Out & About

Had a mini trip into town this morning...not sure it was wise in hindsight, but I was very glad to get out and do something, even if it made me feel absolutely shattered and extra-wobbly for the rest of the day.

Of course it was one of the hottest days we've had, so I felt a right wally staggering around town with a scarf wrapped around my neck. In hindsight, perhaps the 'freak-stares' that my scar would have earned would have been preferable to the sweaty, beetroot face I presented to the public instead.

But its Mum's birthday on Monday, so not trusting hubby's card-buying or present-buying abilities, I lost them in the supermarket, and went off to do some secret shopping.

Of course, all this had to wait until the after-effects of taking Eltroxin (see yesterday's blog) had done their worst, and my dose of Imodium had kicked in and started working...ho hum!

I know you're just dying to see how my neck looks now, so here you go gore-fans:

Uh oh - New Meds Blues

Took my first dose of Eltroxin this morning...and it went straight through me :(

Checked the data sheet, and sure enough diarrhoea and stomach cramps are listed as a side-effect.

99% sure that its the Eltroxin...as my other meds haven't changed at all in the last 5 days.

I guess only time will tell. At the end of the day, now that I'm technically hypothyroid, there aren't too many options for medication...so my body is just going to have to suck it up princess!

Other than that...I guess I feel OK. Still wiped out, wobbly & tired....but SO nice to sleep in my own bed last night.
Although I still found myself waking up at 2am waiting for my bloods to be taken, waking up at 4am for my blood pressure to be checked, 6am for the drugs trolley, and was most surprised that my surgeon was a "no-show" in my bedroom at 8am...although, if he had turned up, my husband would have been incredibly surprised! Ha ha!

I'm Free!

Yes!

They let me come home today!

My calcium levels stayed where they should, and showed no sign of going all crazy on us. And all in all, my surgeon was very happy with everything.

My chest drain came out yesterday...which was on the one hand, a total relief, from the increasing pain & discomfort it was causing me, but also a truly unpleasant experience at the same time. It works as a vacuum, and even though the nurse was as gentle as she could be when she was removing it, you could still feel the pipe desperately trying to suck you inside out as it was pulled through the hole in my chest.
It was also touch-and-go as to whether they would remove it at all. Apparently my surgeon doesn't like it removed until the previous 24-hrs have yielded a specified minimum amount of blood & goo, and the nurses had already informed me that when they'd emptied & measured that morning I was still producing too much blood & goo. But he also doesn't like to leave them in longer than 48 hours if he can help it...and so I pleaded with him, and he gave the nod to the accompanying nurse on his rounds that morning! Woo!
So I was left with a sore hole in my chest, covered by a nice white dressing...that continues to absorb all the goo that continues to ooze out, and swells up to bursting point - really very clever. A normal plaster just can't compare!
And I don't care, because I no longer have a rigid fire hose sticking out of my chest, causing huge pain whenever it moves by even the merest minuscule amount...and I no longer had to march around the hospital with a transparent tub of blood & goo clipped fashionably onto the lapel of my dressing gown - happy days!

And now I'm home. I'm wrecked, I'm wobbly, I spent most of the afternoon back in bed, and I feel (and look) like I've been hit by a truck....but I don't care, I can do all that in the comfort of my own home...without nurses telling me to eat more, to walk more, to generally do more of everything that I didn't want to do, and all that other nursey-stuff.

I have to say, on behalf of my poor, drained right arm, I'm home just in time...those poor veins have had a real hammering since Monday (4+ blood draws each day), and the Junior Doctor who came to do my last set of bloods last night did a truly amazing job of drawing blood from the side of my wrist, after we both scratched our heads for a while, watching all the conventional blood-draw veins wave their own little white flags of defeat and proceeded to bury themselves deeper, one after another, no matter what he tried.

But all that is behind me now...I'm home, I'm home, I'm home!!

And now I start my new life, without the help (or should that be hindrance?) of my thyroid gland!

Hospital food, and TV wars!

