This past October I had my first surgery. Not long before the procedure I had been thinking how lucky I was that I had reached middle age without any serious health concerns. Although my parents are very healthy, active seniors, they both had health scares in their 40's and I had surpassed them both. I think it is not unusual for your body to show signs of wear and tear in middle life and I was feeling fortunate. Then came the dreaded colonoscopy that revealed a very large polyp that couldn't be simply removed.
I remember waking from the procedure and in that fuzzy state hearing the doctor tell my husband surgery was required. At the time it didn't really register. I just wanted something to drink and to go back to sleep. When the reality hit I wasn't overly concerned. I had been told the polyp appeared to be benign and I held on to that.
Because this thing growing in me was slow growing, surgery didn't have to occur immediately. At the meeting with our surgeon I asked if it could be put off several months so as not to interfere with a month long work related trip to Kyrgyzstan. The surgeon felt that would be fine. I left that day and gave it very little thought. I am possessed with the ability to compartmentalize. In other words I can easily bury seriously worrisome things and live my life. On the other hand, I will admit to sweating the small stuff- those insignificant things that make you crazy on a daily basis. Like work, or house upkeep, finances or family obligations.
Now I need to share a little story about irony because if ever there was an ironic situation, this was it. And when I say that, for the most part, I can suppress worry about really scary stuff, I am telling the truth. Did I worry about the possibility of cancer, or the anesthesia not working, or serious complications? Well, maybe, a little bit, maybe subconsciously but not in any truly nerve wracking way. What did I worry about? ......the farting. Okay, I'm being serious here. You see my dad had the same surgery in his 60's and I clearly remember the post surgery uncontrollable tooting. It went on for some time. I remember the giggling behind his back and all the fart jokes. I was mortified.
Me? I don't really find farting all that funny. I don't even like the word fart. Yet I live with a man who finds it VERY funny and farts often, often unnecessarily. I don't know how many times I've said "Seriously, you're how old?" And my kids find it funny. My girls, in their 20's now, can be very earthy, particularly my oldest. She hoots over a good fart and isn't at all embarrassed to let one rip, even in front of her boyfriend.
My Book Club friends, particularly Mary, had a good laugh at my concerns. Mary has this amazing laugh, a loud guffaw that makes everyone smile. She was in agreement with the rest of my family- farts are funny. So, okay, okay I get that I'm a bit prudish when it comes to this topic. But seriously, I'm even a little embarrassed to be writing about farts. I DO NOT want to be that person who can't control her bodily functions and toots every time she gets up from her desk at work (in front of all her young co-workers) or every time she bends over. AND...I didn't want to wake from surgery to uncontrollable farting and my family laughing their asses off.
Okay, now here is where the irony comes in. My surgery went fine, the polyp was in fact benign and I was not in significant pain BUT, you guessed it- I couldn't pass gas- my ticket out of this place of torture and pain. Little did I know that all my years of repressing farts and sending dirty looks to my husband would come back to haunt me.
The expectation was I would be in the hospital for 3-5 days. I had my heart set on three. Unfortunately my body didn't allow that, bloating up like a beached whale. I looked about 7 months pregnant. On day three, post surgery, my gastrointestinal system still wasn't cooperating. The nurse would ask "Have you passed gas?" To which I would answer "Well, maybe a little." That wasn't true. I lied. Never had I wanted to feel the urge more and still no farting occurred.
At this point it was determined this build up of gunk bloating my belly needed to come out. Thus, the gastrointestinal tube was put in... while I was awake. Any of you who have woken from surgery with this tube already inserted knows that it is uncomfortable and causes a very painful sore throat. What you don't know, because you were under anesthesia is that it hurts like hell when inserted. A tube gets shoved up your nose, passed your sinuses and runs down your throat into your belly. It took the nurse three attempts, with me trying to shove her away and pleading with her to stop. I believe I let the f bomb fly more than once. Once inserted, the relief that it's over quickly disappears as you realize your throat is on fire.
