On February 19, 2013, I was in LA for the PMF semi-finalist assessment, was in grad school, was working on my capstone project, and was not ready for what was coming later in the week.
On February 22, 2013, I was working at the front desk of the pool at UCSD, and for my super healthy lunch, I was eating a bag of Lay's potato chips and a bag of Skittles. I started feeling sick to my stomach, which is a pretty normal occurrence, so I didn't think much of it. Later that night, I was at home, curled up in a ball on the couch from all the pain. Still, I wasn't too concerned. Then the vomit started, around 10 pm. I had Kevin call my boss to say I was sick and would not be at work the following morning - there was just no way I was going to be okay by then. I tried to go to bed, but was in such severe pain, that I moved to the reclining couch and "slept" there for the night.
On February 23, 2013, I woke up still feeling sick. I tried to eat some saltine crackers and drink Sprite. I felt extremely feverish, so I took some Tylenol as well to bring down my fever. I even called my doctor (on a Saturday!) to see what I should do. He said it sounded like a case of gastritis, and to just let it run its course. That night, I was still in severe pain, and had to "sleep" on the couch again.
On February 24, 2013, I was still feeling awful, but I was in grad school, and had to press on. Ashley, a friend and classmate came over to work on a group project. Before she arrived, I unlocked the door so that she could let herself in, since I couldn't even stand up straight, let alone walk to the door in a reasonable amount of time. We worked on a group project for a couple hours before she left. My doctor called me to check in that night. When he heard that I was still feeling sick and in severe pain, he recommended I go to the closest ER. Unfortunately, my doctor at the time was in Thousand Oaks, and I was living in San Diego, so I couldn't go to a hospital where he had privileges.
I packed a bag, but I knew I couldn't drive from all of the pain, so I waited for Kevin to get home from work (I think he was working down at the Naval Base) so that he could drive me. We got to Sharp Memorial Hospital at about 8 pm, and luckily, the ER was relatively empty. I sat outside on a bench while I waited for Kevin to park the car, since I really couldn't walk at that point. When I checked in to the ER, they called a wheelchair over immediately and took me to a room - no wait at all when you are doubled over with abdominal pain!
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| SMH Emergency Entrance |
In the ER, I had the "privilege" of drinking apple juice mixed with barium for a CT to see what was going on. They knew I was having a Crohn's flare, but needed to see if there was just swelling, or if it was worse, such as a blockage. That CT scan was much better than my original diagnosis scan (mostly because there was no enema!) Not long after that was completed, the ER doctor and nurses came in to quiz me: "Had you eaten any sharp objects recently? No? You have not eaten a pin or part of a knife? Are you sure? No? Okay then... The on-call surgeon will be in soon to talk."
It was at that point that Kevin called my mom and told her she should probably come to San Diego. It was about 1 am at that point, so she booked a flight from ABQ to SAN for first thing in the morning, to land around 11 am.
The on-call surgeon, Dr. Shawn Bench, came in pretty soon after that. He explained that the CT results looked like my small intestine had ruptured! He noted that I was in good spirits, because I smiled at him when he walked in the door, so he didn't think I needed to have surgery right away that night, that we could schedule for the morning. I guess my good manners got me an extra 12 hours with my full small intestine. Someone started me on IV antibiotics and fluids, since I was extremely dehydrated from not being able to eat/drink anything for 48 hours.
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| Dr. Bench |
Finally, at who knows what time, I was taken upstairs to a room on the 4th floor - south. SMH's south-facing floors have a nice view of the city, and the higher-up floors almost have a view of the ocean, so that was pretty nice. However, nobody did anything with that darn NG tube. I still didn't understand why it was up my nose, but I was too tired and in a lot of pain still, even after having received a couple doses of morphine. So I tried to sleep. A couple hours later, I woke up feeling extremely nauseous, and very gag-y from the tube down my throat. I called the nurse and tried to explain without throwing up that I was going to throw up. Someone finally came into my room to help me get to the bathroom for that...