[posted retrospectively & not necessarily in order - 1st June, day after the op]

At some point in the afternoon I was moved to a semi-private room, where I shared with another girl. She'd just come back after developing some problems a week after tonsil surgery.
She proceeded to hog the TV remote control, stuck it on mute, then when Desperate Housewives came on later that evening I had to endure it at top volume (when she was discharged the next morning, the very first thing I did was grab the remote control from the side of her bed!)
I was still too tired & spaced to bother with resurrecting any sense of fairness over the TV availability, so I just plugged the iPod into my ears, and watched the moving pictures until Mum and Hubby turned up during visiting hours.

I still wasn't eating very much. I'd forced down a yogurt for breakfast, under great duress from stern-looking nurses. I accepted some soup for lunch, but couldn't get past one mouthful.
Don't get me wrong, I know hospital food doesn't generally have a great reputation world-wide, but I was pleasantly surprised by the variety, tastiness and quality of the hospital food I was given. When my appetite did return I really enjoyed each and every meal. But for now, I just wasn't hungry.

At some point during the morning they emptied the vacuum pump on my surgical chest drain. Overnight it had sucked lots of blood & goo out of me, and I was now becoming more aware of this hose sticking out of the front of my chest. They kept calling it a tube, but it certainly felt like a ruddy great hose! And it was really starting to be a very sore pain-in-the-arse. I had a little clip on the container, so when I went off for walkies ( the nurses were adamant that I should be marching laps of the hospital on a very regular basis - what happened to rest & recuperation?) I could clip the vacuum container-thingy onto my clothing...and thus I could march about, with my lovely container of blood and goo on full public show, hanging off the lapel of my dressing gown...nice!

My surgeon came around at some point in the morning, to tell me how pleased he was about how it had all gone. He apologised for the size of the scar, but said it was as small as he could manage, given the size of the goitre.

Roughly every 6 hours, day & night, a vampire came visiting (different one each time) stealing lots of blood from my poor right arm, and disappearing off with a swish of their cape.
On the strength of these visits I was kept informed of the fact that despite being a Grave's Hyper patient my calcium levels hadn't dipped at all, but that they would continue to monitor them, We all concurred that this can only be due to the sterling work I had been doing with my Endo's Senior Registrar over the last few months, chipping away at my carbimazole dose, ever so slowly, so that for the first time in over 2½ years my blood levels not only come down into range, but had also stayed in range for over 6 weeks. My surgeon had explained to me that the more Hyper I was at the time of the operation, the more my calcium would crash as my body went into instant withdrawal. So thanks to Dr. R and his endless patience and gentle ways, we were pretty much as good as it gets on the day of the operation. But also many thanks to my surgeon, for having a steady hand and not harassing my parathyroid glands whilst he was in there digging about with his scalpel, as that was another common cause of a calcium crash.

Late in the afternoon new girl moved into the bed next door. She was brought in with stomach pains, and put on our ward for observation as there were no beds available on the general wards. We got on great, and came to a mutually beneficial agreement over the TV Remote. She made me laugh so many times, and listened carefully when my mother joined the nurses in nagging me to go walking. She made it her mission to take me off for random walks around the place, as and when she'd decided I'd been laying around too long. If you ever read this, and recognise yourself as that girl, well, thanks J, you were a star!

Meanwhile mum and hubby, when they weren't being doting relatives beside my bed, and listening to my alternating mumbling, croaking & whingeing, were amusing themselves between the 2 shifts of visiting hours, by shopping lots in the local shopping centre and sampling all the muffins in the coffee shops they found!

A friend of mine worked on a neighbouring ward, so she kept me sane too, by popping in whenever she got a chance to make sure I was OK and had everything I needed. She helped break up the long, slow mornings between drug rounds, vampire visits and blood pressure checks. Thanks N, you rock too!

And just for the gore-fans amongst you, here are some pics of my neck and chest drain, taken less than 24 hours after the operation...absolutely no idea what I had to smile about....I was sore, woozy, uncomfortable & grumpy - it must have been a morphine-induced smile, is all I can say! :)

Sleep, At Last

[posted retrospectively]

I don't remember being taken up to the ward from the Recovery Room...no that's a lie, I *vaguely* remember being wheeled somewhere, and muttering about travel sickness.

