So I ended Part Two with me telling the nurse I was ready for the drain. And by ready, I mean, felt like I was about to have a heart attack/stroke/etc. Within an hour's time, I was having difficulty breathing and my blood pressure was through the roof. I was legitimately scared -- though equally terrified of the drain being put in.
The nurse said she'd get in touch with my doctor. Problem was, it was 7pm-ish. This might take awhile.
After about a half hour (which felt like forever), she came back to my room. She stated that the person that usually does that has left for the night and they want to know, "Could you possible wait until morning?"
The look of disgust on my face as I looked up at her probably answered the question, but I still stated a very firm "No." She then disappeared into the hall again.
Another half hour passed, and she returned. "Okay. They called in the team to do it. They'll come get you shortly."
The team? How many people does it require to get fluid out of my abdomen? If I wasn't still struggling to breathe, I would have panicked more about this.
Finally.. at about 8:30pm, they arrived with a wheelchair to take me down to radiology. The guy pushing me was trying to make small talk the whole way.. which I was in no condition to do. Meanwhile, it feels like you're in a sick parade when you're being rolled around -- no make-up or even hair brushed -- as you're going by nurses' stations and guests walking the halls. And there I was, without candy to dispense.
He wheels me into radiology and there is a doctor and another female in there. They tell me to "get up on the table." Always my favorite phrase from any physician.
The doctor does some casual chit chat as he's preparing the equipment, explaining they'll start with an ultrasound in order to find a big pocket of fluid to drain. He then informs me that, although it's not protocol, they're going to leave the drain in my side so that nurses can drain fluid whenever I need it. In other words, I'm going to have a plug and little baggie hanging from my side for the duration of my hospital stay. Ehhhhhhh.
They start the ultrasound, and as they sweep across my belly button, the doctor notes, "Well, her ovaries are all the way up here." o.O Um. What now? "Your ovaries are about the size of grapefruits right now. They're taking up your entire lower abdomen."
He then had me roll onto my left side. They gave me a small (aka useless) numbing injection. Then he said, you're going to feel a poke, and then it's going to hurt as I push this in. I opted to NOT look at the needle and tube he was referring to as "this." And holy begeebus, he wasn't kidding. But really the worst part was what happened next.
"Okay, you're going to feel a 'pop' and then some suction sensation." :O
And... POP! Within seconds, fluid was gushing through this tube and into a HUGE, clear biohazard canister. It looked exactly like the canisters you see when you see liposuction on tv. I watched as the canister filled up with a pinkish-clear fluid. I think I would have puked if I hadn't been in total shock, and reeling from the completely bizarre sensation of suction around my internal organs.
They drained 2 liters that night, attached the bag (yuck), and sent me on my way.
Immediately, the bag became a hassle. If I got it caught or it hung loose, it tugged on the incision and HURT. So I had to roll up the bag, wrap it in a washcloth, and store it in my underwear next to my hip. Which meant every potty break involved holding it while I sat down, then trying to balance it on my leg so that it didn't tug/pull out of my stomach. Made for lots of fun, let me tell you.
On the plus side, it was instant relief. By the time I got back to my room, I was breathing easy and I wanted food. Lots of food. There was finally room in my stomach. Luckily, this was roughly the same time that Brad located a nearby pizza place that had vegan garlic bread and pasta. After nothing but broth, pickles, and salads for 5 days.. it was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.
But then something happened that nobody warned me about. I was about halfway done eating and I got a sharp pain in my abdomen, near where my right ovary should be. And I mean SHARP pain -- as if someone just stabbed me with a knife and started twisting it. I had read how OHSS patients could have an ovary twist and die off, so I was freaking. I was writhing in pain on my bed and crying (and I don't cry unless it's reallllly bad). The nurse then asks, "Do you want a Tylenol?"
Um. Go F yourself lady. You really think I've gone through all this without a complaint and then a Tylenol is strong enough for something that's making me cry; barely able to talk? And Brad, knowing that I'm not one to cry from pain, was legitimately scared. I could see it on his face as he stood by my bedside, helpless. The nurse left to call my specialist.
As the minutes went by, the pain was getting worse and worse. Brad kept asking me where the pain was and how it felt. I kept thinking, "Does he think I'm about to pass out and he's going to have to the tell the nurses what happened?"
The nurse returned after 10-15 minutes (yes, I wanted to kill her for taking so long), and said my doc doesn't think anything happened with my ovary, but that since the fluid is gone, they're basically bouncing against other organs and pulling on ligaments. He apparently had approved me to get some morphine and oxycodone. The idea of accepting it made me uneasy (I'd never been on anything stronger than hydrocodone, and that made me feel awful), but the pain was horrendous, so I told her to go ahead.
