Up until a few years ago I was anything but a morning person. I was a night owl. I stayed up until all hours of the night, could barely drag myself out of bed and often times functioned on little to no sleep. My mother tells me I had been this way since I was a baby. When I was in high school, it was not uncommon for me to wake up 10 minutes before I had to leave the house – and a mere 15 minutes before classes started – which was just enough time to throw on my uniform of a button down shirt and plaid pleated skirt, brush my teeth, pull my hair into a pony tail and pray I hit all the green lights in order to make it to school in 7 minutes. This was actually an improvement from my early years of school when my mom would literally dress me while I was still asleep so I wouldn’t miss the bus – my mom must’ve hated me… or loved me… a lot.
And then a few years ago, I learned that I could not continue living this way. I had to drag my own ass out of bed, I had to get to work on time – a phone call from my mom on why I was late was not going to cut it in the real world. I learned to go to bed at a reasonable hour most nights, get up early to work out, shower, eat breakfast and get to work… early. It took a while to get used to this new way of living, but hey, no one every said change was easy.
After temporarily losing my eyesight and having a pretty major surgery, change in inevitable. Adjustments needed to be made. I found myself having to relearn how to do everyday tasks. I found myself relearning how to live.
Sleeping – something I have never had a problem with and something I have enjoyed since infancy – became a choir. I found myself sleeping on my side (normally I am a stomach sleeper), being careful with my movements so I wouldn’t rip out my staples or dislodge the shunt inside my body. In the first few weeks, while my mom stayed with me, I would often call for her in the middle of the night for me more pain medication or even help me to the bathroom. There I was, in my late 20s (shudder) calling for my mom in the middle of the night.
And when you are spending most of your time either in bed or lying on a couch, standing for long periods of time can seem like torture. I’ve heard of Chinese water torture before but I must admit I am not entirely sure what it entails. I can only imagine it is something like my first time showering post surgery. With hot water gushing down on me, my senses seemed to be heightened. Every drop of water felt like a tiny needle. The water was loud and it hurt my ears. The light in the bathroom was bright. And I was even more aware of my incisions then when I slept. I felt like the steam was constricting my airwaves and I was pretty sure I was going to collapse right then and there. The last thing I wanted to do was call for my mom in the middle of my shower. We had already gotten very personal in the hospital, I wasn’t going to let it get any further than that.
My walking – when I did walk - was slow and calculated. I could barely see where I was going and I must have looked drunk to most people with my constant weaving. And I could feel the shunt in my side, tugging slightly. My doctor would later tell me this was normal. To which I would tell him – I wouldn’t say “normal.” Expected maybe, but certainly not “normal.” There is nothing normal about feeling a foreign object inside your body.
Even interacting with people changed slightly. Can I joke with them about my condition? Can I tell them I puked on a nurse? Or that I can only get through my day by popping pills every few hours? Do I sound upbeat and happy? Or sad and depressed? I had been talking about condition and my recovery so much – what else was there to talk about? And do people really want to hear about it?
There may have been a moment or two where I thought I would never be able to shower without having a panic attack or sleep through the night without thinking I was doing severe internal damage, but eventually I learned – just like I had a few years ago – that I could not and would not have to live my life this way. And sleeping, showering, walking and talking would all get easier. And I would relearn how to live and no longer need to call on my mom in the middle of the night.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
What the Hell Happened to Amy Anyway – Circle Back and Follow Up
For those of you who are confused as to my current status or for those of you who are new to my blog and have no idea what is going on or for those of you who just like to read what I write – this is for you!
In my line of business we use a lot of buzz words like “circle back,” “follow up,” “touch base” and even the ever popular “under a bus.” If you have ever seen me do stand up, I have come up with funny and some what accurate definitions for this corporate jargon. (If you have not seen me do stand up – look for me hitting the stage again in a couple of months – I promise!) At the risk of over using these buzz words outside of the workplace and at the risk of “overusing” quotation marks where quotation marks are “not needed,” I wanted to take a moment to “circle back” with you all on a few things and provide a “status update” as to where I was, where I am and where I would like to be with my condition.
Some of you have seen me around town – doing things like drinking and driving – separately of course, not at the same time and are unclear as to how I can be fresh off of surgery, not showering or wearing pants and yet playing beer pong or dancing at a Dave Matthews Band concert.
The facts are these:
These posts were written not as they were happening, but shortly thereafter. Many of them at the same time and I am just now posting them – one a day until I catch up with myself.
I expect to be posting in “real time” in the next few weeks – probably not every day, but close to it.
Once I catch up with myself, I will be posting not only on my recovery and the challenges I am facing moving to the next step, but getting to the good stuff as well – Writing letters (see the first few posts I did if you want to know what the letters are about), maybe some movie reviews and some new comedy type material – like how I annoy and scare my neighbors – complete with photos.
I started writing posts as they were happening when I returned to work on July 1, 2009. So those posts will be a little more “fresh” since they were written as they happened. When I post them, I will include a “Written on” date.
Here is a quick timeline for you:
End of Feb 2009 – I got a headache. Like, a really really bad headache and they were happening daily. It was around this time I realized that these headaches were not normal and I set up an appointment with my doctor.
March 16, 2009 – Met with my doctor who seemed unconcerned with my headaches but ordered blood tests and an MRI.
March 23, 2009 – First time I realized MRIs are like giant techno music machines. First time I ever removed the piercing I have in that little piece of my ear that protects the hole.
March 30, 2009 – Doctor tells me the MRI and blood tests are all normal. To which I said, “Great! But I am not normal.” Doctor diagnosis’s me with migraines.
For the next 2 weeks, I start to get worse. Headaches are worse and the pain has moved to my upper shoulders and back. Ringing in my ears starts. My vision graying out when I stand or bend over gets worse.
April 10, 2009 – Meet with my eye doctor and go over symptoms. He immediately diagnosis’s me with pseudotumor cerebri (also known as intracranial hypertension).
At this point, I can still see pretty well, though my vision field test shows blind spots in my peripheral vision.
April 13, 2009 – Meet with neurologist who orders a second MRI and a spinal tap.
April 14, 2009 – Second MRI completed. Had to refrain from bringing glow sticks and a pacifier with me.
April 16, 2009 – First spinal tap. First time I saw my brain fluid.
April 18, 2009 – I now have blurry and double vision and decided to stop driving. Amanda becomes my chauffeur.
April 20, 2009 – Neurologist calls me back and concurs with diagnosis of pseudotumor cerebri and prescribes a medication for me. I explain my vision issues and the doctor tells me to take the pills and that I’ll be fine.
Noon April 22, 2009 – I go home early from work because I do not feel well – bad reaction to the drugs. Last day of work – unbeknownst to me – for 10 weeks.
April 23, 2009 – Admitted to the ER because I could not keep anything “down” (that’s the nice of way saying I was puking my brains out for 24 hours straight).
April 24, 2009 – Released from the hospital. Told the doctors my vision was worse, they told me to keep taking the pills.
That weekend my vision got even worse, to the point where all I could see were shapes and light and dark.
April 28, 2009 – Go back to the eye doctor who tells me I need to go directly to the hospital for surgery to relieve pressure that is being put on my brain and my optic nerves – causing my “blindness.”
April 29, 2009 – I have surgery. A shunt is placed in my lower back at the base of my spine. The shunt drains fluid from my brain, down my spine, around my side and deposits the fluid into my abdomen. I have 3 incisions from the surgery and about 40 staples.
I am now in the hospital where I throw up on a nurse, am convinced my roommate is trying to kill me, don’t like the food and am doped up on all sorts of drugs.
May 2, 2009 – I am released from the hospital and head home.
At this point the headaches are pretty much gone, so is the ringing in my ears and my vision is already starting to improve.
May 4, 2009 – First follow up with eye doctors – miraculous improvement.
May 8, 2009 – I have my staples removed by something that actually looks like a staple remover – weird.
Over the next few weeks I am at home recovering. My days are spent either in bed or laying on the couch. I am going to see at least one of my three doctors about once a week. I am on all sorts of drugs and eating very little. Friends and family are visiting with me and I am relearning how to live a normal life. All of this will come up in future posts.
July 1, 2009 – I return to work after being gone for 10 weeks. I have 25000 emails. I erase all but 3 of them.
My eye sight is better, but not 100% recovered. I still have blind spots in my peripheral vision and some dark spots, but it is manageable.
July 16, 2009 – I am given the all clear to start driving again. My eye doctor informs me that the swelling of my optics is completely gone and he expects my sight to continue to get better – though slowly – over the next 9 months.
Today – July 30, 2009 – Things are good. I am getting back into the routine of life. I am going out – without freaking out – I am working and even working out again, and of course I am back to some of my old hijinx. Physically I feel really good, though I have some aches and pains here and there. My vision is still recovering, though everyday I think it is getting better and better. Or I am just getting used to it.
My recovery – of my eyes especially – is going to be long. I need to be patient and I need to focus on getting myself physically healthy – which will help my condition overall as well as my vision.
So there you have it – there is my “status update” for you. Feel free to “follow up” with me in person if you want to discuss it any further. Otherwise, I will continue to post something daily and eventually we’ll all be at the same place in time.
In the meantime, thanks for reading and be sure to keep reading. I will try and keep things light and airy and funny.
And look for a new site design coming soon! Yay improvements!
In my line of business we use a lot of buzz words like “circle back,” “follow up,” “touch base” and even the ever popular “under a bus.” If you have ever seen me do stand up, I have come up with funny and some what accurate definitions for this corporate jargon. (If you have not seen me do stand up – look for me hitting the stage again in a couple of months – I promise!) At the risk of over using these buzz words outside of the workplace and at the risk of “overusing” quotation marks where quotation marks are “not needed,” I wanted to take a moment to “circle back” with you all on a few things and provide a “status update” as to where I was, where I am and where I would like to be with my condition.
Some of you have seen me around town – doing things like drinking and driving – separately of course, not at the same time and are unclear as to how I can be fresh off of surgery, not showering or wearing pants and yet playing beer pong or dancing at a Dave Matthews Band concert.
The facts are these:
These posts were written not as they were happening, but shortly thereafter. Many of them at the same time and I am just now posting them – one a day until I catch up with myself.
I expect to be posting in “real time” in the next few weeks – probably not every day, but close to it.
Once I catch up with myself, I will be posting not only on my recovery and the challenges I am facing moving to the next step, but getting to the good stuff as well – Writing letters (see the first few posts I did if you want to know what the letters are about), maybe some movie reviews and some new comedy type material – like how I annoy and scare my neighbors – complete with photos.
I started writing posts as they were happening when I returned to work on July 1, 2009. So those posts will be a little more “fresh” since they were written as they happened. When I post them, I will include a “Written on” date.
