It's Tuesday, Sept 28, a lifetime since my surgery on the 22nd. I'm walking now. Indeed my primary recreation is now walking. My squeaky-wheeled IV pole and I are a familiar sight wandering around the hospital. Wearing two Johnny shirts, clad in socks and booties, attached to an IV, wandering down to the quieter floors to get some exercise. Speed walking, as best as I can. I race down the deserted Administration hallways, my IV pole rattling and squeaking. Presently there's a group of administrative types, four women outside of doorway. I am asked what room I am from. I am asked if I am looking for something? Was I lost? Hugely amused I indicate that this is therapy for my surgery. They are surprised to find out my Liver surgery was so recent and I seemed to be quite active. One lady, a nurse, noted I was actually flushed, meaning my heart and lungs were getting a proper cardio workout. I can move when I walk, even wearing only hospital booties on my feet, there are few who can keep up with me. I am cheered by their encouragement.
My walk is boring but necessary. I walk, get tired, go to my room, nap. Get up, walk some more, drink lots of water. My sinuses are getting stuffed up, I've been in this hospital too long. Getting restless, I start to watch movies on my netbook. I fall asleep quicker and earlier. Exercise, even this small amount, saps my strength. But I eat, and the food stays down. My IV comes off, it's been on my dominant hand the past three days, it's a relief to be free. Now the only thing I have tethering me are my two JP drainage tubes. One will come out before I leave these facilities, the other will be removed by the outpatient care nurse. My adventures within the hospital continue though.
More walking, this time sans IV pole. I am free to move my arms, to generate the cadence that is my norm. I am speed walking down the administration corridor again when I see a security guard watching me. I pass by the elevator, turn and retrace my steps. I do this several more times. Now there are two security guards, pacing me. One asks if I am doing some sort of test. Without stopping or breaking stride I indicate that I'm simply walking for the exercise. The guards are relieved that I am not some lunatic randomly meandering through the hallways. There is no randomness in my walk, as for the former well that's open for debate.
Humour in a hospital; two days in a row I'm stopped by various folks concerned with my strange behavior. I am actually happy now, for I have seen my surgeon and he has asked if I want to go home! Yes! I am scheduled for discharge that Wednesday. First there remains a small matter of removing some staples and one of the JP drainage tubes. My adventures continue, this time with the help of the student nurses.
Throughout this latest hospital stay I was visited by many student nurses (male and female) and all were caring and considerate. And so very very young. I repeated my history many times, I had my vitals taken routinely, with the occasionally balky BP cuff just popping off and seeing the chagrin of the student who had to figure out how to handle these minor annoyances. The last day proved to be the most adventurous, as actual procedures were to be performed on the unsuspecting patient!
My surgical incision runs completely along my rib cage, and had about 14,000 staples in it. The first job is to remove every other staple. Fairly simple, the staples are snipped then pulled out with a smooth motion. That's the theory, and it worked great when the teaching nurse did it. The students who followed did ok, no problems. The interesting part was the replacement of the covering. I think that she used about 18 miles of packing tape. The second procedure was the removal of one of my JP drainage tubes.
A fourth year student nurse was shown how to remove the sutures around the drainage tube. We had our sterile field, we had the tiny scissors and the removal technique. What my novice nurse did not quite realize that when pulling out the tube you do so in one fluid, continuous motion. I ended up doing a lot of deep breathing during this process. One of the oddest sensations is the removal of the tube. It's not exactly painful, but not pleasant either. It's about 11 miles long and looks like a tapeworm. Perhaps I exaggerate somewhat. But it's a relief when it's out. After they pack me up in more tape I am ready to get dressed. Wearing real clothing, I notice that my clothes are tight. Turns out I am so full of liquid that I walk out of the hospital at 180lbs, the most I have weighed these past six months. But that weight doesn't last long, and every two hours when I return home I return some of my gains.
Home, familiar and comfortable. Well eventually it would be. I still have a drainage tube in me. This is my Nursing 101 lesson, as I would have to measure the output volume and drain the tube myself. Two days of this and I notice blood. I panic, call the clinic, and a nurse calmly reassures me that a a trace is ok. My volume does not increase appreciably, meaning the tube can now be removed. With the removal of the tube I figure I will be able to sleep now. Not so fast, there's still a fair amount of fluids in me. Sleep walking to the bathroom every 2 hours, oh joy. But it's my bathroom at least. In a few days my weight drops noticeably. Clothes fit better but the packing on my tummy seems to keep my breath short. It is a relief when the staples are removed. Still more packing. Still short of breath. I walk, as much as to get exercise as to breathe. Now that I am home I find that the relief I sought simply crashes down on me. All my emotional barriers have eroded, and I can go from calm to teary-eyed in a moments notice. I am grateful to be alive. I am thankful for all the care I have received, but in the back of my mind is the question: "Will this be enough?".
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