UGH! Worst and weirdest feeling ever. It felt like someone hit me in the back of the head; I was instantly 'fuzzy' .. but I also felt like I was going to vomit. Like being drunk and hungover at the same time. I never want that shit again -- even though it did successfully stop the pain. And luckily, it never returned. So whether it was my ovary pulling/hitting something, or perhaps a cyst bursting (what I now suspect), I'll never know.
That night, I slept amazingly well. Since my stats had returned to normal, they left me alone most of the night, so I could actually sleep several hours in a row. But by mid-morning.. the swelling had returned. In fact, my legs were more swollen than ever before. One of the nurses looked alarmed. "I can't even feel where your kneecaps are." o.O
I decided to take another shower anyway. And I didn't realize how bad it was until I was naked in front of the bathroom mirror. I kid you not, my first thought was, "Oh my god! I look like Peter Griffin." And my friends, that was no exaggeration. I turned to my husband, my face filled with shock and dismay.. wondering if he'd ever be able to burn this image from his brain. I muttered, "Can you believe THIS?!" He kind of chuckled, "No. I honestly didn't think you could hold any more fluid, but now you look like Kim Kardashian."
Bless him. He was referring only to my now huge butt. Problem was, I looked like Kim Kardashian if she was 12 months pregnant. I really couldn't believe my eyes. I stood there with in my Peter Griffin glory, a hole in my side with a baggie hanging down. I was amazed that Brad didn't bolt out at that point. But he didn't. He helped me shower, acting as if nothing was different or off about me.
It's hard to explain, but this whole experience has made me feel more loved by him, and more grateful to have him in my life, than anything else we've been through.
At any rate, I clearly was blimping back up. And in fairness, the doc had warned me that the relief and decrease in swelling would be short lived. "Oh, the fluid will come back. That's why we have them leave the drain in. So when you can't take it, we'll take a little off the top."
Within a couple hours, I asked for more to be drained. So, they drained another liter. This time, right at my bedside. Just when I thought things couldn't get freakier, try having a nurse open up the plug in your side, drape it over the side of your bed, and drain your internal fluids into a bucket. Bleh.
Luckily, the next day (Saturday), the fluid did not return. I had officially "turned the corner." Between the IV and drained fluids, the water was finally staying mostly in my bloodstream. Being discharged from the hospital finally felt like it was within reach...
That's probably enough for one installment. I always think these posts are going to be short until I start reliving what actually happened. So the next part will include the drain removal, my discharge, and recovery at home :) Stay tuned.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Follistim, OHSS, and a Long Hospital Stay (Part Two)
We arrived at the hospital (Monday, 10/7/13). I had no idea how we even got there, because I had been reclined in the car, holding onto my stomach with my eyes closed. I do remember saying to Brad, very matter-of-factly, "They are NOT putting in a catheter. I don't give a f#@% what they want." Brad wisely did not engage me in conversation.
Brad grabbed a wheelchair and rolled me in. I was taken aback by one thing...
There was nobody in this hospital. There was one front desk person and one person doing intakes. I saw no other patients. No visitors. Nobody walking the halls. Quite bizarre.
It took us 10-15 minutes to do the intake paperwork, and they started to roll me back to my room. At this point, I was thinking, "I better not be sharing a room. That would be torture." and still hovering on, "If they tell me I need a catheter, we're leaving."
Luckily, they rolled me into a HUGE room with only one bed. Ahhh. And even better, there was a bucket collector in the toilet, indicating they expected me to urinate like a normal person. Good. Nobody would have to feel my wrath.
The rooms actually had a spare bedroom, with two cots for visitors to stay, one couch, and several cushy chairs. Not bad.
A nurse immediately came in to weigh me (at this point, I was up about 12 lbs from my normal weight) and give me some lovely hospital gowns. I waddled myself to the bed. Getting in and out of this thing was soon going to be my nemesis. Everyone that saw it (including the nurses) always thought it went lower. But no. No it didn't. The bloated girl was going to have to hop up onto it and slide into it for the next 8 days.
So, then the fun stuff began. They immediately wanted to take some blood samples and put me on an IV. "Ugh. At least it's not a catheter." First problem, because all the fluid was hanging out in my abdomen instead of my blood, they couldn't find a vein in my arm. The IV ended up having to be put in my hand (and they weren't sure that was going to last), and someone finally found a vein in my left arm after an hour or so of trying.
They then handed me the room service menu (it was probably 2pm at this point, and I hadn't consumed anything all day). I quickly asked, "Do you know if there are many vegan options?" Because as I browsed the menu, there were only food titles.. with no description whatsoever. The nurses stared blankly back at me. One eventually muttered, "Well, when you call, they should know. And if they don't, ask for their supervisor."