Then I remember my mother and the Ward Sister working as a team to get me off the trolley and on to the hospital bed. More bright lights, more 'wake up and talk to us' torture.

Lots of unplugging and plugging in of various things attached to my body.

I tried to keep my eyes shut as much as I was allowed, those lights really were bright, and seemed to be directly in my line of sight!

The automatic blood pressure machine was permanently attached to my right arm and seemed to blow itself up every 5 minutes. I had a mask, feeding me lovely oxygen, strapped on my face and just lay there, allowing all these busy folks do all their busy things to me.
I don't know how long hubby and mum stayed with me, but I know they were there for a good while. I can't imagine I was very good company though.
And I do recall Jon going off downstairs to the smoking area for a cigarette, and contacting Mum because the Security Nazis wouldn't let him back up to the ward.
And even when the Ward Sister contacted them directly to allow him up they still refused, and made him sit in the Main Reception Area and wait until *official visiting hours*.
What a pair of utter, utter bastards...and I make absolutely NO apologies for my language.
His wife is up there, having just come up from the Recovery Room after a major op, where she was held longer than normal due to a complication (which hasn't been fully explained to me yet). He's worried sick, and even the dictat of the Ward Sister herself isn't enough for this pair of gob-shite jobsworths to let my husband *back* up to the ward, where he's been ALL DAY LONG! Rant over - but I remember at the time I was distressed because he wasn't there, and the more I think about it, now that I know the facts, the more angry it makes me! Totally unnecessary!

I woke up in the middle of the night, needing a pee, and not knowing how to go about it. I wasn't confident about getting out of bed, added to that all the wires, and tubes had me fixed to the bed in some weird cat's cradle set-up. I couldn't find a call-bell, and so I waited patiently until I spied some nurses, and proceeded to croak at them as best I could...more than a little confused that 'croaking' was the best I could muster. I did succeed in getting their attention and they found my call-bell (it had fallen off the side of the bed) and we formulated a plan to get me up and over to the bathroom. Once I was free(-er) from my tubes & wires, I sat up and swung my legs out....which caught them both by surprise, then I stood up and they both looked a little shocked. Then I sat back down again, fast, before I fell down.....major head swim! We went back to the well formulated plan, and I was soon shuffling towards the bathroom door for a well- earned pee.
Then I shuffled back again, but had a mini panic attack just as I got back to the bed, as I had literally run out of breath, and couldn't breathe....now that was scary. I remember looking at them wide-eyed, and they placed me back in bed, and soon had that lovely oxygen mask on my face again....aaaaah!
Once my breathing had settled and my oxygen levels had improved, they dragged me out of bed again. I was still in my theatre scrubs, and we all agreed that if I could possibly manage to get into my pyjamas than I would a hundred times more comfortable. We picked out what I would wear, and then I stood there feeling utterly helpless, whilst they removed the sexy back-less gown, the sex-kitten disposable knickers and replaced them with much less exotic cotton knickers and comfy pyjamas...I was allowed (told) to keep the sexy surgical stockings on.
Then back to bed, where I was not only *allowed* to go to sleep, it was positively encouraged this time!
At some point, later that night, a vampire came in and drained my right arm of blood..at least I think that's what happened. The vampire was good enough to put a plaster on it afterwards though.

Just Let Me Sleep

[Again, posted retrospectively, as I was in absolutely no fit condition to post on the day]

OMFG! That has to be one of the worst 24-hours in my life.

This update has the potential to be very long, so grab a cuppa and make yourself comfortable...

...are we sitting comfortably, then we'll begin.

Yesterday was the day of my Total Thyroidectomy. We arrived at the hospital at a sprightly 8am, and reported to the Admissions Office. I'd been fasting from 10pm the night before, and hubby and mum had been great in the morning, skipping breakfast out of sympathy and trying to drink their tea/coffee as discreetly as they could (bless!). As we drove past the petrol station with the *best* coffee machine in the whole wide world, hubby very cleverly distracted me with some inane conversation, and continued on the journey to hospital.