Here is a quick timeline for you:
End of Feb 2009 – I got a headache. Like, a really really bad headache and they were happening daily. It was around this time I realized that these headaches were not normal and I set up an appointment with my doctor.
March 16, 2009 – Met with my doctor who seemed unconcerned with my headaches but ordered blood tests and an MRI.
March 23, 2009 – First time I realized MRIs are like giant techno music machines. First time I ever removed the piercing I have in that little piece of my ear that protects the hole.
March 30, 2009 – Doctor tells me the MRI and blood tests are all normal. To which I said, “Great! But I am not normal.” Doctor diagnosis’s me with migraines.
For the next 2 weeks, I start to get worse. Headaches are worse and the pain has moved to my upper shoulders and back. Ringing in my ears starts. My vision graying out when I stand or bend over gets worse.
April 10, 2009 – Meet with my eye doctor and go over symptoms. He immediately diagnosis’s me with pseudotumor cerebri (also known as intracranial hypertension).
At this point, I can still see pretty well, though my vision field test shows blind spots in my peripheral vision.
April 13, 2009 – Meet with neurologist who orders a second MRI and a spinal tap.
April 14, 2009 – Second MRI completed. Had to refrain from bringing glow sticks and a pacifier with me.
April 16, 2009 – First spinal tap. First time I saw my brain fluid.
April 18, 2009 – I now have blurry and double vision and decided to stop driving. Amanda becomes my chauffeur.
April 20, 2009 – Neurologist calls me back and concurs with diagnosis of pseudotumor cerebri and prescribes a medication for me. I explain my vision issues and the doctor tells me to take the pills and that I’ll be fine.
Noon April 22, 2009 – I go home early from work because I do not feel well – bad reaction to the drugs. Last day of work – unbeknownst to me – for 10 weeks.
April 23, 2009 – Admitted to the ER because I could not keep anything “down” (that’s the nice of way saying I was puking my brains out for 24 hours straight).
April 24, 2009 – Released from the hospital. Told the doctors my vision was worse, they told me to keep taking the pills.
That weekend my vision got even worse, to the point where all I could see were shapes and light and dark.
April 28, 2009 – Go back to the eye doctor who tells me I need to go directly to the hospital for surgery to relieve pressure that is being put on my brain and my optic nerves – causing my “blindness.”
April 29, 2009 – I have surgery. A shunt is placed in my lower back at the base of my spine. The shunt drains fluid from my brain, down my spine, around my side and deposits the fluid into my abdomen. I have 3 incisions from the surgery and about 40 staples.
I am now in the hospital where I throw up on a nurse, am convinced my roommate is trying to kill me, don’t like the food and am doped up on all sorts of drugs.
May 2, 2009 – I am released from the hospital and head home.
At this point the headaches are pretty much gone, so is the ringing in my ears and my vision is already starting to improve.
May 4, 2009 – First follow up with eye doctors – miraculous improvement.
May 8, 2009 – I have my staples removed by something that actually looks like a staple remover – weird.
Over the next few weeks I am at home recovering. My days are spent either in bed or laying on the couch. I am going to see at least one of my three doctors about once a week. I am on all sorts of drugs and eating very little. Friends and family are visiting with me and I am relearning how to live a normal life. All of this will come up in future posts.
July 1, 2009 – I return to work after being gone for 10 weeks. I have 25000 emails. I erase all but 3 of them.
My eye sight is better, but not 100% recovered. I still have blind spots in my peripheral vision and some dark spots, but it is manageable.
July 16, 2009 – I am given the all clear to start driving again. My eye doctor informs me that the swelling of my optics is completely gone and he expects my sight to continue to get better – though slowly – over the next 9 months.
Today – July 30, 2009 – Things are good. I am getting back into the routine of life. I am going out – without freaking out – I am working and even working out again, and of course I am back to some of my old hijinx. Physically I feel really good, though I have some aches and pains here and there. My vision is still recovering, though everyday I think it is getting better and better. Or I am just getting used to it.
My recovery – of my eyes especially – is going to be long. I need to be patient and I need to focus on getting myself physically healthy – which will help my condition overall as well as my vision.
So there you have it – there is my “status update” for you. Feel free to “follow up” with me in person if you want to discuss it any further. Otherwise, I will continue to post something daily and eventually we’ll all be at the same place in time.
In the meantime, thanks for reading and be sure to keep reading. I will try and keep things light and airy and funny.
And look for a new site design coming soon! Yay improvements!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Curiosity Doesn’t Always Kill the Cat… Or Shred Your Fingers
When I was in the fourth grade curiosity got the best of me. I wish I could say this was the first and the last time, but it wasn’t and i won't be. Anyway, my curiosity about the inner workings of an uncovered manual pencil sharpener got the best of me and a couple of my fingers. I will spare you the gory details, but let’s just say my teacher freaked out at the amount of blood pouring out my fingers as she abandoned the rest of the classroom and rushed me down the hall to the bathroom yelling, “Why on earth would you stick your fingers in the pencil sharpener!?” Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day with my hand above my head in the principal’s office – which was also the nurse’s office, only we didn’t really have a nurse. Two of my fingers were torn to shreds and I was slightly disappointed they didn’t look more like a pencils once the bleeding stopped. It didn’t take long for my fingers to heal and I have no scars from that experience – except maybe an irrational fear of uncovered manual pencil sharpeners. There are two points to this story – yes,sometimes my stories have a point or two. There is nothing wrong with curiosity – just be careful where you stick your fingers; and wounds – scrapes, bumps, bruises – heal. Most of the time, pretty quickly. The same is true of surgery incisions,headaches, ringing in the ears, palsy and swollen optic nerves.
During my first week home from the hospital, I had follow up appointments with my doctors. I was only home for 3 days before I saw my eye doctor in his office for the first time. I was still on copious amounts of drugs and not moving very quickly, so leaving the house was a bit of challenge. And I was pleased when I didn’t have to put on real pants, which, as you know, I believe are totally overrated, but I digress.
Once we were seen by my doctors – I had more than one because they all wanted to hang out with me... Well, maybe because they were astounded at my condition and how severe it was. But once we were seen by my doctors I was told that there had been “Miraculous improvement.” My headaches were pretty much gone, the whooshing sound in my head was gone, the palsy was gone and the swelling of my optic nerves was subsiding. The doctor actually said “Miraculous improvement.” I think it was at this point that I knew – like, really knew – that I was going to be okay and that I would eventually be back to normal – well, as normal as I can be, anyway.
And I guess curiosity got the best of my parents too, who at one point during the appointment pulled out what seemed like a shopping list for a small army bu twas actually a list of questions for the doctor. Looks like Big Jon has been on the Internet lately, Googling his little heart out about my condition and my recovery. My condition, to him, was like an uncovered pencil sharpener to me (I would like to thank those little vocab. books I had to fill out for years in school for that analogy). Luckily, my amazing doctor sat there patiently and answered all of my parent’s questions – all 187 questions. Apparently my doctor is much more patient than a pencil sharpener. At one point my dad asked if I had something specific – I don’t even remember what – and my doctor said yes, I did have signs of whatever it was he was asking about. My mom turned to my dad and said, “What is that again?” To which my dad answered, “I don’t know, but she has it.” Thank God with all the limitation with my eyes I still had the ability to roll them.
After my parents were done, my doctor turned to me and asked if I had any questions to which I said, “Um, no I think my parents covered everything – and then some.” It’s good to have curious and informed parents, I guess. I wouldn’t have thought to ask 90% of the questions they did – but put a cylinder of razorblades that move in a circle in front me and I have no problem sticking my fingers in. I am sure they didn’t need to ask 50% of the questions they did. But at the same time, I probably could have gotten a good idea as to how a pencil sharpener worked by looking at it as opposed to sticking my fingers in it, bu they, now I know.
During my first week home from the hospital, I had follow up appointments with my doctors. I was only home for 3 days before I saw my eye doctor in his office for the first time. I was still on copious amounts of drugs and not moving very quickly, so leaving the house was a bit of challenge. And I was pleased when I didn’t have to put on real pants, which, as you know, I believe are totally overrated, but I digress.
Once we were seen by my doctors – I had more than one because they all wanted to hang out with me... Well, maybe because they were astounded at my condition and how severe it was. But once we were seen by my doctors I was told that there had been “Miraculous improvement.” My headaches were pretty much gone, the whooshing sound in my head was gone, the palsy was gone and the swelling of my optic nerves was subsiding. The doctor actually said “Miraculous improvement.” I think it was at this point that I knew – like, really knew – that I was going to be okay and that I would eventually be back to normal – well, as normal as I can be, anyway.
And I guess curiosity got the best of my parents too, who at one point during the appointment pulled out what seemed like a shopping list for a small army bu twas actually a list of questions for the doctor. Looks like Big Jon has been on the Internet lately, Googling his little heart out about my condition and my recovery. My condition, to him, was like an uncovered pencil sharpener to me (I would like to thank those little vocab. books I had to fill out for years in school for that analogy). Luckily, my amazing doctor sat there patiently and answered all of my parent’s questions – all 187 questions. Apparently my doctor is much more patient than a pencil sharpener. At one point my dad asked if I had something specific – I don’t even remember what – and my doctor said yes, I did have signs of whatever it was he was asking about. My mom turned to my dad and said, “What is that again?” To which my dad answered, “I don’t know, but she has it.” Thank God with all the limitation with my eyes I still had the ability to roll them.
After my parents were done, my doctor turned to me and asked if I had any questions to which I said, “Um, no I think my parents covered everything – and then some.” It’s good to have curious and informed parents, I guess. I wouldn’t have thought to ask 90% of the questions they did – but put a cylinder of razorblades that move in a circle in front me and I have no problem sticking my fingers in. I am sure they didn’t need to ask 50% of the questions they did. But at the same time, I probably could have gotten a good idea as to how a pencil sharpener worked by looking at it as opposed to sticking my fingers in it, bu they, now I know.
Monday, July 27, 2009
"Real" Pants and Showering are Overrated: Amy Comes Home
On April 27, 2009 I was admitted to the hospital. On April 28, 2009 I had surgery and 4 days later on May 2, 2009 I went home. I was excited and nervous. Happy to be leaving the hospital, my crazy roommate, the terrible food, the bed alarms, the 2AM blood pressure checks, the smell of... sterile. Nervous to not have doctors checking in on me, nurses at the call of a button, drugs to be injected for instant relief, putting pants on again. But everyone felt it was time to go home. So armed with half dozen prescriptions for everything from Oxycontin to steroids, I went home.
I decided I wanted to stay at my house instead of shacking up with my parents during my recovery. After all, I have a 50 inch flat screen TV, every movie channel, countless DVDs and an over-sized super comfortable couch. I did have to ask Amanda to “parent proof” the house. Not that we had anything that bad in there, but still, you don’t want your mother to find anything… questionable.
