The story
On the night of December 23rd, I got sick after eating a huge ass meal over at Anne's mothers in the far away land of Thetford mines. Nothing to worry about I tell myself, I probably overate, so I took it easy the next day skipping both breakfast (something I often do) and lunch (I woke up around then and did not feel like eating). We have another feast in the evening and again, I get a sizable tummy ache. "I ate too much again" I figure...
But this went on for a few days, since I was never around a decent clinic and since most of them where closed for the holidays anyway, I figured I would wait and see. I called up Info Santé a few times and their suggestions where sub par, but then again, there's only so much you can do over the phone. I don't blame them. They did however provided me with a list of clinics that would be open soon (considering the holidays), which I finally got to check in on the January second. It was a four hour wait period and obviously the single doctor had too much on his hands. I told that every time I ate I would feel bad and so he figured that I had simple acid reflux and sent me home without ever touching me to see what was wrong.
The next day, the pain was excruciating. I ended up in the emergency room of Charles Lemoyne and was given morphine quickly enough. I saw a specialist that seemed to know what she was talking about and talked to me about eating only certain types of foods until they could get me some exams, meaning that if everything would go right, I would be able to go home right away and just chill until things happened over there instead of taking up a bed. Reasonable enough, unfortunately it did not work and I ended up there the same night. I had a special pre-admitance slip just in case this would happen so things where fairly quick.
I waited a few days in the corridor before I got moved to the fifth floor. Both Anne and my brother kept brining me bags of goodies to make the time go by more smoothly. Before I knew it, I had a Nintendo DS, portable DVD player, tons of magazines (Maxim, Stuff, etc) Books and most of my other little things that I kept around the house to make the time go by like my DnD books. The real complication was of course my weight. The problem seemed simple enough, but they could only take a best guess at what I was having, which was pointing towards either a faulty Gal bladder or stones in that area. Because of my obesity, it was impossible to get the "easy" tests that would have quickly determined what I had, in fact they would have quickly went in and ask questions later if it where not for the fact that they did not have anything for people like me aside from doing an "open" operation, which posed some very serious risks to my health.
I got a few invasive exams done but nothing turned up so doctors could only do their best guess, but things did seem to move along within the first week. Then the shit hit the fan. While things where getting worse and worse (ie I could eat and drink less and less which at that time was already limited to Jello and juice), I got a new doctor to come in and check me out that simply did not know where to go from here on now. He said he would try to find a place for me in Montreal that would have the proper equipment to help me but he was really unsure of any possibilities, that's when I learned from him that even though my problem was usually a very simple one, my weight complicated things to the extreme, and that he honestly did not know what my chances where.
Thus, I started to freak out a tad, but to make things as quickly as I can here (because I REALLY don't like to talk about those few days in detail), we just so happened to have some serious heavy hitting contacts in the medical field over where I work, and THEY, not the doctor, found a place for me to get better: Victoria Hospital. To give you a hint on how things where not moving anymore, it was my own office that had to work the transfer papers and everything to make me move over there. Unfortunately, for some reason I don't even want to try and understand, things still did not move along, and after waiting another two weeks of time a new doctor poped up, assessed my situation with a very frank attitude and suggested me that I simply discharge myself and show up over at the Vic. Three weeks for nothing.
All I can say about Charles Lemoyne is this... Though that last doctor might have suggested something that was utterly crazy and frustrating, I think I now understand why he did it. It was either that or more waiting, and my current state at that time had gotten so bad that I could not even drink liquids beyond a few sips of water per day. The pain had become amazing and impossible to describe. I had not eaten for more than two weeks and my weakness was, well let's just say I was very weak. The first doctors that I saw within the first week where amazing, nice, truthful and dedicated to my cause, and all the nurses where also equally amazing. It's that one doctor in between that will never make me forgot how the simple human factor can make the whole health care system crash and collapse.
I ended up at the Vic with some transfer complications but again, the staff was very nice, comprehensive and the whole environment very English, which was an interesting change for me. By that time, I was set up and and equipped for a very long stay at a hospital without getting TOO bored, but I was still cracking up. I had endured pains, narcotics and stress for a long time and though I managed to stay very cooperative with everyone (the key to getting a good treatment in any hospital), there where times when I would simply break down and freak out.
But they cured me none the less...
I got my operation last Saturday night at the benefit of a kick ass surgical crew that decided to burn the midnight oil and work on my fat ass even though it was way beyond work hours and that they had a horrible two days of non stop emergency surgeries to get to. The next day they let me go. Too quick in everyone's mind but to them it was okay and even normal for anyone who gets this kind of procedure (larposcopic surgery) to go home within hours. They did make me eat though to see if I was okay. Those where the best Sheriff pounder potatoes of and dried up pork in rectum sauce that I ever ate.
I go back home and two days later I get a big loss of pressure. I get back to the hospital in an ambulance and after a while they release me again. Two nights later I noticed that my belly had turn black so after a quick check up with the surgeon's assistant and a blood test, they asked me to come back to the emergency room because I was bleeding from the inside. I'm told that "internal hemorrhaging" is not the proper term since it means huge blood loss that could kill you. I on the other hand had something happen to me that made me bleed but I could still make it for a few more days like that. None the less, they kept me for two nights with constant blood counts. My hematoma got way worse, but the surgeons who saw me this morning assured me that my bleeding was now under control and that I could go back and and take it easy for a few more days.
I'm not pretty. I'm also not that quite happy to be home even though I can't stand being in a hospital anymore. I don't think I'm still 100% to be cleared and my blood count being low means that I can't do much, but I do trust the people who I met today, who all know me and have treated me very well since I've seen them. They could be wrong, but if they are, it's with good intentions.