The ladies in Admissions gave me my file and sent me up to my ward, where I was greeted by the sister...and instructed to loiter near the nurses station and await further instructions.
First was a quick interview with my surgeon's registrar, he drew blood for testing, and filled out some forms.
Then sister came and asked me the same questions, and quite possibly filled out identical forms.
There was no bed presently available...and so we were given the ward sister's office as our temporary HQ...that's when it all started feeling a little surreal. However I was assured my op would be done shortly, and there would be a bed available when I came back up from the Recovery Room.
The next interview was with my anaesthetist...and I have to say she was absolutely lovely! She answered all my stupid questions with confidence and more than a little humour and humility. For me the biggest fear has NEVER been the operation itself, I have been looking forward to getting that gland removed...my biggest fear has ALWAYS been the general anaesthetic....I guess I've watched too many hospital dramas and hospital horror films....and when I asked her if I would wake up, she beamed and said " yes of course, I guarantee it 100%". She must have been a little confused by my look of complete horror, and then understanding dawned on her, when in my small (now shaky) voice I continued "...during the operation"....she laughed, held my hand, and again said "I absolutely 100% guarantee that you will not wake until I allow it"
I was brutally honest about my smoking, and the fact that I had tried and totally failed to give up prior to the operation...but she said that whilst it did make things a little more difficult for her, it certainly didn't make it impossible and wasn't really that much of an issue. She constantly reassured me that she didn't foresee any complications at all. She filled a few more forms out, and then told me she'd see me in the theatre.
Sister bustled back in to the office and informed me that I'd go down to the theatre within the next hour and a half, but first I had to go and get an ECG....this would help the anaesthetics team get a good picture of my heart, immediately prior to the op. So off we trotted, and got hopelessly lost...I'd always gone up to the ECG rooms from the Outpatient's Dept in the past, and approaching it from a different direction threw me completely and I lost my bearings.
ECG done, and all looking good (or so I was told anyway) we trotted back up to the ward.
I was dying for a pee at this point, and hunted around the ward for a loo....aaaaaah!
Then literally, 2 mins after I'd visited the loo, Sister came in and asked me for a sample....but I've only just been!?
Sister said I'd be going down to theatre in an hour, but I had one more little mission to attend to...I had to go to the X-Ray Dept this time, and get a Chest X-Ray (an extra job because I was a smoker I guess). Sister suggested we go for a walk, and see if I could work up a pee sample that way. The chest x-ray was totally clear, which is always nice to hear when you're a smoker. And so we went for a bimble around the hospital. Mum and hubby by this time were flaking from not eating breakfast, so I conceded to let them go to the coffee shop, where they could scoff muffins and cappuccinos...whilst I nipped out to the smoking area (bad girl!). We were sitting around whilst they finished their coffee & cake, and thinking just *how* surreal this all was. Here I was, sitting in the coffee shop, fully dressed...and meant to be being wheeled in for a major operation in less than an hour...?
One more smoke, and then we headed back up to the ward. Sister asked if I'd managed to pee yet...but no such luck. She said I had half an hour to produce, or they'd bump me down the theatre list...talk about putting someone under pressure, and considering I'd been fasting completely (no food or drink) for the last 12+ hours, where was this pee meant to manifest from?
She told me that the pee sample was compulsory to test for pregnancy, and that without it they wouldn't go ahead.
I have an abiding memory of sitting in one of the loos, tears of frustration pouring down my face, pleading with my kidneys to do something, anything, anything at all...because otherwise all this would be for nothing, and if my bladder held out much longer I'd be sent home and bumped to the next day. I should add that Sister did apologise unreservedly for not giving me the sample pot as soon as I appeared on the ward that morning, as is her normal pre-op routine, but we caught her on the hop and she totally forgot...but that didn't change facts...if I didn't pee, I didn't get my trip to theatre.
Then joy of joys....the tiniest of dribbles....but Sister had assured me that even the smallest sample would be sufficient, I just had to hope this tiny dribble wasn't too small, as the thought of going through all the trauma of trying to pee again was too much!
Phew - she rewarded my efforts by giving me a sexy, back-less theatre gown to wear, along with some sex-kitten disposable knickers and a pair surgical stockings to die for (I've brought the stockings home with me - my hubby is a very lucky man!)
And then, dressed for a killer night on the town, we sat in a holding room...where Sister, tongue-in-cheek, asked my Mum if she had provided the sample for me, out of desperation. We all laughed and that helped break the tension that was now building inside me.
Sister explained that I had been moved down the list, but only by one place, and only because of the delay in providing my pee...but that the lady who had moved up in front of me was only having a small procedure done, and would be very quick. And so we waited.

