(I'm continuing the story I started w/ yesterday's post. I did make some more changes to the Saturday, 29 May 2010, post if you'd like to go back and re-read it.)
On Friday, June 21st, I returned to have the tumor on my left kidney removed. The tumor was 5cm, but b/c it was mostly on the kidney, only two percent of my kidney had to be removed. The Mayo brothers were the first to introduce the biopsy procedures in the operating room to allow the surgeon to slice until acceptable margins were reached. Having my kidney sliced and diced repeatedly, however, made it feel like I'd gone 40 rounds w/ Mike Tyson. There's a reason why kidney punches are illegal. In the recovery room, I recall being in excruciating pain and it seemed like no one was listening to me. If you've ever seen a movie w/ patients moaning after a cataclysmic event, that was me. I always considered myself to have a high tolerance for pain, but apparently I hadn't prepared myself enough mentally. Finally a male nurse or doctor or angel, came to me and offered some calming words. It was enough to get my mind to take over the pain. I still wanted as many pain killers as they'd give me, but I knew I could endure the rest. It was at that time that I learned for the first time that the tumor was malignant.
When they finally brought me to my room, which was incredibly small and was shared w/ another cancer patient, they moved me from the gurney to the bed. Doug had to wait outside the room during this transfer, and said he'd never heard any such scream of pain by human or animal. The only way I made it through those first hours was through pain meds and Doug reading to me. On the morning of the 22nd, I tried to eat some oatmeal and wanted to try walking. Again, I felt that the sooner I took nourishment and walked, the sooner I could go home. Well, this time that attitude backfired. While walking w/ Doug at my side, I became incoherent, collapsed, and had, what the neurologists later labeled, an episode. This episode won me another trip to ICU where my head was wired w/ electrodes. At least I had a big room all to myself!
Twenty-fours later, they determined I had a brain, and it was functioning normally. The coil was still in place and all was well...........well, except for needing to now recover from the kidney surgery. My next room was on the oncology floor w/ a new roommate and more space. My roommate had undergone a much longer surgery for ovarian cancer. This was rather ironic since this was the first type of surgery that my mom had when I was four. And it was the thought of my mom surviving two different cancers that helped me know I could do this. I also recalled shortly after the diagnoses, what I can only describe as, a presence that told me I was being given a second chance. This feeling pervaded every appointment, every test, every procedure, every surgery and helped me know I would be okay. I think the only time I cried during this time was when my urologist yelled at me for trying to get out of the hospital earlier than he was ready to release me. He pointed his finger at me and sternly said, "You don't seem to realize that you're a very sick young woman." I got the message. Some may think his bedside manner was atrocious, but I figured if he's yelling at me then there's hope. Being sweet and overly sensitive would've been a sign to me that I was beyond hope.
It was absolutely fascinating reading these last two posts. I've always wondered about the details of your medical conditions, but didn't want to ask. The story is VERY compelling. I know you want to help patients, maybe you should just write a book about your experiences, regarding your health and your other family members.
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