(continued from “Alicia in Wonderland”)
Many people have told me, “Your last blog was really weird,” since I wrote it a few days ago. To this my only reply is “Yep – that’s what morphine can do to you!”
As I mentioned several blogs ago, my surgery was performed in two parts; the first on December 22nd and the second on December 29th. My back was cut open from the top of my neck all the way to my hips and also around my right armpit. They had to remove parts of my ribs on my right side. I was intubated (a tube placed down my throat so that I could receive a machine’s assistance to breath), given a G-Tube (a tube in my stomach that they could pump food into) and given an ART-line (An IV in my wrist that connected directly to my artery). During the second surgery they attached metal rods to my spine. Unfortunately, during one of my surgeries, one of my lungs collapsed (filled up with fluid).
The morphine, although frightening in of itself, was intended to shield me from these painful realities of major spinal fusion. I was in what is called “a controlled coma”.
My husband and I are both heavy sleepers in general. People will have entire conversations with us in the middle of the night that we will have absolutely no recollection of the next day. So add medication on top of this and “Good-night Nurse!” Only through pictures, videos, a journal and stories that others have told me do I have any idea of what actually took place while I was in dreamland.
Apparently when I first woke up I was furious with Dr. Fox. He had not told me that I wouldn’t be able to talk, due to the intubation. Not being able to verbally communicate my needs made me extremely frustrated. I think at first Dr. Fox thought of me as “just a child”. But I wasn’t a typical child. I was a child that had to deal with grown-ups and grown-up issues on a regular basis, due to all my medical needs and my extremely co-dependent relationship with my mother. Since then Dr. Fox has always told me how it is – even if it is scary.
At one point I was trying to ask my parents something, and they simply couldn’t understand. I became upset, trying over and over to communicate with them to the point of tears. Finally they handed me my stuffed animal, Lambert. I demonstrated my request and they realized that all along I had only wanted a hug! I was terrified and wanted constant human touch, especially someone to hold my hand. My mother sat at my side for hours every day.
Throughout my entire hospital stay my parents remained at the hospital. We lived over an hour away, so my parents hung their clothes and kept their necessities in the backseat of our car. They slept in various hospital rooms – switching almost daily, as the rooms were needed. My dad, who continued to commute to San Francisco every night, sometimes had to sleep in the dialysis room during the day, if no others were available. We had just purchased a house in Lathrop, CA, but my parents only returned there once or twice during my entire stay, and that was just to prepare for my eventual homecoming.
Christmas passed. New Years passed. Many visitors came. I don’t remember any of it.
Two things that puzzle me and crack me up about this time period was my hallucination about my mother and the nurse wearing “war paint” (refer to the blog “Alicia in Wonderland”) and a story that my mother told me (and I have repeated on a number of occasions because it is so funny to me).
While I was still on some medication, my physical therapist came for our first session. As he approached my bed I yelled out “STAY AWAY FROM ME, YOU INDIAN!” (What was it with me and Indians??). He stopped, shocked by this coming from a harmless looking little girl. My mom laughed and asked me, “Well who are you?” I replied matter-of-factly, “I’M JOHN WAYNE!”
That’s right, don’t mess with the Rooster.
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