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The ramblings and observations of a kidney transplant recipient, although not necessarily for that reason.

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A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (recommended by Killer)
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Monday, May 22, 2006
G2S Still Rocks....and so does Sue: Amendment to this post. I'm sure that somewhere out there is a nurse named Mary that works in a Post-Op Care Unit somewhere, but not at Stanford Hospital. In my drug induced, surgery prompted haze, I seemed to have mis-remembered my nurses first name. I SWEAR IT WAS MARY! It wasn't, it was Sue. Thanks Sue!

Back in GS2, Oseas grew tired of feeding me ice chips and went home. Denise was my next nurse. She was really nice as well (the entire staff at Stanford Hospital was seemingly more super than most hospitals, all my friends agreed). She often spoke to me about myself in the 3rd person rather than the second and used "it" as the pronoun to describe me. "If it doesn't take its pills, it won't get any lunch", mostly making to reference to all the tubes and wires coming out of me, like I were Frankenstein's monster. She explained to it that in order to graduate to water from ice chips, she needed to make sure its digestive tract is back in action. Meaning, if it heard rumbling in its might be able to have water. Even better, if it passed definately got water.

Now, I have set myself some lofty goals in my life: losing vast amounts of weight, amassing very large sums of money, teaching my dog to fetch me very cute girls in the park (none of which have ever been achieved successfully). I now have a new task at hand, one I'm sure I can do. I mean, I 've done it before many times. Hardly worth calling a "milestone" in my recovery. I prefer to think it as an inch-pebble. My goal all morning fart. Yup....I said...I did it...I had to actually tell someone about it....but.....job done, water drank.

It seems that is pretty much what recovery from major abdominal surgery is all about. Little tiny farting. Other inch-pebbles, there were many and there were rewards for each. If I could have a bowel movement, I got to eat solid food. Should I get up, walk all around the unit....I get the catheter out. When I can manage to stop using the self-induced pain control, I get to take the little things taped to my finger off. All of these rewards usually include disconnecting a tube or wire from me, making me feel less constriced. Basically when you get down to zero tubes and wires, you get to go home. Now it was just a matter of figuring out which reward I wanted most and making them happen.

The thing that mattered most to me was the catheter. I asked every nurse and every doctor that came into my room when I get the catheter out. Denise was the first to tell me, "Ya shouldn't hurt. If it does something's wrong." hurt and apparently something was wrong. Denise managed to make a very minor adjustment and make the pain go away completely. This made the catheter tolerable, but.....still less than enjoyable. It still thanked her hugely.

I spent the week trying to achieve these little, tiny feats, each one of them a HUGE struggle. But I did it. I farted. I pooped. I got up, walked around. I got my tubes and wires removed one by one, and I got myself out of there by Friday. Two days earlier than all best case scenario predictions. The fastest quote I had been given was to get out the Sunday after the surgery (which took place Monday). The doctors were all happy with my recovery, the nurses were all happy with my recovery, and I was anxious to get home. I was happy to go home Friday afternoon. Having to sit in the passenger seat with my father driving us home is a whole other story.....not happy.....not happy at all.
posted by othur-me @ 10:10 PM  
  • At 8:30 PM, Blogger Jane said…

    (holds up glass of champagne and says)....."to farting!"

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