The worst week ever

I'm writing this column at three in the morning because of the constant pain I'm in as a result of a medical procedure I had done a week ago. It is not an indictment of a particular doctor, a particular hospital or a particular city so those things won't be mentioned. I write about it not because of me but because of you. I discovered many years ago that many of our problems are the same and that when I write about something from a personal perspective, I find out that many other people have had similar experiences. Medically, other people have suffered much worse than me and have had to deal with the trauma of terminal diseases that I haven't had to deal with yet. But, by the same token, many of you either have or will have similar experiences to the ones I'm currently enduring so it's a column for everybody.

Last Friday, I went out of town for an outpatient surgery known as a peripheral angiogram with intervention. A little over a year ago I first had this surgery done as a result of poor blood flow in my legs. I didn't meet the doctor who was to perform the surgery until shortly before I went into the operating theater so we had no chance to build a relationship. In addition to that, I was not prepared for what happened during or after surgery and decided that my relationship with him would be a fleeting one. The problem with that, of course, was that my legs weren't getting any better which prompted me to contact him this past November to finish the procedures. Since he had already tried and failed to rehab my left leg, he decided to do my right leg this time and the procedure went much better. We were able to forge a relationship that had eluded us during the first surgery which made the communication between us much better. He was young and arrogant and I could tell by his demeanor that he considered himself to be a rising star in the medical field he had chosen but I could hardly fault him for that because I've had the same feelings about my own career choices. No stents were needed in my right leg so the recovery time was only three hours and my friend and I even stopped at Perkins for a meal before we headed home in the afternoon after the surgery that morning.

So I thought the doctor had found his stride and responded in a positive way when he informed me he wanted to go back and do the first leg a second time so I would be at the same point with both of them and I agreed to do that. The surgery was scheduled for January 15 of this year and I only requested one day of sick leave for the surgery because even though there was residual pain with the surgery done a couple of months earlier, I was back to normal in a couple of days. I can't tell you I jumped in the car that morning optimistically because I've never liked doctors OR hospitals but I was anxious to get it over with so it wouldn't be hanging over my head.

Pre-op was normal except one of the nurses mentioned to me that my doctor was so excited about taking pictures inside the leg of previous patients that graphically displayed the results of the surgery that he sometimes forgot about his current patients and that rang a bell with me because of my first experience with him. But when they wheeled me into surgery last Friday at 8 am, I could not have dreamed in a million years what was waiting for me.

The surgery lasted over five hours and I had three stents and three balloons placed in my leg. On top of that, for whatever reason, you're not knocked out completely during surgery so I was aware of everything that was going on and the pain that accompanied those things. Sometimes it hurt so bad that it literally lifted me off the table. To add insult to injury, I was told proudly by their version of Nurse Ratchet that because of all the work done on me, I would have to lie perfectly still for the next six hours. I don't stay still for very long periods of time so six hours seemed like a physical impossibility but I had no choice. If I disturbed anything that had been done in my leg, there was a chance I would have to go back and have it done all over again and I sure didn't want to do that so I obeyed to the best of my ability. The only good thing that happened during those six hours was that a different nurse could see how badly I was hurting and brought me a pain pill. That relaxed me and did away with the pain and, at least for a brief period of time, I wasn't uncomfortable. The drug started wearing off just as they were preparing to discharge me.

Although I didn't know what was coming next, leaving was the only thing on my mind. I don't like giving up control to ANYBODY and in the hospital setting, you give up total control to EVERYBODY. My friend and I even decided to stop at Perkins for a meal like we had done the first time and while we were standing in line waiting to be seated, I passed out, hitting the floor like a ton of bricks my friend later told me. That was the first time it had ever happened to me and I think it must be a lot like death because one second I was standing in line and the next second several people were hovered around me and no intervening time seemed to have passed at all. After I convinced everybody I was okay, we were seated and although I ordered the same thing I had the last time, I couldn't eat it and had to take it with me.

Even though the day had been a complete disaster from the time I arrived at the hospital, I knew that things were going to get better quickly as soon as I got home. But I was wrong once again. Because of the drugs I had been given, I quickly fell asleep but when I woke up, I had excruciating pain in my left leg and when I stood up, the pain intensified to the point it brought tears to my eyes and I knew I couldn't walk on my leg. So for Saturday and Sunday, I was completely dependent on good friends to just get me through the day. I was still holding out hope I could go back to teaching on Monday but when I woke up, I knew that wasn't going to be possible. And, as it turned out, neither was the rest of the week. The leg improved to the point I could walk on it but the pain never completely went away so yesterday I called the doctor's nurse and informed her of that. She called me back a couple of hours later and said that the doctor figured I would be in a lot of pain for a long time because of the intrusive nature of the surgery. I wondered why he hadn't told me that. She also said she was going to call in a pain pill prescription for me and once again, I wondered why he hadn't sent me home from the hospital with one if he knew ahead of time I was going to be in pain. Regardless, I hobbled out to my pharmacy last night to pick it up, hoping beyond hope it would give me the relief from pain I so desperately sought but it didn't. In fact, it had no impact on my pain at all.

So now, in the early morning hours of Friday, Jan. 22, I'm awake and writing this column. I can't sleep because of the pain and have no idea how long it will be before the pain finally goes away, if ever.

Sometimes the solution turns into the problem.