It was also decided that I would not be sleeping in my bed – which is on the second floor of the house – but instead in Amanda’s room – on the main floor. My mom – at her request – slept on the couch... Yes,it is that comfortable. And we were one big happy family.
I was on a lot of drugs. Two different pain pills everyone 4 hours, steroids, and two other medications specifically for my condition. I was still in some pain and not quite “with it.” I basically slept and ate. When I wasn’t in my (sister’s) bed, I was on the couch. If I wasn’t in either of those places I was in the bathroom and that was about it. Everything I did was slow and delayed – including interacting with people. I didn’t move much. I was just kind of present. And I slept. A lot. Like, 18 hours a day. I was like a small child or cat. Except I don’t poop myself or lick myself clean – well, most of the time, anyway.
I also was never alone for very long in the first few weeks I was home. My mom had taken time off of work to stay with me. My dad came over and my older sister – who worked from home – stayed with me as well. Amanda even stayed home a few times to sit with me. A few friends came and saw me while I was recovering and I always felt bad I wasn’t more entertaining. Though, I am sure some of the things that came out of my mouth on all those drugs were probably entertaining.
There wasn’t much to be happy or excited about while I was home – except that I was home. But there was the fact that I wore sweat pants all the time – which is pretty much a dream come true for me. And I didn’t really shower much – I couldn’t quite muster up the energy to stand for that long. But when you are going from the bed, to the couch and back to bed with a few pit stops to the bathroom, there isn’t much need to wear real pants or wash yourself. Besides, real pants - the kinds with zippers and buttons and back pockets - and showering - the kinds with water and soap on a rope - are overrated. And I was more than happy to take comfort in that.
I decided I wanted to stay at my house instead of shacking up with my parents during my recovery. After all, I have a 50 inch flat screen TV, every movie channel, countless DVDs and an over-sized super comfortable couch. I did have to ask Amanda to “parent proof” the house. Not that we had anything that bad in there, but still, you don’t want your mother to find anything… questionable.
It was also decided that I would not be sleeping in my bed – which is on the second floor of the house – but instead in Amanda’s room – on the main floor. My mom – at her request – slept on the couch... Yes,it is that comfortable. And we were one big happy family.
I was on a lot of drugs. Two different pain pills everyone 4 hours, steroids, and two other medications specifically for my condition. I was still in some pain and not quite “with it.” I basically slept and ate. When I wasn’t in my (sister’s) bed, I was on the couch. If I wasn’t in either of those places I was in the bathroom and that was about it. Everything I did was slow and delayed – including interacting with people. I didn’t move much. I was just kind of present. And I slept. A lot. Like, 18 hours a day. I was like a small child or cat. Except I don’t poop myself or lick myself clean – well, most of the time, anyway.
I also was never alone for very long in the first few weeks I was home. My mom had taken time off of work to stay with me. My dad came over and my older sister – who worked from home – stayed with me as well. Amanda even stayed home a few times to sit with me. A few friends came and saw me while I was recovering and I always felt bad I wasn’t more entertaining. Though, I am sure some of the things that came out of my mouth on all those drugs were probably entertaining.
There wasn’t much to be happy or excited about while I was home – except that I was home. But there was the fact that I wore sweat pants all the time – which is pretty much a dream come true for me. And I didn’t really shower much – I couldn’t quite muster up the energy to stand for that long. But when you are going from the bed, to the couch and back to bed with a few pit stops to the bathroom, there isn’t much need to wear real pants or wash yourself. Besides, real pants - the kinds with zippers and buttons and back pockets - and showering - the kinds with water and soap on a rope - are overrated. And I was more than happy to take comfort in that.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
It Pays to Know the Nurse
Nurses are really great people. I know a few personally and they really are great people. The nurses I had during my hospital stay were all really amazing people – so kind and easy going – they always made sure I was comfortable even when I was in some of the most uncomfortable of situations.
What upsets me a little bit about my time in the hospital, my condition and my nurses is that I never got to actually see them. If I were to ever run into them I would have no idea who they were. I am sure I didn’t make much of an impression on my nurses – except maybe the one I puked on and even then probably not - but they made an impression on me.
We discovered that the nurse I had on my last day in the hospital went to high school with my younger sister. While she was more than accommodating before we discovered this fun fact, she was even more accommodating after. And this put me – who was nervous about leaving the secure - albeit nerve-racking – hospital environment and go home.
She went over all of my medications and answered all of my questions – even the ones that may have seemed repetitive or even dumb. And best of all, she gave me my last shot of morphine before leaving. This is something she technically wasn’t supposed to do, but it was going to be at least an hour before I would official leave and I was obviously in pain.
If I ran into her at the store later today – I would never know. The same is true for all of my nurse and even my doctors (with the exception of the doctors I would continuing seeing – pun intended - as I recovered ).
It took a while for me to officially leave the hospital, but when I finally did the fresh air felt nice, and it was off to home I went. I was happy and scared at the same time. Thank god for that last shot of morphine – I may have freaked out right then and there – I guess it really does pay to know the nurse.
What upsets me a little bit about my time in the hospital, my condition and my nurses is that I never got to actually see them. If I were to ever run into them I would have no idea who they were. I am sure I didn’t make much of an impression on my nurses – except maybe the one I puked on and even then probably not - but they made an impression on me.
We discovered that the nurse I had on my last day in the hospital went to high school with my younger sister. While she was more than accommodating before we discovered this fun fact, she was even more accommodating after. And this put me – who was nervous about leaving the secure - albeit nerve-racking – hospital environment and go home.
She went over all of my medications and answered all of my questions – even the ones that may have seemed repetitive or even dumb. And best of all, she gave me my last shot of morphine before leaving. This is something she technically wasn’t supposed to do, but it was going to be at least an hour before I would official leave and I was obviously in pain.
If I ran into her at the store later today – I would never know. The same is true for all of my nurse and even my doctors (with the exception of the doctors I would continuing seeing – pun intended - as I recovered ).
It took a while for me to officially leave the hospital, but when I finally did the fresh air felt nice, and it was off to home I went. I was happy and scared at the same time. Thank god for that last shot of morphine – I may have freaked out right then and there – I guess it really does pay to know the nurse.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Hospital Diet: Facebook Should Give Me a Weight Loss Ad
When I was in grade school our “hot lunch” program was served to us in little paper containers covered in plastic. I had never been on an airplane at this point in my life, but this is what I imagined airplane food was like. In high school the cafeteria food was… well an improvement (I still dream of pizza sticks – which were essentially 12 inch long pizza rolls – but better!). And in college the cafeteria – which I only ate in maybe twice (I commuted to college)- had food served by a company that supplied food to prisons. After years of being subjected to what I can only consider to be food product (not quite real food but not quite fake food either) I was right back to somewhere between the airplane food and the prison food: hospital food.
I thought I was getting lucky when I actually got a menu in my room from which to choose my next days meals – like a fancy hotel –until I actually got the food. Couple that with the fact that I was totally doped up on morphine and that my mom had to spoon feed me and I was reaching for the IV bag fast than the pizza sticks sold out in high school!
And what made it worse? The fact that everyone who spent any decent amount of time with me in the hospital (i.e. my parents) all raved about the great food court/cafeteria the hospital had. And here I was stuck eating something described as turkey but tasting like tires. Needless to say after a few spoon fed bites I was done: "Nurse? Can I get another shot of morphine so I can pass out and let the hunger subside? And fill up my IV bag while you are at it – I still need nutrients after all."
By the time I left the hospital I had dropped 15pounds. Let me remind you I was in the hospital for a total of 7 days (2 days the previous week and 5 days for the surgery). And that was the best diet I have ever been on. Facebook should give me an ad: "How to drop 15 pounds in 5 days - guaranteed!" Not the healthiest of ways to lose weight and I felt a little guilty when someone said that I looked good or that it looked like I lost weight. I mean, it’s not like I did anything to contribute to it – except refuse to eat and ask for more drugs. OH! So that’s how models stay so skinny…
I thought I was getting lucky when I actually got a menu in my room from which to choose my next days meals – like a fancy hotel –until I actually got the food. Couple that with the fact that I was totally doped up on morphine and that my mom had to spoon feed me and I was reaching for the IV bag fast than the pizza sticks sold out in high school!
And what made it worse? The fact that everyone who spent any decent amount of time with me in the hospital (i.e. my parents) all raved about the great food court/cafeteria the hospital had. And here I was stuck eating something described as turkey but tasting like tires. Needless to say after a few spoon fed bites I was done: "Nurse? Can I get another shot of morphine so I can pass out and let the hunger subside? And fill up my IV bag while you are at it – I still need nutrients after all."
By the time I left the hospital I had dropped 15pounds. Let me remind you I was in the hospital for a total of 7 days (2 days the previous week and 5 days for the surgery). And that was the best diet I have ever been on. Facebook should give me an ad: "How to drop 15 pounds in 5 days - guaranteed!" Not the healthiest of ways to lose weight and I felt a little guilty when someone said that I looked good or that it looked like I lost weight. I mean, it’s not like I did anything to contribute to it – except refuse to eat and ask for more drugs. OH! So that’s how models stay so skinny…
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
When Life Gives You Lemons – Grab a Bottle of Vodka and Take Some Shots
Let me tell you a true story… I was on a job interview once for a job that I really really really wanted – mostly because it wasn’t in retail, which is what I had been doing for some time. During the interview, the potential employer asked me what my “dream job” would be. I answered – in all seriousness – "I want to be a boat captain in the Caribbean." The interviewer looked at me like I was a total nut job and responded with, “How is this job going to get you there?” Well, lady, it’s not, but just like the commercial in the 80s that said, "No one says I want to be a junkie when I grow up," I am going to bet no one says, “I want micro manage 10-15 employees at a mid-size direct mail marketing company when I grow up,” either.
Was this the best time to make a joke or make light of the situation? Maybe not, but you know what, I got the job. Thus proving that it is never a bad time to make a joke or make light of a situation. Well, almost never, but you get the gist of what I am saying.
Making jokes and being able to make people laugh is probably one of the most important things that got me through this entire ordeal. From criticizing people in the ER waiting area, to cracking jokes with my nurses and doctors – after my surgery one of my nurses asked if my vision was getting any better and I said, “Yeah, I think so. I can tell that you have blond hair.” She responded with, “Amy, I’m black.” I did know this, but it was funny nonetheless. Most of my doctors got my jokes too… most of my doctors… most of my jokes. And most of what you are reading here has been told at least once - just for a laugh.
