emergency room."
"K, toodles."
(Alright, I made up the toodles part.)
This being the first time I'd ever called 911 I was a bit excited and scared at the same time. I mean c'mon, it's 91freaking1. How often do you get to dial those magical three numbers in your lifetime? Hopefully never, really. But the dispatcher was very nice and helpful and the EMT's came promptly though I was embarrassed that they had to see my house in a state of utter disarray. Hey, even though technically I was close to dying I still have a little bit of pride.
(I'd like to take this opportunity to say that I half-hoped to see Kelley come through that door because she passed her NH EMT classes in December and thought that would be delicious irony if she got the call. Ah well.)
The fine gentlemen did their EMT thing, strapped me down, got me all ambulance-d and away I went up the street to the infamous W-D ER.
Apparently throwing up blood, and lots of it, isn't a good thing. Fun fact: humans need blood to live. They took my H&H (blood count) and I had basically a quarter of the blood in my system that I should have. Not good at all. Transfusion time!
I've had transfusions in the past but it was always FFP (Fresh Frozen Plasma) and not actual blood. I felt kind of like a vampire. They promptly moved me to CCU (Critical Care Unit, aka ICU/SICU) where I got the first of many blood transfusions. Hung out there with some nurses I recognized (It's sad when whatever floor I end up on I recognize people in that hospital) for a week? or so and was moved to a gen-pop floor.
Oh, almost forgot, I had splenetic thrombosis and had to have my spleen removed, the process of which made it necessary to remove a portion of my stomach, left kidney, and colon. My poor friggin' colon has had the worst luck. Hell, the rest of my insides too. So kids, running tally:
Pancreas: gone
Spleen: gone
Appendix: gone (not that you really need that anyway)
Kidney, left side: slightly compromised
Large intestine: Down about five feet and counting
On the plus side there really isn't much more they can take out of me at this point. It's all kind of essential now. Although, I have heard of kind of a new procedure where they can get your liver to perform some pancreatic function which is kind of exciting. One of my father's friends also has pancreatitis and she's a candidate for this operation. More power to her, I say. Let's all get back to relative normalcy, eh?
In the time it took to write that paragraph I heard Five Iron Frenzy, Incubus, and now Relient K. Today is indeed a good day.
Aaaand Eddie Money. Eff yes.
So yeah, more surgery, transfusions, and some of the most excellent nursing care I've had thus far. They gave me the option before my operation to do it there or transfer down to Lahey, given my history there. I said absolutely not, I want to stay in Dover. Why, you ask when I have such a successful track record of surgery at Lahey?
For starters I live less then a mile or so from W-D. Lahey is something like 60 miles away, give or take. Two, I needed this surgery done to save my life so I just wanted it done. Three, and this was the most important, I trusted my new surgeon, Dr. Auty and this isn't exactly a state secret but I prefer the nursing care at W-D over Lahey. Don't get me wrong, Lahey is a fine hospital and I highly recommend them, especially for emergent care, but I seem to have better luck with my care at W-D. It was a no-brainer.
Seven and a half hours of surgery later, crisis averted. Now children, if you don't know this, your spleen is sort of important. It deals with your white blood cells, platelets, infections, general body upkeep, etc. Now I'm spleen-less. What does that mean? Well, if my platelets get crazy out of control (which they did) I have a very strong chance of getting blood clots just about everywhere so I get lovely shots and meds to thin my blood out so that doesn't happen.
Blood clots are a bad idea.
Ah, a life of medication basically forever. Sweeeeet. Ah well, I'm still alive.
That's kind of the kicker here and what keeps me going: (not to be all sappy/sentimental/sad bastard)
I'm still alive.
Take that, universe.
Alright, that's enough for now. I'm going to get my mental mosh on with some FYS and get ready to flush my tubes, take my blood sugar, y'know, the fun stuff.
Hopefully I'll be keeping up with this blogthing a bit more than I have lately. I know at least eight people enjoy reading my little pearls of non-wisdom.
Take care, kiddos.
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