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.
No comments:
Post a Comment