Hospitalization and Near Death Experience
This is going on Usenet, Myspace and LiveJournal so I don’t have to repeat myself. I am writing a lot more detail then is probably necessary but this is more therapeutic for myself beyond simply informing everyone of my year of turmoil.
Obviously I haven’t been around lately, responding to emails, etc. I have been sick since last December and hospitalized since last March. I have only recently had sporadic internet access and am finally home with more consistent access.
At first we thought it was stomach flu. When the symptoms didn’t subside I checked myself into the hospital in February. After a week I was discharged with medicine for gastritous and diverticulitous. Still, my symptoms persisted and I was sent to the ER and checked in again. Finally a cat scan revealed a blockage in my intestines and I was scheduled for a simple surgery to fix it.
Two days before the surgery the blockage caused my intestines to explode. Yes, explode. I was awake and felt it. The only reason I am alive is I was in the hospital when it happened. Had I been home chilling in my apartment my landlord would have found me when the smell got too bad. The pain was so intense that they had to give me a triple dose a strong pain medication called dilauded for me to calm down. Oh, and for Shakespeare fans, this happened on March 15th.
I was rushed into emergency surgery from which I was not expected to survive. I heard some nurses talking when they thought I was out saying my survival chances were about 40%. Months later I was told the odds were closer to 10%. But the surgeon pulled me through and definitely earned a spot on my Christmas card list.
But this was just the beginning. The bursting spread gunk throughout my body and threatened organ failures. My left lung collapsed so they transferred me to a nearby hospital with a better respiratory department.
At this point I would let to talk to you about morphine. To paraphrase Rick James, morphine’s a hell of a drug. I wake up in Stony Brook respiratory with tubes in my nose, mouth, and other places I rather not talk about. My arms are restrained because patients instinctively try to pull those tubes out. And I was on so much morphine I had no idea who I was, where I was or why I was there. My various hallucinations and delusions ranged from the humorous to the outlandish to the truly frightening. At one point I was channeling HG Wells thinking I was connected to all points in time, seeing episodes of TV shows that hadn’t aired yet. When I wasn’t traveling back in time I was believing I was Batman, in a coma and going to be waking up in the future, or dead and waiting in a grey hospital room until the end of time. Did I mention I was on a lot of morphine? Hallucinating was my only entertainment as I wasn’t coherent enough to watch TV or hold a conversation. I was also afraid to sleep because I for some reason thought my respirator wouldn’t work properly if I slept, so my alone time was mainly spent staring at the clock trying to stay awake.
I have to say thank God for family. Besides my parents visiting me almost daily I got closer to more distant parts of the family, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. And my nephew has been amazing. At 7 years old he had no fear of coming to the hospital and seeing me with all the tubes and stuff coming out of me. When my hallucinations got really bad I would forget where I was on almost a daily basis. I would sometimes think I was being transported by plane or boat because some of the noises I would hear at night would sound like being on a plane. Plus as I mentioned I kept thinking I was time traveling or shifting dimensions so it became hard to keep a grip on myself. But my sister gave me a picture of my nephew and seeing that every morning helped ground me in reality.
From being immobile for do long two things happened. First, my muscles atrophied so I lost use of my arms and legs. This resulted in me not being able to feel anything below my stomach and I couldn’t lift my head to see, so another delusion I kept having was that my body had been completely torn apart and the doctors were waiting for me to heal enough in order to put me back together. The second effect was I developed a bed sore on my back. The term bed sore really doesn’t capture it. It is a major wound that often never heals and in some people can be fatal. It is sort of like someone taking an ice cream scooper to my lower back that went through muscle all the way to my spine. When they changed the dressing I could feel them brushing my spine, which is a weird ass feeling.
The good news is I was able to push forward the boundaries of medical science a little bit. I had two major wounds, my stomach from the surgery and my back from the bed sore. They were much two wide to be sewn together like a cut. The traditional procedure is to stuff the wound with wet, sterile gauze which is changed twice a day, and covered in a dry dressing. They call this method wet to dry dressing. They tried a relatively newer procedure called a wound VAC. This is a special sponge placed in the wound that draws out waste material and even draws the wound edges together like Velcro, making it close and heal quicker. My stomach went from needing 3 months to heal to 6 weeks. And it only needs to be changes 3 times a week rather then twice a day. Since it worked so well they used the same procedure for my back wound. The only real downside is a tube needs to draw the waste material out using a small vacuum machine that I carry around with me. So I have had a tail for the last few months.
