Mel's Suck-tastic Week
Howdy folks. I'm going to go ahead and warn you, that I'm going to share my woes in this post.
So. Gallbladder is Finito. And I now have a lovely Feeding Tube which my Doctor assured me would not be noticeable. HE LIED. I shall attack his shins later.
Painkillers reduced me to a state of consciousness not seen since Woodstock (the REAL one in'69). Therefore, I earned an extra night. Rooms were not available in the Neurology wing, so they put me on the 9th floor, the Transplant Wing. (The problem with this is that Chris had to explain to each shift nurse and tech what ALS was and why I needed help or couldn't talk so well.) The added bonus to this was the LifeFlight Helicopter Landing Pad was roughly 20 feet from our room. While this was cool for Matthew to see, I, in my chemically-induced haze, was having flashbacks from Vietnam. (Or at least M*A*S*H)
Next bump in the road: My heart rate spent about three days in tachycardia, which is bad when you're flat on your back and supposed to be resting. Chris had to leave Monday morning for a business trip, and I got transferred to Neurology Wing. YAY! I finally thought the nurses would be familiar with my disease. I thought wrong.
My heart rate was still in the Hummingbird range for the third day in a row. One of the Doctors comes in and casually told me "I think you had a heart attack." Now you would think that I would be shocked into having one, but no, I laid there thinking "Wouldn't I *KNOW* if I had a heart attack?" To be Honest, I wasn't worried, as I figured this would make for a great story. (Maybe something I could send in to Readers Digest? -BTP)
Now this precipitated a round of blood tests. Both of my hands and arms were looking like I was a hardcore heroin user. They finally found veins up between my fingers that they could still use. Folks, I had four IV's this week, tons of blood tests, three Heparin (blood thinner) shots a day, and various other failed attempts at tapping into my veins.
Finally, they ruled out a heart attack, it was an unexplained event. Now it was time for my blood pressure drop. Also, all the narcotics killed my bladder so I couldn't pee without assistance from Mr. Catheter. They would not release me until I could go on my own. I now know the frustration Matthew felt when we were potty training him. I finally passed the test on Thursday (with flowing colors!). I returned home Thursday afternoon and you would think the Drama stops here.
Last night, I started getting leg spasms. They caused a painful tightness in my lower legs and therefore, no sleep. I laid in bed from Midnight to 6 AM with constant spasms. (And my poor mother had to help me nearly the whole time.) My doctors called in a new drug today for that, but it's not working very well. So far, I've slept 1.5 hours out of the past 38.
So here I am, looking at my room, with a hospital bed, bedside commode, Hoyer lift (this picks me up and moves me), and various fun machines to help me cough and suction my lungs. It's getting hard to keep a sense of humor. I suppose once I sleep, recover and get off the pain meds, my disposition will probably change.
Thank you all for your words of encouragement. Knowing people were wishing me well helped make the time I spent in the hospital (that I was conscious for) pass easier. Pain meds helped too. ;)
~Mel
PS: When I meet my maker, I am not going to aim for his shins, or his Kneecaps. Instead, I'm going to do a flying side-kick and tackle him to the floor.
So. Gallbladder is Finito. And I now have a lovely Feeding Tube which my Doctor assured me would not be noticeable. HE LIED. I shall attack his shins later.
Painkillers reduced me to a state of consciousness not seen since Woodstock (the REAL one in'69). Therefore, I earned an extra night. Rooms were not available in the Neurology wing, so they put me on the 9th floor, the Transplant Wing. (The problem with this is that Chris had to explain to each shift nurse and tech what ALS was and why I needed help or couldn't talk so well.) The added bonus to this was the LifeFlight Helicopter Landing Pad was roughly 20 feet from our room. While this was cool for Matthew to see, I, in my chemically-induced haze, was having flashbacks from Vietnam. (Or at least M*A*S*H)
Next bump in the road: My heart rate spent about three days in tachycardia, which is bad when you're flat on your back and supposed to be resting. Chris had to leave Monday morning for a business trip, and I got transferred to Neurology Wing. YAY! I finally thought the nurses would be familiar with my disease. I thought wrong.
My heart rate was still in the Hummingbird range for the third day in a row. One of the Doctors comes in and casually told me "I think you had a heart attack." Now you would think that I would be shocked into having one, but no, I laid there thinking "Wouldn't I *KNOW* if I had a heart attack?" To be Honest, I wasn't worried, as I figured this would make for a great story. (Maybe something I could send in to Readers Digest? -BTP)
Now this precipitated a round of blood tests. Both of my hands and arms were looking like I was a hardcore heroin user. They finally found veins up between my fingers that they could still use. Folks, I had four IV's this week, tons of blood tests, three Heparin (blood thinner) shots a day, and various other failed attempts at tapping into my veins.
Finally, they ruled out a heart attack, it was an unexplained event. Now it was time for my blood pressure drop. Also, all the narcotics killed my bladder so I couldn't pee without assistance from Mr. Catheter. They would not release me until I could go on my own. I now know the frustration Matthew felt when we were potty training him. I finally passed the test on Thursday (with flowing colors!). I returned home Thursday afternoon and you would think the Drama stops here.
Last night, I started getting leg spasms. They caused a painful tightness in my lower legs and therefore, no sleep. I laid in bed from Midnight to 6 AM with constant spasms. (And my poor mother had to help me nearly the whole time.) My doctors called in a new drug today for that, but it's not working very well. So far, I've slept 1.5 hours out of the past 38.
So here I am, looking at my room, with a hospital bed, bedside commode, Hoyer lift (this picks me up and moves me), and various fun machines to help me cough and suction my lungs. It's getting hard to keep a sense of humor. I suppose once I sleep, recover and get off the pain meds, my disposition will probably change.
Thank you all for your words of encouragement. Knowing people were wishing me well helped make the time I spent in the hospital (that I was conscious for) pass easier. Pain meds helped too. ;)
~Mel
PS: When I meet my maker, I am not going to aim for his shins, or his Kneecaps. Instead, I'm going to do a flying side-kick and tackle him to the floor.