I finally got a couple more hours of fitful sleep, until the shift change at 7 am. The new doctor came in and started barking orders, such as "Somebody hook up her NG tube! Why was this not hooked up last night?!" Apparently that darn tube up the nose/down the throat was supposed to be sucking ickies out of my stomach and out through the tube. Good to know. That probably would have prevented the middle-of-the-night throwing up.
The surgeon from the night before came in to talk about when he was going to do my surgery. I asked him if he would consider waiting until my mom arrived. I also asked him to call my GI doctor in Thousand Oaks to make sure he understood my case as much as possible before cutting me open. He explained the surgery to me - it would be an exploratory surgery to see what was going on, possibly remove some inflamed and/or ruptured intestine, and that I may end up with a temporary ostomy bag. That was a line that I had seared into my brain - I had to repeat it every time anyone wanted to talk about the surgery - in my room, in pre-op, in the surgery room before being knocked out - over and over again.
Finally, I had the surgery, and the only two things I remember about the hours afterward were asking if I had "a bag" right away, and then during the night afterward, being told my fever was running to high and I needed to make it go down. They gave me ice and cool compresses, which helped temporarily, but I was still too feverish for comfort, so I was transferred to the SICU (surgical intensive care unit) on the 2nd floor.
I spent something like four days in the SICU. I don't remember much of the first day, except that I had a really nice nurse who also had Crohn's. She even recommended a San Diego-based GI doctor, who turned out to be excellent, Dr. Alissa Speziale with Sharp Rees-Stealy. Finally on the 2nd or 3rd day, I was allowed to have visitors (aside from Kevin, my mom, and Kevin's mom). A bunch of my grad school friends (Maura, Charlotte, Ashley, Marla, Jeff, and later Jess and Zach... possibly others, my morphine-addled brain at the time isn't letting me remember) came by with a card signed by classmates, stuffed animals, and flowers (which I only got to see a picture of because they don't allow flowers in ICU rooms). I got other gifts from friends and family - a stuffed penguin from Aunt Mary, flowers all the way from Thailand from Ja, and lots of other love and support. Kevin's mom came down to visit, and our moms spent a night in a hotel instead of in the hospital.
The worst part about my stay in the SICU was not long after they took my catheter out, I had a... terrible... nurse. I wasn't yet able to get out of bed, so anytime I had to pee, I had to call for the nurse and use a bed pan, not something I recommend, especially when your stomach was recently ripped in half. Instead of waiting for the lift team to help get me on the bed pan, she had me roll myself over and back, and then left me on the bed pan for 10 minutes to go tend to another patient. Not Cool. Needless to say, she was not my favorite.
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| "Smiling" with penguin in the ICU |
A couple of days later, the doctors agreed that I could go home. I was glad to hear that, but I was also scared. Was I ready to go home? Could I handle it? What if everything fell apart and I had to go back? I was lucky to have such a strong support system. Kevin was ready and waiting for me to come home, and my dad even flew out for a week after I was discharged. My parents acted as my chauffeurs while Kevin worked (I was still on strong painkillers and was not allowed to drive). They took me to appointments, and made sure we were well-fed, even though I didn't have much of an appetite for about a month after the surgery. After my parents left, I still had a strong support system. At school, I was allowed to take incomplete for all of my courses for the quarter, and had agreements with each professor for the work I had to complete in order to pass. There was one doctor's appointment I had to go to while still on painkillers, and my friend Charlotte drove me.
A lot of people describe friends and family pulling away during and after a major medical event like this. I feel lucky that I had the opposite happen. I feel like many of my relationships got stronger as a result. People show their true colors, and luckily, all of the colors I saw were good.
Now, I am doing everything I can to ensure I don't end up back in the hospital. While there are things out of my control, I do what I know I can. My parting message to my care team was "This was fun, let's never do it again!"
Do you want to help those who have been hospitalized because of this disease?
This year, I am once again taking part in Team Challenge. I will be doing a Race in Orange cycling event on April 7 with Tina, then participating in the Lake Tahoe Triathlon at the end of August for my 10 year anniversary of being diagnosed. You can support my fundraising efforts for these two events here.
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Stay tuned for Part 2b: Hospitalization 2011
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