But all too quickly it was time to go. I had hoped for a trolley or something, but no, Sister insisted I could walk just fine...and so, in my best theatre outfit, with my arse hanging out the back, we all trooped down to the theatres...hubby walking shotgun, and mum walking as close behind me as she could, without looking like a complete weirdo ha ha!

The would only let one relative into the Pre-Op Staging Area, and so mum came in with me...and finally I was given a bed/trolley to sit on, with a big fluffy duvet. A troop of various medical staff came along, with various (curiously identical) forms to be completed. A nice young man came u and introduced himself as my anaesthetist, and I think I confused the hell out of him when I told him that he wasn't the lady I met earlier...then he laughed and said she was his partner, and they worked in pairs.
My surgeon also paid us a quick visit. I almost didn't recognise him in his scrubs, I had only ever seen him previously in his suit etc. He talked through the procedure again, and reminded me of the potential problems, and also of the low statistical probabilities etc, etc, and then said if I was good-to-go he'd see me in there shortly.

We were given magazines to read, a stack of OK, and Hello, and I was dismayed to see the young lad in the bed next to me was given a copy of the latest Irish Vintage Scene...which he clearly didn't want to read. So when the nurse had disappeared I suggested a swap. Strangely he didn't want to read OK or Hello, but he did pass IVS over to me, so I could lose myself in lovely Vintage Cars whilst I waited for my call to theatre.

And soon enough, I was collected up and wheeled off down the corridor into the theatre itself. I had to shuffle myself over from the trolley and onto the operating table myself, which was more than a little surreal and most undignified, trying to hide my butt from all and sundry as I wriggled across...and when everyone trooped into introduce themselves I did ask them if they had forgotten something. They looked at me blankly, and so I asked them whether I was...erm...meant to be asleep right now...just in case they needed the fact that I was still wide awake and fully conscious made aware to them. Then my lovely lady anaesthetist walked in and said, "no, that's what I'm here for".
She gently laid my left arm on a sticky-outy panel (I just *know* that's the technical term for it!) and carefully put the cannula in. Various members of staff talked some inane chatter to me, and the last thing I remember is one of the theatre nurses holding my right hand and asking me how I coped walking 6 dogs....I remember feeling a bit frustrated because the words I wanted to use to answer her wouldn't come out...and then nothing...

...until those evil, nasty people in the Recovery Room started up with their Prisoner Of War Torture Techniques....you know the bright lights, the sleep deprivation, and shouting, lots of shouting...everything was so bright, and they all seemed so loud....but they got extra excited and extra loud every time I tried to close my eyes against the bright lights. I'm fairly sure I was rude to them, and more than once, as 'sod off' didn't seem to be working, so I had to reach into my head for much stronger ways of expressing myself. And all the inane questions they kept asking, over and over again....do you know who you are, do know what day it is, do you know where you are, do you know why you're here, will you open your eyes, keep them open, no you can't sleep, we won't let you, yada yada yada.....just leave me alone, I'm very tired and I want to sleep!

Simply Beautiful

Posting this retrospectively....but couldn't resist showing you all this:

All dressed up and....

...looking bloody gorgeous, if I do say so myself, in my finest gown, ready for a trip to the theatre...


Just hope they'll let me out in to the bar area for a cheeky glass of Pinot G during the Intermission...or is it not that kind of theatre?