Datcat

17 days post surgery … just over 2 weeks.   Its been a long couple of weeks.    There have been amusing moments for sure.

Lying in bed after a day at home, and I go to roll over.  Except I can’t.  I am not in exceptional pain, nothing is stabby or painful ….. its just like my brain has this idea, but my body goes ….. Actually NO!  Had to call Tony to help me out of bed.  I do not appreciate him laughing.   This happens over and over …. and all members of the family have been summoned to haul my ass out of bed.  Thankfully its got better, and I can get myself out of bed now ….. its neither sexy or graceful, but I can manage it.

Shopping  …. since I am not allowed to drive, my only outings seem to be the shops for groceries (such is the excitement of my life right now).  I am good, I don’t push trolleys, I don’t stack the checkout, I don’t lift bags …. hell I don’t even take my purse, so I don’t pay either.  Mostly I point at things and say “we need that”.   Mind you, I had a forgetful moment ….. wandering down the dog food aisle, hubby and I debating if we would switch LittleMadam’s food to a small breed brand, and how, with Monty gone, we didn’t need to buy huge bags any more.   We decided on a brand, and I reached up to grab a bag ….. good grief it was only 2.5kg, but it was on a shelf above my head.  I had another moment where my brain decided independently, that I was being an idiot.  I attempted to lift it, cue stabby pain in the belly, felt a bit lightheaded, and I think I said something like .. “Oh …..”.  I think I also went a tiny bit pale.  Tony looked at me, said in an extremely loud voice “What the HELL do you think you are doing?”, followed by an extended period of loud statements about what an idiot I was, and how could I possibly think that was ok?   The other lady in the aisle did a quick backpeddle and scooted away, thinking there was going to be a domestic I assume.  ***I did put it back down ….. I may be an idiot but I do learn eventually***

This has been the pattern of my life mostly.  I can feel that I am recovering, but every so often, something small and seemingly insignificant will remind me that not that long ago, I was unconscious and a man cut a 1 foot hole in me, and rummaged around inside with both hands.  I can feel the internal bruising, and I am fragile ….. there is no other word for it.

So, I am “on the mend”.  Not healed, but on the way.  I am bored for sure, so much so, I have resorted to quilting.   I would love to do sew some clothes for myself for the next season, but while I can sit at the machine and sew, bending over the table to either trace patterns or cut out is out of the question.  I have done some cooking, making muffins for Nathan’s lunchbox.  But, husband or children have to be on call for more complex stuff, as I can’t lift big pots or appliances, or bend down to the cupboards to get things.  For each step forward in recovering I make, I become aware that those steps are couched with limits.

My next update I think I will post a shot of the scar ….. at the moment its still a bit raw and scabby.  But there is no doubt that I will have a spectacular reminder of how serious this surgery was.  I think maybe I should document its impact on my body.

Actually, considering I have been through the wringers a bit, I haven’t scrubbed up too bad, but I am definitely on the “fragile” side of beauty this morning, so no photos from me.  Last week was not a great week.  Monty went to god, and then on Thursday, I went to hospital for surgery….. to have my gall bladder removed ,…… again.

It wasn’t a good start … we forgot the radiography films, so Tony had to come home and get them while I sat in the waiting rooms, but thankfully that seems to have been the only hiccup.   I was given my gown and coat to change into, and my fetching red surgical cap …….. different to every single other person in the waiting room.  Red because I had allergies apparently, but it made me look like an oddball I reckon.  I have a wound about 30 cm long, that starts at the centre of my abdomen, and follows the line of my ribcage …. by far the biggest surgery scar I have ever had.   The surgeon told Tony, that instead of a oval/round shape, my Gall Badder had a narrowing in the centre, sort of like a peanut, so when he took what he thought was the remaining bit, it could have been easy to close me up, and totally miss the other piece, therefore leaving me with yet another stone to be removed.  Instead he did the specialised xray he wanted to do (the reason my surgery was slightly delayed and changed to the big hospital), found the bile ducts, and found this extra bit of gall bladder.  So my “maybe 3 hr” operation became an “over 3 hr and needed every minute” operation.

The surgeon came and visited me in hospital the Friday, my first time out of bed (with an assisted shower, not a great experience).  My oesophagus and lungs always take ages to wake up from surgery, so during the course of the conversation, I must have started to look a bit pale.  Both he and the other doctor suddenly rushed through talking to me, and then he said “don’t vomit it will hurt your wound”, and then they bolted.  Sure enough up came all the fluid I had been sipping for the last few hours.  So classically male, and I made sure I chipped him about it yesterday.

I had a moment on day 2 or 3 (memory is a bit muddy).  Pain medication had been a bit delayed, and my heart was obviously reacting to the pain I was in, beating very hard.  Because my tachycardia has my heart fast anyway, this meant that my pulse was very fast, and my chest started to hurt.  I complained of chest pain, and suddenly I was surrounded with nurses and an intern.   My custom made pj tops came into their own, because otherwise I would have had a ripped top…. my top was ripped open, I was hooked to a ctg machine, and much monitoring of my heart happened.  Even more holes were poked into me for blood tests and every one was a bit concerned for me for a while.  I learnt then I had to be a bit more demanding about pain relief, otherwise my body would assert itself forcefully.