A couple of days after surgery I was given a hearing test – which was kind of a joke because I could hear just fine. I had just received a dose of morphine a few minutes earlier so I was a bit sleepy during the test and I may have fallen asleep in the middle of it. The nurse had to wake me up to finish. I apologized and explained that I hadn’t fallen asleep during a test since I took the SAT. I don’t think she appreciated the joke as much as I - or my mother - had.
If I wasn’t laughing about something – the fact that I had to have help “emptying” my bladder (I’ll spare you the details, but trust me, it isn’t enjoyable); my bizarre roommate; being given an extremely powerful pain killer; falling asleep during a test; getting flowers from a client I can only barely stand; the backless gown; and mesh underwear (yes, hospital issued mesh underwear – don’t ask, because I won’t tell), the hospital food (if they can even call it that); the fact that I couldn’t see, that I had staples in my back, side and stomach… if I couldn’t laugh about these things I was just going to cry – and I am not a crier.
In the end I think most people I encountered enjoyed my sense of humor. I mean, it did get me an extra shot of morphine on my last day and even 2 months after we met, the first doctor who saw me in the ER (the one I told that I go big or I go home) recognized me during a follow up appointment with another doctor – to which I said, “Wow, it is really nice to actually SEE you.” So when life gives you lemons, don’t make a sour face, grab some vodka and start pouring some shots.
Was this the best time to make a joke or make light of the situation? Maybe not, but you know what, I got the job. Thus proving that it is never a bad time to make a joke or make light of a situation. Well, almost never, but you get the gist of what I am saying.
Making jokes and being able to make people laugh is probably one of the most important things that got me through this entire ordeal. From criticizing people in the ER waiting area, to cracking jokes with my nurses and doctors – after my surgery one of my nurses asked if my vision was getting any better and I said, “Yeah, I think so. I can tell that you have blond hair.” She responded with, “Amy, I’m black.” I did know this, but it was funny nonetheless. Most of my doctors got my jokes too… most of my doctors… most of my jokes. And most of what you are reading here has been told at least once - just for a laugh.
A couple of days after surgery I was given a hearing test – which was kind of a joke because I could hear just fine. I had just received a dose of morphine a few minutes earlier so I was a bit sleepy during the test and I may have fallen asleep in the middle of it. The nurse had to wake me up to finish. I apologized and explained that I hadn’t fallen asleep during a test since I took the SAT. I don’t think she appreciated the joke as much as I - or my mother - had.
If I wasn’t laughing about something – the fact that I had to have help “emptying” my bladder (I’ll spare you the details, but trust me, it isn’t enjoyable); my bizarre roommate; being given an extremely powerful pain killer; falling asleep during a test; getting flowers from a client I can only barely stand; the backless gown; and mesh underwear (yes, hospital issued mesh underwear – don’t ask, because I won’t tell), the hospital food (if they can even call it that); the fact that I couldn’t see, that I had staples in my back, side and stomach… if I couldn’t laugh about these things I was just going to cry – and I am not a crier.
In the end I think most people I encountered enjoyed my sense of humor. I mean, it did get me an extra shot of morphine on my last day and even 2 months after we met, the first doctor who saw me in the ER (the one I told that I go big or I go home) recognized me during a follow up appointment with another doctor – to which I said, “Wow, it is really nice to actually SEE you.” So when life gives you lemons, don’t make a sour face, grab some vodka and start pouring some shots.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Semi-Private Room/Take That White Girl
A semi private room is not private at all. It’s a room with a curtain that separates you from your roommate. My roommate in the South wing of the 8th floor – neurology - was Jamie Lee. An elderly woman who did not – or could not - talk. I do not know what was wrong with her, but I imagine it wasn’t much fun.
During my hospital stay, if I had to get up to say, go to the bathroom (and really that was the only reason I ever left my bed), I had to call for a nurse to help me. I’m pretty sure Jamie Lee wore a diaper, but she was in the same situation as me. If she wanted to get up, she had to call a nurse. Only Jamie Lee didn’t talk so how was Jamie Lee to call for a nurse? I learned the first night that Jamie Lee called for a nurse by simply getting out of bed and setting off her bed alarm – which was a terribly loud beeping sound. Sometimes they came right away to tend to Jamie Lee and sometimes they didn’t.
On the day after my surgery – when I was a total mess – I puked on a nurse and I felt terrible about it. I think Jamie Lee secretly thought I was trying to one up her so that night when she got out of bed and set off her alarm, before the nurses came in, Jamie Lee started to pee… on the floor… right were she stood. One point Jamie Lee.
Jamie Lee got up and set off her bed alarm at least once every night during my stay. I, of course, would wake up when this happened. Because it was a semi private room and I was still somewhat blind, I couldn’t see what was going on – nor did I really want to. I could only imagine what Jamie Lee was doing. Actually, a few times I was convinced she was coming over to my side of the room where she would clench my gown in her fists and whisper sternly in my ear, “Get me the hell out of here!” Or maybe she would try and smoother me with a hositpal grade pillow – really, it could’ve gone either way.
I was also convinced that Jamie Lee was not as out of it as everyone thought she was. I imagined she was in there laughing at all these young folks yelling at her to get back in bed and asking if she can hear them. Peeing on the floor, Jamie Lee was thinking, “Take that, white girl.” I also believed that Jamie Lee could talk, she just chose not to talk.
Most importantly I imagined Jamie Lee planning a great escape. One of the nights Jamie Lee got up and set off the alarm it took a while for the nurses to come in and get her back to bed. I thought, “Jamie, you old bat, you did it, you got them at the right time! Make a run for it, Jamie!” I imagined Jamie Lee getting to the elevator and out the front door, her diapered ass hanging out for all to see. Maybe she would make it all the way to the road before someone got her. Maybe not. Either way, she gave it a go. You go Jamie Lee, I thought, you go.
I didn’t see Jamie Lee the day I left the hospital. I am not sure where she is now. But I'd like to think she is waking someone up every night while trying to either attack or make a run for it or just pee on the floor to get back at a nurse who talked to her wrong. As much as I believed Jamie Lee was still in her head somewhere, I believe Jamie Lee is still out there now – laughing at all us white girls.
During my hospital stay, if I had to get up to say, go to the bathroom (and really that was the only reason I ever left my bed), I had to call for a nurse to help me. I’m pretty sure Jamie Lee wore a diaper, but she was in the same situation as me. If she wanted to get up, she had to call a nurse. Only Jamie Lee didn’t talk so how was Jamie Lee to call for a nurse? I learned the first night that Jamie Lee called for a nurse by simply getting out of bed and setting off her bed alarm – which was a terribly loud beeping sound. Sometimes they came right away to tend to Jamie Lee and sometimes they didn’t.
On the day after my surgery – when I was a total mess – I puked on a nurse and I felt terrible about it. I think Jamie Lee secretly thought I was trying to one up her so that night when she got out of bed and set off her alarm, before the nurses came in, Jamie Lee started to pee… on the floor… right were she stood. One point Jamie Lee.
Jamie Lee got up and set off her bed alarm at least once every night during my stay. I, of course, would wake up when this happened. Because it was a semi private room and I was still somewhat blind, I couldn’t see what was going on – nor did I really want to. I could only imagine what Jamie Lee was doing. Actually, a few times I was convinced she was coming over to my side of the room where she would clench my gown in her fists and whisper sternly in my ear, “Get me the hell out of here!” Or maybe she would try and smoother me with a hositpal grade pillow – really, it could’ve gone either way.
I was also convinced that Jamie Lee was not as out of it as everyone thought she was. I imagined she was in there laughing at all these young folks yelling at her to get back in bed and asking if she can hear them. Peeing on the floor, Jamie Lee was thinking, “Take that, white girl.” I also believed that Jamie Lee could talk, she just chose not to talk.
Most importantly I imagined Jamie Lee planning a great escape. One of the nights Jamie Lee got up and set off the alarm it took a while for the nurses to come in and get her back to bed. I thought, “Jamie, you old bat, you did it, you got them at the right time! Make a run for it, Jamie!” I imagined Jamie Lee getting to the elevator and out the front door, her diapered ass hanging out for all to see. Maybe she would make it all the way to the road before someone got her. Maybe not. Either way, she gave it a go. You go Jamie Lee, I thought, you go.
I didn’t see Jamie Lee the day I left the hospital. I am not sure where she is now. But I'd like to think she is waking someone up every night while trying to either attack or make a run for it or just pee on the floor to get back at a nurse who talked to her wrong. As much as I believed Jamie Lee was still in her head somewhere, I believe Jamie Lee is still out there now – laughing at all us white girls.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Mighty Morphine Power Ranger
So I am mostly blind and I’ve just had surgery. I have a contraption in my body draining fluid from my brain. And I have bruises all over my arms from various blood tests and ports to administer drugs – including one in my left arm and another in my right hand for my doses of morphine and steroids – I felt a little like Neo from the Matrix. Yeah, it’s all weird. It could have been a lot worse, I know this, but it still weird. So let me just recap you real quick…
By the time I got to the hospital I was mostly blind. My headaches were so bad I could barely move and they had moved into my upper back. I had a whooshing sound in my right ear. And in doing additional tests we found out I had palsy on the right side of my face. For those of you who do not know, palsy is the paralysis of a specific body part. In my case, it was the right side of my face. My right eye could not close fully (since I couldn’t see much anyway, I didn’t notice) and the right side of my mouth was droopy – which, in turn, caused me to droll while sleeping – which was so awesome! The funny thing is that my friends and I have a bit of running joke about a condition called bells palsy – a condition which affects the face specifically. So when I heard I had palsy on the right side of my face I could not wait to tell my friends. Pretty sick and twisted, huh? Yeah, just wait until you here what I did next… to my mom.
After the surgery and I after I finally regained full consciousness, I was back in my room. I felt great. I am guessing this is due to the massive amount of drugs in my system. But the day after the surgery I was a mess. I mean a mess. I couldn’t move, I was in excruciating pain and I was sick to my stomach the entire day – I couldn’t keep anything down. I am pretty sure everyone – including the nursing staff felt bad for me. I was such a mess even the amazing effects of morphine weren’t doing it for me.
Now, I must mention that the entire time I was in the hospital and even on morphine I was always lucid, always aware of everything that was going on. As a matter of fact, my parents were getting slightly annoyed with me because of it. More than once I would close my eyes and my parents would think I was knocked out from the drugs and they would whisper to each other only to have me interrupt a few minutes later with a, “I can hear everything you’re saying.” This went on the entire time I was there – and even when we got home. You would think they would have eventually realized I could hear them and at least the leave the room! But I digress…
So there I was in terrible pain and it was getting late in the evening. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep. Finally, the nurse got permission from a doctor to administer dilaudid – which is a pain killer ten times more powerful than morphine. They give me the shot and it starts working within a few minutes. Even with this powerful drug, I was never loopy or out of it and I heard my parents discussing staying overnight (in a small chair in my semi-private room and/or the waiting room) or going home.