Looking further at the menu, I was amazed again at the garbage that hospitals feed to the sick. Cheeseburgers, pizza, fries, soda.. I mean, really? I get the occasional junk food. But should it be what a hospital serves directly to your room? Eh.
I spotted about ten items that might be vegan. The first meal I ordered vegetable soup, pickles, and a salad. The tricky part was the dressing. They had a lot of creamy dressings -- ranch, thousand island, etc. But not one vinaigrette? They did have an italian dressing listed, so I ordered that.
Got my meal, and the soup was horrid. I don't know how a vegetable soup (they confirmed was vegan) ends up with an oily film on top.. but it did. And sure enough, that italian dressing had cheese in it. And did the kitchen just have olive oil and vinegar? Nope. So Brad actually had to go buy me a bottle of salad dressing for the nurses to keep in a little fridge. I'm glad he did, since the rest of my stay, I lived entirely off fruit for breakfast, then vegetable broth, salads, and crackers for lunch and dinner.
In fact, it was always quite amusing. Whenever I would call to order, the person taking the order was always so confused. "Is that ALL you're going to eat?" "Oh sweetie. I feel like I'm starving you if that's all I send." "Are you sure you don't want any REAL food?"
If "real food" is oily soup and everything sent to me in plastic and foil packets.. I'll pass ;)
The one saving grace was that they had soy milk. So I could still enjoy some before bed (a typical ritual at home).
Everything went fairly smoothly the first night. The doc had stopped in to check on me, and advised me, "It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. But if you can make it to the weekend without needing a drain, you might turn the corner without one."
Lovely.
The next day, they started monitoring my urine output hard core. And what freaked me out most was that my urine looked like vegetable soup. No. Really. Dark orange, thick, with specks in it. Seriously. It was so disgusting and bothersome at the same time. The nurse assured me that it always looked like that in OHSS patients.
Every two hours, they'd come in and take vitals. My pulse and blood pressure remained extremely high (compared to my norms). Every morning at 4:30am, they'd come and wake me up to draw blood and to weigh me. Oh, and starting the first day, they also began giving me blood thinner injections each morning.. right into my stomach. She warned me that it was going to burn as the medicine dispersed. Fun, and ironic, considering it was done exactly the same way as the Follistim. Each night, I was putting on several pounds of fluid. And every morning, they were unable to find veins. Getting different nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists to give it a try. Usually, after an hour or so, they'd get enough blood and leave me alone.
After the second day, I needed a shower. Bless my husband for what he was about to have to see and do. I was truly just starting to look like a blob with limbs. My legs looked like tree trunks (no definition, even around my knees). I had to sit on a shower chair, covering my IV input from the water, as he washed my hair. And the moment he sat down on the shower floor, water spraying into his face, so he could shave my legs.. I fell in love with him all over again. All kidding aside, I had NEVER been so vulnerable, nor felt so unconditionally loved.
A couple mornings later (Thursday), I had peaked. I put on 8 lbs in ONE night. They also couldn't find ANY veins, not even in my feet. And let me just say, having someone poke needle after needle into your feet and ankles is extremely painful.
They decided at that point that I needed a PICC line (a catheter in your arm that goes towards the heart, making it easy access for IVs and blood draws).
Cut to me freaking the F#@% out. Not to the nurses of course. Just hyperventilating all by myself in the solitude of my room. It was only 6am and I was texting Brad. He asked, "Do you need me to take the day off and come down there?" I replied, "I don't know. I'm just freaking out and scared." He, as a wise husband, knew that meant, "Yes, idiot. Get your ass down here." ;)
He arrived about a half hour before the "PICC team." This pair of ladies were set on being a comedic duo. I was in no mood for such things. They were sanitizing the room, making it look like an operating room, while telling me, "It's no big deal, really." Then, as they're about to begin, the older of the two ladies tries to show me my own veins on the ultrasound screen. Then presses down and shows me my vein closing and opening. "See, it's winking at you."
Eh. Barf.
They finish, and while it was nice to be able to remove the cumbersome IV from my hand, the idea of this catheter hanging out near my heart never ceased to weird me out and make me feel like I had constant chest pains.
As the day went on, my feet and legs started swelling BIG time. It started hurting to walk. And when it reached dinner time, I got out of bed to eat, like I had at every meal.. and it was even hard to breathe. I knew this was not good.
I called the nurse.. and I couldn't even believe the words were coming out of my mouth.. "I think I need the drain." I felt so defeated. But you know, if it means being able to breathe, I just had to accept it. The fluid was literally running out of places to go.
So, in the next installment, I'll describe the lovely drain procedure :) Stay tuned.
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