Yesterday I was discharged, well short of the 8 days the surgeon predicted, but I was very thankful.  My back is in absolute agony from the bed, and I desperately wanted my own bed.  I was discharged from the ward at 9.30am, and moved to the Discharge Lounge.  I realised then, that the process is very convoluted, and frankly ridiculous.   I was given my pain medication when I left the ward,  and then told I just had to wait for my script.  I sat there for over 3 hours, watching other patients come and go, waiting.  Finally hubby got up and demanded WTH was going on.  It turns out, other patients were public patients, so had a little crowd of ward interns and student doctors who chase the scripts to get them discharged.   I was a private patient, so my doctor saw, me, and then left the hospital, so there was no one to do my chasing.   Because I was discharged, I couldn’t receive any more pain meds, and so got to experience every bump in the road on the way home, without pain relief.  If you have to go through the process, don’t ever wait for the medication.  Tell them to fax the scripts to your local pharmacy.

Recovery so far has been very up and down.  I have days I feel very “up”, still fragile of course, but I can see progress.  And then my pain medication will be delayed a bit, or I will have a particular nasty stabby twinge that takes my breath away, and I will feel extremely ordinary.   I did get through the whole night last night with only one batch of pain meds, but wake up was very tentative.  My back in still sore, and that may take days or weeks to resolve.  My tummy still isn’t working well, and that too, will take time to resolve.

Nobody chooses to inflict this sort of pain on yourself without good reason.  I don’t think I ever want to have another surgery.  I am tired, and fragile, but I have survived.  A bit like life I suppose.

This is Monty.

Monty is a Blue Roan, CockerSpaniel/Bichon Frise cross….. a classic “designer mongrel”.  He has been hard work from the moment we got him.  He has behaviour quirks, tends to bark too much, chews his feet when stressed, freaks out if we change stuff in the yard, gets into the bin, chews up knickers and bras, can open doors especially if there is chocolate involved, and is generally very naughty.   His nickname has always been “Monstorboy” for very good reason.

But …. he is adorable.  Tony fell in love with him as soon as he saw him in the pet store cage.  We were looking for a small dog, something like a maltese.  The shop assistant convinced Tony that Monty would be small, lap size ….. as you can see he isn’t.   He is really really intelligent, with a great understanding of both language and hand signals.   He loves the vet (yep weird), and doesn’t flinch with injections.   Thanks to the bichon genes, his coat is incredibly soft, almost suede like when he is shaved, and if I let his coat grow out, he turns into this lovely black and white puff ball.   He snuggles up, sneaking a lick to your face, and then looks away guilty.    Tug of war involves lots of growling and pulling, but he lets go the minute I say “mine”.  And there is nothing funnier that a fat 40’something woman playing chase through the house with a dog….. and he cheats by running under the kitchen table.

Monty is 10 and a half years old.  Back in 2007 he was limping, and we had his hips xray’ed.  In addition to all the other “shoddy breeding” issues he has, is hip displaysia.   We moved to a low set house, changed his diet, and set about changing our lifestyle so that he didn’t stress his hips.   We just couldn’t face subjecting him to serious surgery, and really, couldn’t afford it.   And really, we did well.  He has had a happy and pain free time.  We expected a couple of years before we had to do more ….we got 6 years instead.

This last 5 weeks have been hard.  First came pain, yelping when he tried to move suddenly, or when someone bumped him.  He stopped jumping onto the lounge or bed, and really baulked at going for a walk.  And then the limping started.  We visited the vet, and the assumption was his hips had finally started to show the damage, and he was started on a course of injections.   But we had no real response ….. and then last week he started to get very wobbly.  He can’t climb stairs at all, and he regularly has his hind legs flop out from under him.  After losing Peppy to bone cancer I feared the worst.  X-rays show damage to two discs, plus a mysterious “mass” on his spine, which may or may not be a tumour.  And we are home now with steroids, and other medications, hoping to lessen his pain and make things more comfortable.

So what now?  I had expected a slow gradual decline with arthritis over years, to be managed with medication and gentle complimentary therapies.  But this is unknown………..  Do we pay for an expensive diagnostic test on the mass?  How will we know when enough is enough?  Will he tell us?  Will we be strong enough?  I don’t want to face these choices ….. not again.

Update****  I came home at lunch time today, after an urgent call from Naomi.  Monty had lost all control of his back legs, unable to walk, and in a lot of pain.   A trip to the vet confirmed what we expected.  Either the herniated discs, or the “mass” on his spine, has done enough damage to cause paralysis.  The options were investigations, and then spinal surgery, with very little chance of a decent recovery.  I couldn’t do that to him.  So we said goodbye and he went to sleep forever, with us holding him.  Our vet owns a farm outside of town, thats where he is going to be buried.   Very sad right now, but we will survive.

I am always hungry ………..

I have elevated levels of insulin, I know this from a blood test I had a while back.  Among other things, it means that my appetite is stimulated.  Its the reason why people with insulin resistance gain weight.

However, I have a bit of left over gall bladder, with a stone in it, along with stones in my bile ducts.  This means that too much food over the course of the day, or even a big meal ….. leaves me in a world of pain.  Of course that also means that fatty foods, high carb foods, and protein heavy meals are out of the question too.  All food causes some level of nausea and pain, but eating no-go foods causes intense pain.  Pain means codeine … and codeine messes with my already messed up digestion system.

And here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush……..

And so I am hungry ….. I never let myself eat enough to feel full, to feel satisfied.  Every hunger grumble is met with an internal discussion ….. if I eat something now, what will I forgo later to balance things out.  Will I eat anyway, and damn the pain?

This is getting me down…. big time.  This, combined with my constant dreams about dying … I can feel myself dipping my toes into depression.  I am so tired, and lethargic ……… and hungry.