As we travel north in my body’s house of horrors we come to my throat and lungs. To help me breathe a tracheal tube was inserted, which in my delusions I accidentally pulled out once. Did I mention morphine is a hell of a drug? Obviously I was unable to speak while on the respirator so had to communicate by pointing to letters as my hands were way too weak and disjointed for any writing. In addition, I developed pneumonia in my lung as well so the focus was on strengthening my breathing and getting all the crap that accumulated in my lungs out. 4-5 times a day they would need to do a procedure called suction, which was basically inserting a red catheter tube into my throat hole to make me cough while it collects and sucks out the phlegm and gunk. If you have never coughed through a hole in your throat, I really cant recommend it. My Dad could never stay in the room when they would do that.
A neat part was when as my lungs got better they could reduce the size of the trach hole. Eventually they gave me a voice box so I could do that electronic talk. I felt like singing for Front Line Assembly. The staff were somewhat amused with my Borg impersonations. This was only temporary as my throat had healed enough for me to speak with my own voice.
Oh, I have also had to shave my hair. While my wounds heal I am unable to take a shower and my hair was getting pretty nasty. So, in order to make it easier to clean in bed, I had it shaved. I am thinking of keeping it like this for awhile as it will make things a lot easier even after I go home. But it is doubtful I will ever be able to go back to long hair.
The last four months have been spent as a physical therapy facility undergoing rehab. The main emphasis has been in getting me to learn how to walk again. I think I have gotten pretty good. I don’t need a walker anymore and can walk with just the assistance of a cane. I will probably need one for the rest of my life, but here’s hoping. I joke that other then the holes in my body I am in the best shape of my life. Once I am discharged from here I just need someone to teach me to drive again.
The Good - Well, I guess the main one is I didn’t die despite having no right to have survived the operation. In addition I have lost over 100 pounds. When I go home I plan on following the exercise routine and see what kind of rehab my insurance will continue to cover for me. Also, I am much closer to my family, especially my parents. My 7 year old nephew agreed to postpone his birthday for over a month so we could have it in the hospital room when I was conscious enough. A friend of the family got me one of those digital picture frames that we uploaded almost 100 pictures of my nephew ranging from right after his birth to him going to the 1st grade. Watching that helped me maintain my sanity.
The Bad - I am not completely done yet. I have one or two more surgeries to undergo. I have two holes in my torso that need to be resected to my intestines. If I am lucky he will be able to do it in one shot. Otherwise it will be two, about two months apart, dragging this into December or maybe even 09. If I only need one I could be fully done by Thanksgiving. Also, the psychological trauma has been pretty heavy. I have definite symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, pretty common with people recovering from severe medical issues. I have the usual suspects: nightmares, anxiety, mood swings, outbursts, etc. I have also become a tad dependent on the pain meds I am getting here, so am looking forward to a fun weekend or so of withdrawal symptoms after I am discharged. And of course I am having a hard time getting my disability payments or Medicaid since my insurance only covers so much so I might have to consult an attorney.
The Ugly - My body has quite the collection of scars. I look like I went 3 rounds with Pinhead and the Cenobites. My trach scar has my throat so tight I cant tilt my head back. Obviously I will have to come up with some cool knife fighting stories that end with “You should see the other guy!”. On the plus side I can dress up as Frankenstein’s monster for Halloween with no makeup other then neck bolts.
You might think I have a somewhat cavalier attitude about this whole thing. Trust me, the jokes are not to seem cynically cool and detached but to help me deal with all this. I have had plenty of alone time to dwell in self pity, but the truth is I will mostly recover from this. While in the hospital and rehab center I saw people much worse off than me. At least two of my neighbors have died, which is why I make no effort to get to know the people around me. I nearly lost it when I heard an announcement use two terms that should never go together, “Code Blue…Pediatrics”.
The truth is I have a great support system. My family visit constantly, even aunts and uncles from Jersey I rarely see even at Christmas. Despite being out of work since February, my boss has visited several times and assured me that my job is waiting for me whenever I am ready to go back. When she heard about my above mentioned money problems she even organized a benefit concert for me featuring several of the bands I have worked with over the years.
Quick update (this thing has taken a few days to write as I get very tired often): I am now home with more stable internet. I might be able to start working from home soon depending on how well I develop. I will be getting home nurse aid and physical therapy for as long as my insurance pays for it. After that will probably be a local gym.