The days passed and disgusting green stuff pumped from my stomach out this tube into a canister and still my body wouldn't cooperate. In the meantime, every day brought more injustices to my body- daily shots that burned, blood drawn in the middle of the night, medicines pumped in my IV that shot pain up my arm. I WANTED OUT. Please, please cooperate body. I was only supposed to be in here three days!!!
In the midst of all this, I wasn't allowed to eat. In preparation for the surgery, I couldn't eat the day before and post surgery I lived on ice chips. On day 9 my surgeon became concerned about my nutrition. She was considering inserting a feeding tube. It sounded abhorrent to me, it sounded painful and I was sick of painful procedures. I didn't care about my nutrition, I wasn't hungry anyway. I didn't care about my health. I just wanted to know if it would hurt. Her answer, "It's a little uncomfortable." Okay.... Now Hear This...when a doctor says it's uncomfortable it means it's going to hurt like hell. I was now an expert at doctor speak.
So, I begged for one more day and I prayed. I prayed my body would heal. I prayed the bloating would subside and yes, I prayed to fart. And around 11:00 that night something woke me up. I remember looking at the clock and hearing the whirring sound of machines around me. It was quiet and dark and as I came fully awake I knew something significant was happening. I felt a peace wash over me and just knew everything was okay. I felt the rise of my stomach and could feel that it had softened and was not as distended. I slipped back into sleep knowing my body had finally healed itself.
The next morning my nurse confirmed what I learned in the night. Later still, talking to my parents, I learned my dad slipped out of bed around that time and was praying for me. I was touched and thankful for his prayers and the confirmation that prayer works and small miracles do in fact happen.
In 24 hours I was eating again and released from the hospital. I am happy to say I did not become the butt of family jokes and have been able to control my bodily functions.
I learned a few good lessons as a result of my surgery. Nurses, like all of humans, can be kind or rather cruel. Pain is a given when you endure surgery. Hospitals can be scary in the middle of the night. Morphine makes you testy. The love and care of family and friends is crucial. It takes prayer to heal and... Farting can be a good thing.
(No Craig, this does not mean I think it's cute when you fart.)
VSL
Friday, July 17, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
For Better or Worse
Recently my mom shared a phone conversation she had with my Aunt Judy. Judy and her husband, Jack, live in West Virginia, and have throughout most of my life. Because it is a long distance we only saw each other on rare, special occasions. Throughout my childhood, those occasions typically took place in California where my grandparents lived and later in Arkansas where they retired. In my adult life I saw them when they came to see my parents, who live nearby. I always look forward to their visits. They are very dear to me.
Uncle Jack was head of the sociology department at the small private college where he taught. He was always full of energy; an avid jogger, hiker and swimmer. He and my Aunt Judy traveled often and enjoyed outdoor adventures. Well, let's just say he did and Aunt Judy, as the dutiful wife, went along. So it was surprising that shortly after retirement and only in his mid 60's, Uncle Jack's health began to fail. His legs kept giving out and his hearing began to go. At first it was a minor impairment but as time when on, and doctors were baffled, it became a burdensome thing. Burdensome for Jack, but also, very much so for my Aunt Judy.
Long distance trips to doctors, being home bound and Uncle Jack's constant demands are now what my Aunt Judy's life is made up of. In the phone conversation my mom had with Aunt Judy, she asked how things were. Aunt Judy replied "My life sucks." As my mom relayed this to me I got thinking how marriage and the roles and relationships in those marriages change over time.
Judy and Jack are not the only seniors I am close to who have had to take on the role of caregiver and disabled. I know of many couples whose end of life stage becomes pure drudgery- chronic illness for one and over the top care giving for the other. I saw my paternal grandmother sit by my grandfather's side every day in the nursing home. She did this for years. His death was a relief and a release for her. It was like she was a changed person and all the garbage from their marriage tumbled out. No longer saddled with her ailing husband, she traveled, joined clubs, enjoyed fashion and spent time with family. She shared stories, thoughts and feelings like never before. Freedom was a such a release for her. It was like she was allowed to live for the first time in her life.