Always wanting to make sure my parents – specifically my mom – is as comfortable as possible, there was no way I was going to let my parents stay overnight in the hospital and sleep in a chair or a couch in a waiting room. So I very quietly told my mom to go home and that I would be fine through the night.
My mom leaned over me, very concerned and said, “If you need anything, you just have the nurse call us, we’re only a few miles from here and we’ll be right over.”
I, being sick and twisted and always looking for a laugh or to at least lighten up the mood a bit, said, “Okay… and who are you again?” Assuming, of course, that my mom knew I was kidding. Apparently, she didn’t know I was capable to joking around while a drug ten times more powerful than morphine is pumping through my veins.
If only could have seen the look on her face when she said, “I’m Mom and Dad is in the hallway.” At this point a devilish smile spread across my face and I am pretty sure my mom was ready to smack me.
Later, my mom would make me retell this story and she would tell me that this little prank is the only reason she left and the only reason she actually slept that night. So I guess sometimes laughter can really be the best medicine – even if you are not the one who is sick.
By the time I got to the hospital I was mostly blind. My headaches were so bad I could barely move and they had moved into my upper back. I had a whooshing sound in my right ear. And in doing additional tests we found out I had palsy on the right side of my face. For those of you who do not know, palsy is the paralysis of a specific body part. In my case, it was the right side of my face. My right eye could not close fully (since I couldn’t see much anyway, I didn’t notice) and the right side of my mouth was droopy – which, in turn, caused me to droll while sleeping – which was so awesome! The funny thing is that my friends and I have a bit of running joke about a condition called bells palsy – a condition which affects the face specifically. So when I heard I had palsy on the right side of my face I could not wait to tell my friends. Pretty sick and twisted, huh? Yeah, just wait until you here what I did next… to my mom.
After the surgery and I after I finally regained full consciousness, I was back in my room. I felt great. I am guessing this is due to the massive amount of drugs in my system. But the day after the surgery I was a mess. I mean a mess. I couldn’t move, I was in excruciating pain and I was sick to my stomach the entire day – I couldn’t keep anything down. I am pretty sure everyone – including the nursing staff felt bad for me. I was such a mess even the amazing effects of morphine weren’t doing it for me.
Now, I must mention that the entire time I was in the hospital and even on morphine I was always lucid, always aware of everything that was going on. As a matter of fact, my parents were getting slightly annoyed with me because of it. More than once I would close my eyes and my parents would think I was knocked out from the drugs and they would whisper to each other only to have me interrupt a few minutes later with a, “I can hear everything you’re saying.” This went on the entire time I was there – and even when we got home. You would think they would have eventually realized I could hear them and at least the leave the room! But I digress…
So there I was in terrible pain and it was getting late in the evening. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep. Finally, the nurse got permission from a doctor to administer dilaudid – which is a pain killer ten times more powerful than morphine. They give me the shot and it starts working within a few minutes. Even with this powerful drug, I was never loopy or out of it and I heard my parents discussing staying overnight (in a small chair in my semi-private room and/or the waiting room) or going home.
Always wanting to make sure my parents – specifically my mom – is as comfortable as possible, there was no way I was going to let my parents stay overnight in the hospital and sleep in a chair or a couch in a waiting room. So I very quietly told my mom to go home and that I would be fine through the night.
My mom leaned over me, very concerned and said, “If you need anything, you just have the nurse call us, we’re only a few miles from here and we’ll be right over.”
I, being sick and twisted and always looking for a laugh or to at least lighten up the mood a bit, said, “Okay… and who are you again?” Assuming, of course, that my mom knew I was kidding. Apparently, she didn’t know I was capable to joking around while a drug ten times more powerful than morphine is pumping through my veins.
If only could have seen the look on her face when she said, “I’m Mom and Dad is in the hallway.” At this point a devilish smile spread across my face and I am pretty sure my mom was ready to smack me.
Later, my mom would make me retell this story and she would tell me that this little prank is the only reason she left and the only reason she actually slept that night. So I guess sometimes laughter can really be the best medicine – even if you are not the one who is sick.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Blackout Backlash
I drink… a lot. Well, I used to. I miss it. Not gonna lie. But in all my years of drinking – and trust me, I have been drinking for years, I have been fortune enough to have never ever blacked out. Not an experience I think ever want. And now I know why.
On Tuesday, April 28 2009 at 10AM I scooted my mostly blind arse onto a gurney and headed to a prep area for my surgery. My mom came with me. I was in the prep room for what seemed like forever. I finally met the anesthesiologist who told us the surgery would be 3-4 hours. While I was waiting to get knocked out, I got a healthy does of morphine.
Now, I am not sure if you have ever had morphine, but it is… powerful. When given through an IV it shoots through your body and you feel it immediately – at least I did. But I was always lucid and aware and mostly "with it"while on all my pain meds. I will blame years of drug use for this one - just kidding... sorta.
When it came time to take me to the OR I received another shot of something… I remember getting the shot. I remember seeing my mom – well, as much as I could see her and that is about it. I remember nothing after that. And this disturbs me – to this day it disturbs me.
Being knocked out is not like sleep. Not at all like sleep. It is like… nothing. Like a void. Like… 8 hours of my life that are just lost and gone forever, I cannot account for this time. There were no bizarre dreams, no tossing and turning, no drunk texts - like when I normally sleep - it was just nothing. I was told that in this time I had surgery. I have scars to prove it, so it must have happened, but I do not recall any of it. I have no recollection of this time whatsoever and I have a problem with that.
At least with sleep you know you are sleeping. There is a routine to it, there are dreams about Edward Cullen or Shia LaBeouf (and now you know my guilty pleasures), there are drunk text messages from Jess, drunk dials from Sam, some tossing, some turning and an alarm goes off when it is over. The entire time I was knocked out there was none of this. Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld when Jerry goes to the dentist and he wakes up with his shirt untucked?
The next thing I remember is possibly putting up a fight. I am not sure. But there may have been a struggle. While I was blacked out - presumably having surgery - I had a breathing tube down my throat, so the struggle could have been the removal of this tube. Again, I’m not sure. Maybe I was pissed because my shirt was untucked - just kidding... sorta. I do remember being wheeled around. I remember thinking I was being wheeled around my office - with lots of twists and turns. I remember thinking 3 things: Does my mom know I am okay? Does my sister Amanda know that I am okay? Do my coworkers know that I am okay? (I did, after all, believe I was being wheeled around my office). I remember slowing coming to –not being able to see – and being really really thirsty. I kind of wanted a beer.
Needless to say, I was totally freaked out after I realized the last time was conscious was 8 hours prior and I had no recollection of this time. I can only imagine this is same feeling countless college kids have after a night of binge drinking. Or how Jerry Seinfeld felt after the dentist. I am glad I have never had either of those experiences, nor do I ever want to. All I know is that if I ever need to be knocked out again, I am going to get drunk first so at least I have an excuse... and I'll keep my shirt untucked.
On Tuesday, April 28 2009 at 10AM I scooted my mostly blind arse onto a gurney and headed to a prep area for my surgery. My mom came with me. I was in the prep room for what seemed like forever. I finally met the anesthesiologist who told us the surgery would be 3-4 hours. While I was waiting to get knocked out, I got a healthy does of morphine.
Now, I am not sure if you have ever had morphine, but it is… powerful. When given through an IV it shoots through your body and you feel it immediately – at least I did. But I was always lucid and aware and mostly "with it"while on all my pain meds. I will blame years of drug use for this one - just kidding... sorta.
When it came time to take me to the OR I received another shot of something… I remember getting the shot. I remember seeing my mom – well, as much as I could see her and that is about it. I remember nothing after that. And this disturbs me – to this day it disturbs me.
Being knocked out is not like sleep. Not at all like sleep. It is like… nothing. Like a void. Like… 8 hours of my life that are just lost and gone forever, I cannot account for this time. There were no bizarre dreams, no tossing and turning, no drunk texts - like when I normally sleep - it was just nothing. I was told that in this time I had surgery. I have scars to prove it, so it must have happened, but I do not recall any of it. I have no recollection of this time whatsoever and I have a problem with that.
At least with sleep you know you are sleeping. There is a routine to it, there are dreams about Edward Cullen or Shia LaBeouf (and now you know my guilty pleasures), there are drunk text messages from Jess, drunk dials from Sam, some tossing, some turning and an alarm goes off when it is over. The entire time I was knocked out there was none of this. Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld when Jerry goes to the dentist and he wakes up with his shirt untucked?
The next thing I remember is possibly putting up a fight. I am not sure. But there may have been a struggle. While I was blacked out - presumably having surgery - I had a breathing tube down my throat, so the struggle could have been the removal of this tube. Again, I’m not sure. Maybe I was pissed because my shirt was untucked - just kidding... sorta. I do remember being wheeled around. I remember thinking I was being wheeled around my office - with lots of twists and turns. I remember thinking 3 things: Does my mom know I am okay? Does my sister Amanda know that I am okay? Do my coworkers know that I am okay? (I did, after all, believe I was being wheeled around my office). I remember slowing coming to –not being able to see – and being really really thirsty. I kind of wanted a beer.
Needless to say, I was totally freaked out after I realized the last time was conscious was 8 hours prior and I had no recollection of this time. I can only imagine this is same feeling countless college kids have after a night of binge drinking. Or how Jerry Seinfeld felt after the dentist. I am glad I have never had either of those experiences, nor do I ever want to. All I know is that if I ever need to be knocked out again, I am going to get drunk first so at least I have an excuse... and I'll keep my shirt untucked.
Friday, July 17, 2009
I Thought Hospitals Were All About Privacy?
My parents, I love them dearly, are very involved. They show up to everything. I am pretty sure the first time I was going to talk to a client they wanted to be on the phone. So naturally they did not leave my side that first day in the hospital. They were right there. And when I saw “right there,” I mean like, “right there.” And,I guess, since I didn’t put up any sort of fight with them being there the doctors, nurses and administrative folks at the hospital assumed that my parents were more than welcome to listen to and receive updates regarding my condition – which, of course – they were.
But… this does not mean they are more than welcome to hear about every minute detail of my life. When you are in the hospital there are a lot of people asking you a lot of questions. A lot of very personal questions. And I am not sure why SO MANY people had to ask me the same questions over and over and over again. And the whole time there were mom and dad. Only one nurse and later one doctor who actually made my parents leave the area before re-asking me these personal questions about my life and lifestyle. And to them I say, thanks, but they already know everything. And when I say, “everything,” I mean EVERYTHING.