Ok, that is long enough I think. Thanks for the people that knew and emailed me. Looking forward to seeing everyone again.
Obviously I haven’t been around lately, responding to emails, etc. I have been sick since last December and hospitalized since last March. I have only recently had sporadic internet access and am finally home with more consistent access.
At first we thought it was stomach flu. When the symptoms didn’t subside I checked myself into the hospital in February. After a week I was discharged with medicine for gastritous and diverticulitous. Still, my symptoms persisted and I was sent to the ER and checked in again. Finally a cat scan revealed a blockage in my intestines and I was scheduled for a simple surgery to fix it.
Two days before the surgery the blockage caused my intestines to explode. Yes, explode. I was awake and felt it. The only reason I am alive is I was in the hospital when it happened. Had I been home chilling in my apartment my landlord would have found me when the smell got too bad. The pain was so intense that they had to give me a triple dose a strong pain medication called dilauded for me to calm down. Oh, and for Shakespeare fans, this happened on March 15th.
I was rushed into emergency surgery from which I was not expected to survive. I heard some nurses talking when they thought I was out saying my survival chances were about 40%. Months later I was told the odds were closer to 10%. But the surgeon pulled me through and definitely earned a spot on my Christmas card list.
But this was just the beginning. The bursting spread gunk throughout my body and threatened organ failures. My left lung collapsed so they transferred me to a nearby hospital with a better respiratory department.
At this point I would let to talk to you about morphine. To paraphrase Rick James, morphine’s a hell of a drug. I wake up in Stony Brook respiratory with tubes in my nose, mouth, and other places I rather not talk about. My arms are restrained because patients instinctively try to pull those tubes out. And I was on so much morphine I had no idea who I was, where I was or why I was there. My various hallucinations and delusions ranged from the humorous to the outlandish to the truly frightening. At one point I was channeling HG Wells thinking I was connected to all points in time, seeing episodes of TV shows that hadn’t aired yet. When I wasn’t traveling back in time I was believing I was Batman, in a coma and going to be waking up in the future, or dead and waiting in a grey hospital room until the end of time. Did I mention I was on a lot of morphine? Hallucinating was my only entertainment as I wasn’t coherent enough to watch TV or hold a conversation. I was also afraid to sleep because I for some reason thought my respirator wouldn’t work properly if I slept, so my alone time was mainly spent staring at the clock trying to stay awake.
I have to say thank God for family. Besides my parents visiting me almost daily I got closer to more distant parts of the family, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. And my nephew has been amazing. At 7 years old he had no fear of coming to the hospital and seeing me with all the tubes and stuff coming out of me. When my hallucinations got really bad I would forget where I was on almost a daily basis. I would sometimes think I was being transported by plane or boat because some of the noises I would hear at night would sound like being on a plane. Plus as I mentioned I kept thinking I was time traveling or shifting dimensions so it became hard to keep a grip on myself. But my sister gave me a picture of my nephew and seeing that every morning helped ground me in reality.
From being immobile for do long two things happened. First, my muscles atrophied so I lost use of my arms and legs. This resulted in me not being able to feel anything below my stomach and I couldn’t lift my head to see, so another delusion I kept having was that my body had been completely torn apart and the doctors were waiting for me to heal enough in order to put me back together. The second effect was I developed a bed sore on my back. The term bed sore really doesn’t capture it. It is a major wound that often never heals and in some people can be fatal. It is sort of like someone taking an ice cream scooper to my lower back that went through muscle all the way to my spine. When they changed the dressing I could feel them brushing my spine, which is a weird ass feeling.
The good news is I was able to push forward the boundaries of medical science a little bit. I had two major wounds, my stomach from the surgery and my back from the bed sore. They were much two wide to be sewn together like a cut. The traditional procedure is to stuff the wound with wet, sterile gauze which is changed twice a day, and covered in a dry dressing. They call this method wet to dry dressing. They tried a relatively newer procedure called a wound VAC. This is a special sponge placed in the wound that draws out waste material and even draws the wound edges together like Velcro, making it close and heal quicker. My stomach went from needing 3 months to heal to 6 weeks. And it only needs to be changes 3 times a week rather then twice a day. Since it worked so well they used the same procedure for my back wound. The only real downside is a tube needs to draw the waste material out using a small vacuum machine that I carry around with me. So I have had a tail for the last few months.