So I'm back home with a belly that looks like I've been in a major car crash. But I can eat, and I can sit up.
Way better than a few weeks back.
But this went on for a few days, since I was never around a decent clinic and since most of them where closed for the holidays anyway, I figured I would wait and see. I called up Info Santé a few times and their suggestions where sub par, but then again, there's only so much you can do over the phone. I don't blame them. They did however provided me with a list of clinics that would be open soon (considering the holidays), which I finally got to check in on the January second. It was a four hour wait period and obviously the single doctor had too much on his hands. I told that every time I ate I would feel bad and so he figured that I had simple acid reflux and sent me home without ever touching me to see what was wrong.
The next day, the pain was excruciating. I ended up in the emergency room of Charles Lemoyne and was given morphine quickly enough. I saw a specialist that seemed to know what she was talking about and talked to me about eating only certain types of foods until they could get me some exams, meaning that if everything would go right, I would be able to go home right away and just chill until things happened over there instead of taking up a bed. Reasonable enough, unfortunately it did not work and I ended up there the same night. I had a special pre-admitance slip just in case this would happen so things where fairly quick.
I waited a few days in the corridor before I got moved to the fifth floor. Both Anne and my brother kept brining me bags of goodies to make the time go by more smoothly. Before I knew it, I had a Nintendo DS, portable DVD player, tons of magazines (Maxim, Stuff, etc) Books and most of my other little things that I kept around the house to make the time go by like my DnD books. The real complication was of course my weight. The problem seemed simple enough, but they could only take a best guess at what I was having, which was pointing towards either a faulty Gal bladder or stones in that area. Because of my obesity, it was impossible to get the "easy" tests that would have quickly determined what I had, in fact they would have quickly went in and ask questions later if it where not for the fact that they did not have anything for people like me aside from doing an "open" operation, which posed some very serious risks to my health.
I got a few invasive exams done but nothing turned up so doctors could only do their best guess, but things did seem to move along within the first week. Then the shit hit the fan. While things where getting worse and worse (ie I could eat and drink less and less which at that time was already limited to Jello and juice), I got a new doctor to come in and check me out that simply did not know where to go from here on now. He said he would try to find a place for me in Montreal that would have the proper equipment to help me but he was really unsure of any possibilities, that's when I learned from him that even though my problem was usually a very simple one, my weight complicated things to the extreme, and that he honestly did not know what my chances where.
Thus, I started to freak out a tad, but to make things as quickly as I can here (because I REALLY don't like to talk about those few days in detail), we just so happened to have some serious heavy hitting contacts in the medical field over where I work, and THEY, not the doctor, found a place for me to get better: Victoria Hospital. To give you a hint on how things where not moving anymore, it was my own office that had to work the transfer papers and everything to make me move over there. Unfortunately, for some reason I don't even want to try and understand, things still did not move along, and after waiting another two weeks of time a new doctor poped up, assessed my situation with a very frank attitude and suggested me that I simply discharge myself and show up over at the Vic. Three weeks for nothing.
All I can say about Charles Lemoyne is this... Though that last doctor might have suggested something that was utterly crazy and frustrating, I think I now understand why he did it. It was either that or more waiting, and my current state at that time had gotten so bad that I could not even drink liquids beyond a few sips of water per day. The pain had become amazing and impossible to describe. I had not eaten for more than two weeks and my weakness was, well let's just say I was very weak. The first doctors that I saw within the first week where amazing, nice, truthful and dedicated to my cause, and all the nurses where also equally amazing. It's that one doctor in between that will never make me forgot how the simple human factor can make the whole health care system crash and collapse.
I ended up at the Vic with some transfer complications but again, the staff was very nice, comprehensive and the whole environment very English, which was an interesting change for me. By that time, I was set up and and equipped for a very long stay at a hospital without getting TOO bored, but I was still cracking up. I had endured pains, narcotics and stress for a long time and though I managed to stay very cooperative with everyone (the key to getting a good treatment in any hospital), there where times when I would simply break down and freak out.
But they cured me none the less...
I got my operation last Saturday night at the benefit of a kick ass surgical crew that decided to burn the midnight oil and work on my fat ass even though it was way beyond work hours and that they had a horrible two days of non stop emergency surgeries to get to. The next day they let me go. Too quick in everyone's mind but to them it was okay and even normal for anyone who gets this kind of procedure (larposcopic surgery) to go home within hours. They did make me eat though to see if I was okay. Those where the best Sheriff pounder potatoes of and dried up pork in rectum sauce that I ever ate.
I go back home and two days later I get a big loss of pressure. I get back to the hospital in an ambulance and after a while they release me again. Two nights later I noticed that my belly had turn black so after a quick check up with the surgeon's assistant and a blood test, they asked me to come back to the emergency room because I was bleeding from the inside. I'm told that "internal hemorrhaging" is not the proper term since it means huge blood loss that could kill you. I on the other hand had something happen to me that made me bleed but I could still make it for a few more days like that. None the less, they kept me for two nights with constant blood counts. My hematoma got way worse, but the surgeons who saw me this morning assured me that my bleeding was now under control and that I could go back and and take it easy for a few more days.
I'm not pretty. I'm also not that quite happy to be home even though I can't stand being in a hospital anymore. I don't think I'm still 100% to be cleared and my blood count being low means that I can't do much, but I do trust the people who I met today, who all know me and have treated me very well since I've seen them. They could be wrong, but if they are, it's with good intentions.
So I'm back home with a belly that looks like I've been in a major car crash. But I can eat, and I can sit up.
Way better than a few weeks back.