Holly’s Surgery Journey – Day 2

 

Let me preface this by saying no one’s surgery experience will be the same. We have this diseased tissue growing through our bodies in different amounts,  in different areas, and for different lengths of time. For me, radical removal was necessary.

 

Redhead related issues

Let me also preface it by saying my redhead genes have played a factor in my experience,  so take that into account. If you aren’t aware, redheads tend to be more sensitive to pain and less responsive to medication. This has not served me well in life, in general,  and likely accounts for the many dollars spent on nights out in my younger days only to be the sober dullard watching as my gang danced atop bar tables in drunken bliss.

This leads me to the first issue I ran into: the IV. In pre-op, there had been an issue drawing blood from my left arm and after a few painful jabs, the nurse switched to the right for a better result.  I was concerned about placing the IV in the left hand, as I had had an excruciating time during childbirth and had to have it moved. Unfortunately, my concerns were valid, and the anesthesiologist had to stop midway through the process as it was too much for me. He switched to the other and was able to place it. My subsequent tears and silence resonated, I think, and when I arrived on the gurney for surgery Dr. Saavas looked truly concerned and apologized for causing me pain. He said again that he could see my fear and gave me a pill. I took it and only remember waking in my room after that.

 

On the other side of surgery

My best friend was there waiting, asking how I felt. I felt even thicker than I had before the surgery. Some ladies said they could see the difference immediately,  but mine was in the back so there was nothing to see and everything to feel. And I was feeling it. When I touched my back it felt numb, yet still painful, which is an odd sensation. I was on an IV, but the nurses interspersed that with a needle in my backside, having me roll each time to administer. But the combination of tramadol and paracetamol was steady and overall the pain was bearable.  On occasion, I am assuming when they began to wear off, I would get these horrible little shocks. Luckily, this didn’t happen for long. 

I was tempted to stay a second night in the hospital, but I had hired a nurse to help me at the Airbnb, and the cost for the cheapest room, which would have been one with two other people, was still 250 euros. A private one like I was in ran 450. I am an extremely light sleeper and felt that I had a better chance of rest in my room at the apartment,  so I decided on that route. I did pay extra for an ambulance to bring me there rather than a wheelchair taxi since others had shared poor experiences about that ride, and I could stay flat. The trip was not overly pleasant due to the bumpy roads, but I was also not in agony, and the paramedics were kind. My friend, Traci, was able to ride in the front and they managed to get me on a wheelchair and into my bed with relative ease. 

 

Private nursing care

My nurse, Cristina, arrived shortly thereafter. She is young, knowledgeable, kind, and smart and immediately tried to put me at ease. The hardest part in that moment was probably looking at her goddess-like beauty while I lay there in all of my post-surgical glory (yes, she is that pretty). She took charge immediately,  setting out my medication,  going to get me something to eat, helping me to the bathroom,  grabbing anything I needed at the slightest indication. She woke throughout the night as the wonderful drugs from the hospital left my body and the painful reality set in. 

I took the new drugs as they were allotted,  however I had a feeling that I was headed for trouble. The complete and utter exhaustion, though, was enough to keep me sleeping between the medication administrations, and I didn’t complain much. I woke many times through the night and morning, yet did my best to sleep. However, each time I woke, I felt as if the meds were doing nothing, thanks to those pesky genes. 

 

Post-op MLD

I had arranged for a session of manual lymphatic drainage to begin that morning, and Ifigeneia arrived around 10:30 to do it. The nurse offered to pick up breakfast while it was happening. It was clear that Ifi, as many call her, is very experienced and she got straight to business.  Another trip to the bathroom where she asked me to stop walking like a robot and we proceeded with the session.  I wish I could say her gentle hands were like heaven on my battered body, but anyone will tell you the first session of MLD after surgery is painful.  How can it not be? Her gentle touch felt like vices squeezing the hot slooshy fluid from all the holes. But when all was said and done, I did feel a tad better for it. She made Cristina promise to walk me and do a few movements, and said she would be back tomorrow for another session.  

I managed to eat the breakfast of eggs and avocado on toast, and rested a little more. But the afternoon agony let me know the meds weren’t doing much for me and by early evening the thought of standing to go to the bathroom reduced me to a puddle of tears. Luckily,  I wasn’t so far gone to be sitting in the other kind of puddle. 

Cristina contacted the doctor, as did I, to ask for stronger meds. He obliged, and since I am situated just five minutes from the clinic,  she was able to procure them rather quickly. I used all of my willpower to hold back the dam as I waited for the new meds to kick in. This time I made the walk, but more out of necessity than anything else. The meds again seemed to be no match for my genes, and I have asked once more for a change. In fact, the codeine prescribed has kept me wired, and I feel my blood pulse loudly in my neck. 

So here I lay, awake at 3am, waiting for the new medication in the morning to hopefully provide a bit more relief so I can get on with the process of moving, sleeping, and healing. 

 

Will I come back for a second surgery?

You might think that after all of this, I am hesitant to return for a second round of this insanity. Why would someone willingly put themselves through this torture? 

Well, that I can answer easily…what is the alternative? Dr. S removed 11 litres of diseased tissue from my body and he said all of it was hard fibrosis.  He was shocked by the amount that came from my neck and back alone. I know that once I am healed I will have more mobility, not only in my legs, but in my neck that had seemed immovable in the last months. I know that this agony will pass and I will have a chance to spend the next years in movement rather than confined to a chair like my poor,  dear mama. Because for me, I know that is the alternative. 

Until tomorrow friends. XoXo