By the time I was admitted to the hospital for surgery I had pretty much quit smoking (again, that is, since I had quit for 6 months in early 2008). I mean, I was in the hospital for 2 days the previous week and my mom pretty much moved in with me over the weekend, so there was no smoking since before the first hospital stay(quick back story: I have never smoked in front of my parents – except when my dad caught me smoking when I was 18. While it was obvious I was a smoker – and how can it not be obvious – it was never formally discussed except for the occasional mini lecture on the dangers of smoking). So there we were in the little curtained off area and the nurse firing away question after question as if this were the Spanish Inquisition (I have no idea what that means, by the way). Name, age, height – I can handle. Weight – Ugh, fine. Last bowel movement – really? You really need to know this? Alrighty, you’re the one who asked. Last menstrual cycle – slightly uncomfortable, but whatever that is fine. Level of sexual activity – oh gawd – followed by a list I had to choose from. Can I just tell you there is noway I am pregnant since that is what you are most concerned about? Do you drink? Yes. Do drugs? Um…. No? Smoke? Um… not anymore? Please elaborate. Here it goes…
Me: I quit smoking.
Nurse: When?
Me: Last week.
Nurse: And how long did you smoke before you quit?
Me: (Deep breath) 10 years.
Nurse: How much did you smoke?
Me: Half a pack to a pack a day.
Big Jon Ruud: Jesus, AMY!
Mama Rose Ruud: Jon, please.
Me: Dad, not really the time or the place.
Nurse: Good for you for quitting.
Me: I was forced into it.
Big Jon Ruud: GOD DAMNIT, AMY!
Mind you, we went through this at least half a dozen times in the 5 days I was in the hospital. Looking back on it now I can think of 4 things:
1. Since I couldn’t actually see the look on my father’s face (who is what I would consider a self righteous non-smoker) I can only imagine the look and I am sure it was priceless.
2. Being laid up in the hospital while admitting that I have been a full time smoker for the past 10 years was probably pretty genius since it really is neither the time nor the place to get into it with my parents. And it has not been discussed since. I also have not smoked since (almost 3 months now – go me).
3. Being laid up in the hospital and receiving morphine every 4 hours is a great way to quit smoking… and lose 15 pounds – trust me I know.
4. If I had to do it all over again – and God I hope I never do – I will request everyone to leave the room when the interrogation begins. I suggest you do the same, unless you don’t care who knows when the last time you pooed or got a piece was.
But… this does not mean they are more than welcome to hear about every minute detail of my life. When you are in the hospital there are a lot of people asking you a lot of questions. A lot of very personal questions. And I am not sure why SO MANY people had to ask me the same questions over and over and over again. And the whole time there were mom and dad. Only one nurse and later one doctor who actually made my parents leave the area before re-asking me these personal questions about my life and lifestyle. And to them I say, thanks, but they already know everything. And when I say, “everything,” I mean EVERYTHING.
By the time I was admitted to the hospital for surgery I had pretty much quit smoking (again, that is, since I had quit for 6 months in early 2008). I mean, I was in the hospital for 2 days the previous week and my mom pretty much moved in with me over the weekend, so there was no smoking since before the first hospital stay(quick back story: I have never smoked in front of my parents – except when my dad caught me smoking when I was 18. While it was obvious I was a smoker – and how can it not be obvious – it was never formally discussed except for the occasional mini lecture on the dangers of smoking). So there we were in the little curtained off area and the nurse firing away question after question as if this were the Spanish Inquisition (I have no idea what that means, by the way). Name, age, height – I can handle. Weight – Ugh, fine. Last bowel movement – really? You really need to know this? Alrighty, you’re the one who asked. Last menstrual cycle – slightly uncomfortable, but whatever that is fine. Level of sexual activity – oh gawd – followed by a list I had to choose from. Can I just tell you there is noway I am pregnant since that is what you are most concerned about? Do you drink? Yes. Do drugs? Um…. No? Smoke? Um… not anymore? Please elaborate. Here it goes…
Me: I quit smoking.
Nurse: When?
Me: Last week.
Nurse: And how long did you smoke before you quit?
Me: (Deep breath) 10 years.
Nurse: How much did you smoke?
Me: Half a pack to a pack a day.
Big Jon Ruud: Jesus, AMY!
Mama Rose Ruud: Jon, please.
Me: Dad, not really the time or the place.
Nurse: Good for you for quitting.
Me: I was forced into it.
Big Jon Ruud: GOD DAMNIT, AMY!
Mind you, we went through this at least half a dozen times in the 5 days I was in the hospital. Looking back on it now I can think of 4 things:
1. Since I couldn’t actually see the look on my father’s face (who is what I would consider a self righteous non-smoker) I can only imagine the look and I am sure it was priceless.
2. Being laid up in the hospital while admitting that I have been a full time smoker for the past 10 years was probably pretty genius since it really is neither the time nor the place to get into it with my parents. And it has not been discussed since. I also have not smoked since (almost 3 months now – go me).
3. Being laid up in the hospital and receiving morphine every 4 hours is a great way to quit smoking… and lose 15 pounds – trust me I know.
4. If I had to do it all over again – and God I hope I never do – I will request everyone to leave the room when the interrogation begins. I suggest you do the same, unless you don’t care who knows when the last time you pooed or got a piece was.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Facebook Freak Out
I’m not an emotional person, I’m not a crier. For the most part, I am pretty laid back and easy going. They entire time I was in the ER I was making jokes – most at the expense of the people behind the curtains around me whose conversations I could here as clear as a bell. I was laughing and having a good time, complaining that I was hungry, thinking about what I would put up on Facebook when I got my Blackberry back. Maybe something like, “Amy Ruud is totally amused by the lady who is upset that the ER is not 5 star restaurant.” All in all I was taking the prospect of having surgery – something I had never had done before – pretty well. And then the surgeon came in….
Apparently he had a nice expensive watch – my Dad pointed this out – I of course couldn’t see it. He explained that the shunt would go into my lower back at the base of my spine, it would have a valve, it would drain fluid from my brain, down my spine and into my abdomen for my body to get rid of – naturally. The surgery would happen the next morning. I asked him how long I would need to recover – expecting to hear a week, I freaked out a little when I heard recovery time was going to be a minimum of 4-6 weeks. What? I have promotions launching! I have a mortgage to pay! I don’t have that much vacation time! I don’t have that much in savings! I have work to do! I have concerts to go to! I have trips to take! Bars to hit up! Parties to throw! It’s almost the summer!
I guess this 4-6 week recovery time was the straw that broke the camel’s back… It wasn’t the 3 incisions they would be making on my back, side and stomach, it wasn’t the contraption they were placing inside me, it wasn’t my near blindness, it was missing work of all things! So there I was, having been in the ER for a few hours, waiting for a room, starving, needing surgery the next day, and all I could think about was how I was going to pay my mortgage, who was going to take over my promotions at work and what my last Facebook status update said…
Apparently he had a nice expensive watch – my Dad pointed this out – I of course couldn’t see it. He explained that the shunt would go into my lower back at the base of my spine, it would have a valve, it would drain fluid from my brain, down my spine and into my abdomen for my body to get rid of – naturally. The surgery would happen the next morning. I asked him how long I would need to recover – expecting to hear a week, I freaked out a little when I heard recovery time was going to be a minimum of 4-6 weeks. What? I have promotions launching! I have a mortgage to pay! I don’t have that much vacation time! I don’t have that much in savings! I have work to do! I have concerts to go to! I have trips to take! Bars to hit up! Parties to throw! It’s almost the summer!
I guess this 4-6 week recovery time was the straw that broke the camel’s back… It wasn’t the 3 incisions they would be making on my back, side and stomach, it wasn’t the contraption they were placing inside me, it wasn’t my near blindness, it was missing work of all things! So there I was, having been in the ER for a few hours, waiting for a room, starving, needing surgery the next day, and all I could think about was how I was going to pay my mortgage, who was going to take over my promotions at work and what my last Facebook status update said…
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
17 Days Later – I Go Big or I Go Home
On Monday April 27, 2009 my mom made me call my eye doctor. Over the weekend my eye sight had worsened to the point where I could barely see. I was able to see light and dark and basic shapes. You know the silhouette of the cowboy leaning against, well, something? That is basically how everything looked to me. To say I had blurry vision was an understatement. It would be a couple of weeks before I would find this out, but apparently my eyes were scary looking as well – unable to focus on anything and drifting.
So I called my eye doctor and got an appointment the next day. Both of my ever-involved parents came with me. The nurse took me into a room to perform a field test (you stare into a large thing and press a button every time you see a light flash). I had this test done during my initial appointment – 17 days earlier. After a few minutes of me not pressing the button the nurse stopped the test and asked if I could see anything. I replied, “No.” But you were here 2 weeks ago and took this test, you could see then? “Yes,” I told her. And then she brought me back to see the doctor. He took one look into my eyes and told me I needed to go the hospital. That the pressure in my head was so great that it has caused my optic nerves to swell so much that I cannot see and that they have to relieve the pressure in my head and to do that requires surgery. A neurosurgeon will confirm, but it is his recommendation that I have a shunt placed in my back to drain fluid from my brain, down my spine and into my abdomen. And that I need it done immediately. And that I might go blind. I need to go to the hospital now, but don’t worry, he’ll call ahead.
Okay, I thought to myself. We can do this. Surgery, no big deal, you’ll be out a week and everything will go back to normal and you’ll feel great when this is all done. “Amy Ruud needs a shunt.” That’s what I’ll put as my Facebook status.
So I get to the hospital and I am led inside and I explain what is going on. I continue to explain it about 2 dozen times to different doctors and nurses and administrative personnel in the ER. Meanwhile, I see practically nothing. And I felt bad. I felt bad that I couldn’t see what these doctors and nurses looked like. So I kept asking my mom if they were cute – they were doctors, of course they cute to my mom!
It’s annoying enough to have lights shinning in your eyes when you have perfectly fine eye sight. But when you’re practically blind from swollen optic nerves a light shining in your eyes is painful. Worse than a spinal tap. But necessary – I guess.
I was relieved when I met the Ophthalmological resident and some interns – all of whom came to see the marvel that was me. All of them eager to shine their lights in my eyes and take a look at my nerves. Did you know that the optic nerves are the only nerves in your body that you can see without actually cutting your body open? It’s true – look it up. They also used this totally archaic machine to take pictures of my nerves (we would find out later that it didn’t work).
They stood there and asked me questions like, “How many fingers am I holding up?” To which I would reply, “You’re holding up fingers?” Finally the doctor told me my case was quiet remarkable and that no one in the hospital had seen a case as severe as mine – to which I replied, “Hey, look, I go big or I go home.” And they concurred with my eye doctor, I needed surgery. Next stop by would be the neurosurgeon.