As we travel north in my body’s house of horrors we come to my throat and lungs. To help me breathe a tracheal tube was inserted, which in my delusions I accidentally pulled out once. Did I mention morphine is a hell of a drug? Obviously I was unable to speak while on the respirator so had to communicate by pointing to letters as my hands were way too weak and disjointed for any writing. In addition, I developed pneumonia in my lung as well so the focus was on strengthening my breathing and getting all the crap that accumulated in my lungs out. 4-5 times a day they would need to do a procedure called suction, which was basically inserting a red catheter tube into my throat hole to make me cough while it collects and sucks out the phlegm and gunk. If you have never coughed through a hole in your throat, I really cant recommend it. My Dad could never stay in the room when they would do that.
A neat part was when as my lungs got better they could reduce the size of the trach hole. Eventually they gave me a voice box so I could do that electronic talk. I felt like singing for Front Line Assembly. The staff were somewhat amused with my Borg impersonations. This was only temporary as my throat had healed enough for me to speak with my own voice.
Oh, I have also had to shave my hair. While my wounds heal I am unable to take a shower and my hair was getting pretty nasty. So, in order to make it easier to clean in bed, I had it shaved. I am thinking of keeping it like this for awhile as it will make things a lot easier even after I go home. But it is doubtful I will ever be able to go back to long hair.
The last four months have been spent as a physical therapy facility undergoing rehab. The main emphasis has been in getting me to learn how to walk again. I think I have gotten pretty good. I don’t need a walker anymore and can walk with just the assistance of a cane. I will probably need one for the rest of my life, but here’s hoping. I joke that other then the holes in my body I am in the best shape of my life. Once I am discharged from here I just need someone to teach me to drive again.
The Good - Well, I guess the main one is I didn’t die despite having no right to have survived the operation. In addition I have lost over 100 pounds. When I go home I plan on following the exercise routine and see what kind of rehab my insurance will continue to cover for me. Also, I am much closer to my family, especially my parents. My 7 year old nephew agreed to postpone his birthday for over a month so we could have it in the hospital room when I was conscious enough. A friend of the family got me one of those digital picture frames that we uploaded almost 100 pictures of my nephew ranging from right after his birth to him going to the 1st grade. Watching that helped me maintain my sanity.
The Bad - I am not completely done yet. I have one or two more surgeries to undergo. I have two holes in my torso that need to be resected to my intestines. If I am lucky he will be able to do it in one shot. Otherwise it will be two, about two months apart, dragging this into December or maybe even 09. If I only need one I could be fully done by Thanksgiving. Also, the psychological trauma has been pretty heavy. I have definite symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, pretty common with people recovering from severe medical issues. I have the usual suspects: nightmares, anxiety, mood swings, outbursts, etc. I have also become a tad dependent on the pain meds I am getting here, so am looking forward to a fun weekend or so of withdrawal symptoms after I am discharged. And of course I am having a hard time getting my disability payments or Medicaid since my insurance only covers so much so I might have to consult an attorney.
The Ugly - My body has quite the collection of scars. I look like I went 3 rounds with Pinhead and the Cenobites. My trach scar has my throat so tight I cant tilt my head back. Obviously I will have to come up with some cool knife fighting stories that end with “You should see the other guy!”. On the plus side I can dress up as Frankenstein’s monster for Halloween with no makeup other then neck bolts.
You might think I have a somewhat cavalier attitude about this whole thing. Trust me, the jokes are not to seem cynically cool and detached but to help me deal with all this. I have had plenty of alone time to dwell in self pity, but the truth is I will mostly recover from this. While in the hospital and rehab center I saw people much worse off than me. At least two of my neighbors have died, which is why I make no effort to get to know the people around me. I nearly lost it when I heard an announcement use two terms that should never go together, “Code Blue…Pediatrics”.
The truth is I have a great support system. My family visit constantly, even aunts and uncles from Jersey I rarely see even at Christmas. Despite being out of work since February, my boss has visited several times and assured me that my job is waiting for me whenever I am ready to go back. When she heard about my above mentioned money problems she even organized a benefit concert for me featuring several of the bands I have worked with over the years.
Quick update (this thing has taken a few days to write as I get very tired often): I am now home with more stable internet. I might be able to start working from home soon depending on how well I develop. I will be getting home nurse aid and physical therapy for as long as my insurance pays for it. After that will probably be a local gym.
Ok, that is long enough I think. Thanks for the people that knew and emailed me. Looking forward to seeing everyone again.