So I called my eye doctor and got an appointment the next day. Both of my ever-involved parents came with me. The nurse took me into a room to perform a field test (you stare into a large thing and press a button every time you see a light flash). I had this test done during my initial appointment – 17 days earlier. After a few minutes of me not pressing the button the nurse stopped the test and asked if I could see anything. I replied, “No.” But you were here 2 weeks ago and took this test, you could see then? “Yes,” I told her. And then she brought me back to see the doctor. He took one look into my eyes and told me I needed to go the hospital. That the pressure in my head was so great that it has caused my optic nerves to swell so much that I cannot see and that they have to relieve the pressure in my head and to do that requires surgery. A neurosurgeon will confirm, but it is his recommendation that I have a shunt placed in my back to drain fluid from my brain, down my spine and into my abdomen. And that I need it done immediately. And that I might go blind. I need to go to the hospital now, but don’t worry, he’ll call ahead.
Okay, I thought to myself. We can do this. Surgery, no big deal, you’ll be out a week and everything will go back to normal and you’ll feel great when this is all done. “Amy Ruud needs a shunt.” That’s what I’ll put as my Facebook status.
So I get to the hospital and I am led inside and I explain what is going on. I continue to explain it about 2 dozen times to different doctors and nurses and administrative personnel in the ER. Meanwhile, I see practically nothing. And I felt bad. I felt bad that I couldn’t see what these doctors and nurses looked like. So I kept asking my mom if they were cute – they were doctors, of course they cute to my mom!
It’s annoying enough to have lights shinning in your eyes when you have perfectly fine eye sight. But when you’re practically blind from swollen optic nerves a light shining in your eyes is painful. Worse than a spinal tap. But necessary – I guess.
I was relieved when I met the Ophthalmological resident and some interns – all of whom came to see the marvel that was me. All of them eager to shine their lights in my eyes and take a look at my nerves. Did you know that the optic nerves are the only nerves in your body that you can see without actually cutting your body open? It’s true – look it up. They also used this totally archaic machine to take pictures of my nerves (we would find out later that it didn’t work).
They stood there and asked me questions like, “How many fingers am I holding up?” To which I would reply, “You’re holding up fingers?” Finally the doctor told me my case was quiet remarkable and that no one in the hospital had seen a case as severe as mine – to which I replied, “Hey, look, I go big or I go home.” And they concurred with my eye doctor, I needed surgery. Next stop by would be the neurosurgeon.
Monday, July 13, 2009
I Don’t Like Saltines or Coca-Cola, Thanks Though
On the evening of Monday, April 20, 2009 I was officially diagnosed with Pseudotumor Cerebri and put on medication. A diuretic called Diamox – it is essentially a water pill that is supposed to dilute the CSF building in my head and relieve the pressure it is putting on my brain and more importantly on my optic nerves. I started taking it on Tuesday morning – One pill 2 times a day.
Wednesday morning I was at work. For the first 3 days of that week, I had been working in a separate area in the office because my eyes were becoming very sensitive to the harsh fluorescent lights over my desk. The headaches were so bad and my neck was in so much pain that I could barely read my computer screen. And for some reason I felt sick to my stomach. Needless to say, I was a mess.
At this point I had given my boss a heads up as to what was going with me so that he would not be concerned with me leaving the office all the time. Wednesday morning I felt so horrible that I had my sister Amanda (thankfully we work together) drive me home – because I was no longer driving at this point. I went home and went to bed. Little did I know that this would be the last time I would be at work for two and a half months.
By Thursday morning everything I put in my body came back up – this is not something that happens to me. So my mother decided I needed to go to the hospital and to the hospital we went. I was given an IV and stayed overnight. I saw my neurologist’s partner in the morning – I told him my vision was worsening and he explained that I needed to stay on the medication.
The hospital was ready to get rid of me, but I told them I had a splitting headache and still hadn’t been able to keep any food down. The nurse and the neurologist both suggested I drink some Diet Coke (caffeine helps with headaches) and try some saltine crackers. I explained to them that I have not had caffeine in years but sure, let’s give it a try! Why not add heart palpitations to my list of systems – which is what happened the last time I had caffeine.
Now, for most of Friday morning there was some douchbag standing outside of my little area (short term emergency room “rooms” are not really rooms but areas with curtains – at least they are at Beaumont) who was talking extremely loudly on his phone. So I had no problem making the loudest most obnoxious barking noises while I was hurling the saltine crackers and Diet Coke everyone insisted I ingest. My mom was slightly embarrassed. The nurse laughed. My job here was done – at least for now.
So on the afternoon of Friday, April 24, 2009, I went home with a slew of anti nausea pills and worsening headaches and vision. My mom insisted I take the following week off of work to concentrate on getting better. This was not something I wanted to do. I mean, if I was going to take a week off of work it was going to be to go to California or Colorado not to sit on my couch and concentrate on not puking every time I hate or drank something! But we can’t always get what we want, can we?
So on Sunday evening April 26, 2009, I called my boss, explained the situation and then dictated an email to Amanda about the status of all of my projects at work. At this point, I could barely see – let alone type a letter. 2 days later I would end up in the hospital facing the scariest challenge of my life and here I was worrying about the SMS component for a promotion launching in 2 weeks.
Wednesday morning I was at work. For the first 3 days of that week, I had been working in a separate area in the office because my eyes were becoming very sensitive to the harsh fluorescent lights over my desk. The headaches were so bad and my neck was in so much pain that I could barely read my computer screen. And for some reason I felt sick to my stomach. Needless to say, I was a mess.
At this point I had given my boss a heads up as to what was going with me so that he would not be concerned with me leaving the office all the time. Wednesday morning I felt so horrible that I had my sister Amanda (thankfully we work together) drive me home – because I was no longer driving at this point. I went home and went to bed. Little did I know that this would be the last time I would be at work for two and a half months.
By Thursday morning everything I put in my body came back up – this is not something that happens to me. So my mother decided I needed to go to the hospital and to the hospital we went. I was given an IV and stayed overnight. I saw my neurologist’s partner in the morning – I told him my vision was worsening and he explained that I needed to stay on the medication.
The hospital was ready to get rid of me, but I told them I had a splitting headache and still hadn’t been able to keep any food down. The nurse and the neurologist both suggested I drink some Diet Coke (caffeine helps with headaches) and try some saltine crackers. I explained to them that I have not had caffeine in years but sure, let’s give it a try! Why not add heart palpitations to my list of systems – which is what happened the last time I had caffeine.
Now, for most of Friday morning there was some douchbag standing outside of my little area (short term emergency room “rooms” are not really rooms but areas with curtains – at least they are at Beaumont) who was talking extremely loudly on his phone. So I had no problem making the loudest most obnoxious barking noises while I was hurling the saltine crackers and Diet Coke everyone insisted I ingest. My mom was slightly embarrassed. The nurse laughed. My job here was done – at least for now.
So on the afternoon of Friday, April 24, 2009, I went home with a slew of anti nausea pills and worsening headaches and vision. My mom insisted I take the following week off of work to concentrate on getting better. This was not something I wanted to do. I mean, if I was going to take a week off of work it was going to be to go to California or Colorado not to sit on my couch and concentrate on not puking every time I hate or drank something! But we can’t always get what we want, can we?
So on Sunday evening April 26, 2009, I called my boss, explained the situation and then dictated an email to Amanda about the status of all of my projects at work. At this point, I could barely see – let alone type a letter. 2 days later I would end up in the hospital facing the scariest challenge of my life and here I was worrying about the SMS component for a promotion launching in 2 weeks.
Friday, July 10, 2009
MRI’s are Like Techno Shows, Spinal Taps are Like Going to See Kenny G
It had been about 2 months since I’d seen my internist and 2 days since I saw my eye doctor and found out that I have this weird fake tumor condition thing. Under my eye doctor’s advice I called the neurologist and made an appointment – luckily there was a cancellation and I was able to get in the same day. After a few tests in the office and a brief conversation, the neurologist agreed with my eye doctor and ordered an additional MRI and a spinal tap. He explained the condition to me and explained what the treatment would be. I, of course, asked all of about 3 questions. One of which had to do with my deteriorating vision –by this point, it was getting worse. I had double vision in the evenings when my eyes were tired and some blurry vision as well. The doctor explained that the medication would help with and I left his office gearing up for more tests.
First up was an MRI. I had had one before, so I knew what to expect. Like with most things I do, I have to find the fun in it. And MRI’s – if you are not claustrophobic – can be fun.
It’s funny, they actually ask you when you schedule the appoint if you are claustrophobic – to which I replied, “Not yet.”
I’m sure if you haven’t actually had an MRI you have seen one on TV. It’s the big machine they slide you into to take pictures of a specific part of your body. You have to remain completely still and in some cases the test can take some time. In may case it was about 30 minutes.
They put you in a gown – and you look super hot – and lay you on a board, put a cage looking device over your head and in some cases something to cover your ears because it is LOUD.
They slide you in and start the tests. A series of booms and ticks and whomps and swooshes and before I know I am trying to keep my body from moving to the techno beats of the MRI machine. At one point I was actually doing a llittle “Uhnsa, uhnsa, uhnsa,” in my head. I wanted to slide myself out of that over sized microwave, grab some glow sticks and start jumping around. The test flew by and before I knew it, they were sliding me out and I had a sudden urge to listen to the techno station on my XM rad on the way back home. The whole experience reminded me of the Ravers are Dumb clip I saw a few ago:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeyG4UJDlKo
But if MRIs are like a techno show, spinal taps are like a Kenny G concert - what I imagine to be pure torture. The procedure itself was not that bad, it’s the recovery that is no fun. Kind of like Kenny G... At the dentist office it's okay, but you don't want to sit through 3 hours of that crap.
Whereas with an MRI you are on your back, with a spinal tap you are on your stomach. In an open back gown – again, super hot. It’s a medical procedure preformed by a doctor with a Physician’s Assistant and Nurses present – they do not take this lightly. Nor should they - at least not when dealing with anything with the word “spine” in it.
The second the doctor touched my lower back, I jumped. Wouldn’t you? I have never heard anything good about spinal taps, after all. So they numbed the area, and for me this was the worst part of the procedure. I didn’t feel anything after that except a little pressure. It was great, actually.
So with this particular condition, brain fluid (cerebral spinal fluid or CSF) is not properly absorbed and thus creates pressure inside the head. With the spinal tap, the doctor was to measure the opening pressure – not sure what that is, but okay. Normal opening pressure should be between 15 and 20. The instrument used goes up to 45. They estimated my opening pressure at over 50. I don’t know anything about this measurement but that sounds pretty high.
Being the weirdo I am, I asked to see my CSF. Do you know what brain fluid looks like? iI’s crystal clear. It was a little weird looking at something in a tube that just moments before was inside of my head. Of course I also feel that way every time I pick my nose, but I digress.
So the worst part of the procedure was the numbing of the area. But the worst part of the ordeal is the recovery. I had to lay flat on my back in the hospital for a good 4 hours before they would let me leave. I could sit up only to go to the bathroom and leave. And I had to lay flat for the next 24 to 48 hours. Only able to get up to go to the bathroom and eat. They require this so that more fluid doesn’t leak out and cause a spinal headache – which apparently is the worst feeling in the world.
I survived the second MRI and the spinal tap without issue. But eye sight was getting worse and I was seeing double pretty much all the time at this point. By that Saturday, April 18, 2009 (1 week and 1 day after initial diagnosis and 2 days since the spinal tap) I stopped driving – it was getting too dangerous. I had no idea it would be months before I would drive again. At this point I wanted an official diagnosis and medication so I could start seeing – an driving again. Little did I know, this is where things got really really weird…
First up was an MRI. I had had one before, so I knew what to expect. Like with most things I do, I have to find the fun in it. And MRI’s – if you are not claustrophobic – can be fun.
It’s funny, they actually ask you when you schedule the appoint if you are claustrophobic – to which I replied, “Not yet.”
I’m sure if you haven’t actually had an MRI you have seen one on TV. It’s the big machine they slide you into to take pictures of a specific part of your body. You have to remain completely still and in some cases the test can take some time. In may case it was about 30 minutes.
They put you in a gown – and you look super hot – and lay you on a board, put a cage looking device over your head and in some cases something to cover your ears because it is LOUD.
They slide you in and start the tests. A series of booms and ticks and whomps and swooshes and before I know I am trying to keep my body from moving to the techno beats of the MRI machine. At one point I was actually doing a llittle “Uhnsa, uhnsa, uhnsa,” in my head. I wanted to slide myself out of that over sized microwave, grab some glow sticks and start jumping around. The test flew by and before I knew it, they were sliding me out and I had a sudden urge to listen to the techno station on my XM rad on the way back home. The whole experience reminded me of the Ravers are Dumb clip I saw a few ago:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeyG4UJDlKo
But if MRIs are like a techno show, spinal taps are like a Kenny G concert - what I imagine to be pure torture. The procedure itself was not that bad, it’s the recovery that is no fun. Kind of like Kenny G... At the dentist office it's okay, but you don't want to sit through 3 hours of that crap.
Whereas with an MRI you are on your back, with a spinal tap you are on your stomach. In an open back gown – again, super hot. It’s a medical procedure preformed by a doctor with a Physician’s Assistant and Nurses present – they do not take this lightly. Nor should they - at least not when dealing with anything with the word “spine” in it.
The second the doctor touched my lower back, I jumped. Wouldn’t you? I have never heard anything good about spinal taps, after all. So they numbed the area, and for me this was the worst part of the procedure. I didn’t feel anything after that except a little pressure. It was great, actually.
So with this particular condition, brain fluid (cerebral spinal fluid or CSF) is not properly absorbed and thus creates pressure inside the head. With the spinal tap, the doctor was to measure the opening pressure – not sure what that is, but okay. Normal opening pressure should be between 15 and 20. The instrument used goes up to 45. They estimated my opening pressure at over 50. I don’t know anything about this measurement but that sounds pretty high.
Being the weirdo I am, I asked to see my CSF. Do you know what brain fluid looks like? iI’s crystal clear. It was a little weird looking at something in a tube that just moments before was inside of my head. Of course I also feel that way every time I pick my nose, but I digress.
So the worst part of the procedure was the numbing of the area. But the worst part of the ordeal is the recovery. I had to lay flat on my back in the hospital for a good 4 hours before they would let me leave. I could sit up only to go to the bathroom and leave. And I had to lay flat for the next 24 to 48 hours. Only able to get up to go to the bathroom and eat. They require this so that more fluid doesn’t leak out and cause a spinal headache – which apparently is the worst feeling in the world.
I survived the second MRI and the spinal tap without issue. But eye sight was getting worse and I was seeing double pretty much all the time at this point. By that Saturday, April 18, 2009 (1 week and 1 day after initial diagnosis and 2 days since the spinal tap) I stopped driving – it was getting too dangerous. I had no idea it would be months before I would drive again. At this point I wanted an official diagnosis and medication so I could start seeing – an driving again. Little did I know, this is where things got really really weird…
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
It Started With a Headache... Now Everyone Panic!
Headaches are nothing new. People get headaches all the time: I drank to much last night,; the concert was too loud; I spent the whole weekend with my parents; I worked 16 hours today. Headaches happen. But there was something off about the headaches I was getting. I am sure it had been a couple of weeks before I realized that I was downing 3 Advil at least twice a day to stop my headaches. And I don’t like to take pills – so the headaches were bad. I found myself coming home early from work, sleeping a little more, not wanting to work out because the headaches were so bad.
And then the ringing in the ears started. I’ve had a probably will tinnitus (the medical term for ringing in the ears) for a while now – I blame years of front row general admission concerts and bar bands for that one – but this was a different kind of ringing. It was in my right ear and it was more like waves or a whooshing sound. And it worsened when I worked out or even went up a flight of stairs – which really sucks when your bedroom is on the second floor of your house.
But the freakiest thing was the blurry vision. Which at this point, happened every once in a while when I stood up. Everything would go blurry for for a few seconds and then right back to normal.
I did a few Google searches and came to the conclusion that I either have a brain tumor or migraines. Either way, I should call my doctor.
It’s mid February and I am rattling off my symptoms to my doctor. We discuss a few things and decide to do some blood work and an MRI to rule out a tumor. And in the meantime he prescribed me a low dose steroid for the headaches.
The MRI and blood tests were all normal – which was great – but I wasn’t normal. I was on the steroid for 1 week – 1 week of which I didn’t have 1 headache. But as soon as the steroids were done, the headaches returned. And the entire time I still have the wave sound in my ear and the blurry vision. I talked to my doctor and he diagnosed me with migraines and prescribed a migraine medication.
I wasn’t 100% convinced it was migraines. Most people I knew with migraine had sensitivity to light and I didn’t. And I never heard of blurry vision and a wave sound being associated with migraines. After a few more weeks, the blurry vision got worse – it was happening more often and for longer periods of time so I called my eye doctor.
It was April 10, 2009 - Good Friday - when I saw my eye doctor. I explained what was going on and told him the MRI and blood tests were normal. Without missing a beat he said, “You aren’t crazy, there is something wrong.” It was nice to know I wasn't crazy, only thing was, there was something wrong. He explained that I have something called Psuedotumor Cerebri. It’s not a tumor, but my body reacts as if I have a tumor. It is a build up of brain fluid putting pressure on my brain and optic nerves – causing headaches and blurry vision. The good news is that 90% of the time it can be treated with medication and I will be fine. But I need to be officially diagnosed by a neurologist and in order for that to happen I need to get a spinal tap. Awesome!
So how do you react to something like that? On one hand, I was relieved – there was something wrong and someone is going to do something about it and I going to be okay. On the other hand, I was terrified – there is something wrong and I know nothing about this or what to expect.
So there I was – on a Friday morning being told I have this weird neurological disorder that I have never heard of, that I need a spinal tap and that most likely medication is the only thing I was going to need to get this under control. So what is a girl to do? Google the shit out of this disorder and get drunk – and that is exactly what I did. Like, really really drunk.
The next day my eyesight got a little worse. It may have been the puking, but I was seeing double. So much so that when I drove my car home from my friends house, I had to drive part of the way with only one eye open. Looking back on it now, getting painstakingly drunk probably wasn’t the best idea – but it was fun at the time! (Little did I know it would be months before I would have another beer!)
So what started as a headache has now led to an initial diagnosis, an appointment with a neurologist and a possible spinal tap. Who would have thought…
And then the ringing in the ears started. I’ve had a probably will tinnitus (the medical term for ringing in the ears) for a while now – I blame years of front row general admission concerts and bar bands for that one – but this was a different kind of ringing. It was in my right ear and it was more like waves or a whooshing sound. And it worsened when I worked out or even went up a flight of stairs – which really sucks when your bedroom is on the second floor of your house.
But the freakiest thing was the blurry vision. Which at this point, happened every once in a while when I stood up. Everything would go blurry for for a few seconds and then right back to normal.
I did a few Google searches and came to the conclusion that I either have a brain tumor or migraines. Either way, I should call my doctor.
It’s mid February and I am rattling off my symptoms to my doctor. We discuss a few things and decide to do some blood work and an MRI to rule out a tumor. And in the meantime he prescribed me a low dose steroid for the headaches.
The MRI and blood tests were all normal – which was great – but I wasn’t normal. I was on the steroid for 1 week – 1 week of which I didn’t have 1 headache. But as soon as the steroids were done, the headaches returned. And the entire time I still have the wave sound in my ear and the blurry vision. I talked to my doctor and he diagnosed me with migraines and prescribed a migraine medication.
I wasn’t 100% convinced it was migraines. Most people I knew with migraine had sensitivity to light and I didn’t. And I never heard of blurry vision and a wave sound being associated with migraines. After a few more weeks, the blurry vision got worse – it was happening more often and for longer periods of time so I called my eye doctor.
It was April 10, 2009 - Good Friday - when I saw my eye doctor. I explained what was going on and told him the MRI and blood tests were normal. Without missing a beat he said, “You aren’t crazy, there is something wrong.” It was nice to know I wasn't crazy, only thing was, there was something wrong. He explained that I have something called Psuedotumor Cerebri. It’s not a tumor, but my body reacts as if I have a tumor. It is a build up of brain fluid putting pressure on my brain and optic nerves – causing headaches and blurry vision. The good news is that 90% of the time it can be treated with medication and I will be fine. But I need to be officially diagnosed by a neurologist and in order for that to happen I need to get a spinal tap. Awesome!
So how do you react to something like that? On one hand, I was relieved – there was something wrong and someone is going to do something about it and I going to be okay. On the other hand, I was terrified – there is something wrong and I know nothing about this or what to expect.
So there I was – on a Friday morning being told I have this weird neurological disorder that I have never heard of, that I need a spinal tap and that most likely medication is the only thing I was going to need to get this under control. So what is a girl to do? Google the shit out of this disorder and get drunk – and that is exactly what I did. Like, really really drunk.
The next day my eyesight got a little worse. It may have been the puking, but I was seeing double. So much so that when I drove my car home from my friends house, I had to drive part of the way with only one eye open. Looking back on it now, getting painstakingly drunk probably wasn’t the best idea – but it was fun at the time! (Little did I know it would be months before I would have another beer!)
So what started as a headache has now led to an initial diagnosis, an appointment with a neurologist and a possible spinal tap. Who would have thought…
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