My parent's neighbor cared for her Alzheimer stricken husband for a couple of years until she could no longer handle the responsibility. Once he was put in a nursing home, she left for weeks at a time visiting family and friends. Her weekdays are filled with lunches out, afternoon matinees and shopping. My mom rarely sees her anymore. Freedom never felt so good!!
Even closer are my in-laws. They live nearby and have had a wonderful marriage, filled with respect and affection. It's my mother-in-law who fell ill. She was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's a couple years ago. We all saw the signs for several years prior to the official diagnosis. My father-in-law, Harold, is her sole caregiver. One son lives in the same town and helps out as needed. The other two sons, visit often and are willing to be there on a moment's notice. But the day-to-day grind falls to Harold. It's hard to watch the healthy dynamics of a marriage disintegrate, when in the end, this person you are caring for is not the person you married. Harold loves Marge and he will be there until the end but it isn't easy and I imagine each and every day feels like a chore.
As my daughter and I plan her wedding and I feel the excitement and anticipation just oozing from her, I contemplate how life changes and relationships change. You start out young and starry-eyed and, sadly, often end up bitter and disillusioned. The only options to this end of life scenario are that one spouse dies suddenly or both go at the same time- a rarity. The fact is, if you live a long full life; more than likely one of you will end up taking care of the other as their health declines. And, often, in the end, that person feels unimaginable frustration, oftentimes anger and resentment at being absolutely stuck in this position, through no choice of their own.
It's rather a depressing scenario and there is no real solution. No matter how you've cared for your body, no matter what your genetic history, no matter that you've never been sick a day in your life; in the end, most of us end up needing care. As my lovely neighbor Helen use to say, "Growing old ain't fun, girl."
I know it isn't and I hurt for my senior family members living through these tough times. I know the love is still there, it's just buried under the tasks of getting through each day. In the end, when the ill spouse is no longer with us; the memories of that person in their younger days will win out and those end memories will be forgotten. But, for those doing the care giving, it can be a long haul until then.
Uncle Jack was head of the sociology department at the small private college where he taught. He was always full of energy; an avid jogger, hiker and swimmer. He and my Aunt Judy traveled often and enjoyed outdoor adventures. Well, let's just say he did and Aunt Judy, as the dutiful wife, went along. So it was surprising that shortly after retirement and only in his mid 60's, Uncle Jack's health began to fail. His legs kept giving out and his hearing began to go. At first it was a minor impairment but as time when on, and doctors were baffled, it became a burdensome thing. Burdensome for Jack, but also, very much so for my Aunt Judy.
Long distance trips to doctors, being home bound and Uncle Jack's constant demands are now what my Aunt Judy's life is made up of. In the phone conversation my mom had with Aunt Judy, she asked how things were. Aunt Judy replied "My life sucks." As my mom relayed this to me I got thinking how marriage and the roles and relationships in those marriages change over time.
Judy and Jack are not the only seniors I am close to who have had to take on the role of caregiver and disabled. I know of many couples whose end of life stage becomes pure drudgery- chronic illness for one and over the top care giving for the other. I saw my paternal grandmother sit by my grandfather's side every day in the nursing home. She did this for years. His death was a relief and a release for her. It was like she was a changed person and all the garbage from their marriage tumbled out. No longer saddled with her ailing husband, she traveled, joined clubs, enjoyed fashion and spent time with family. She shared stories, thoughts and feelings like never before. Freedom was a such a release for her. It was like she was allowed to live for the first time in her life.
My parent's neighbor cared for her Alzheimer stricken husband for a couple of years until she could no longer handle the responsibility. Once he was put in a nursing home, she left for weeks at a time visiting family and friends. Her weekdays are filled with lunches out, afternoon matinees and shopping. My mom rarely sees her anymore. Freedom never felt so good!!
Even closer are my in-laws. They live nearby and have had a wonderful marriage, filled with respect and affection. It's my mother-in-law who fell ill. She was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's a couple years ago. We all saw the signs for several years prior to the official diagnosis. My father-in-law, Harold, is her sole caregiver. One son lives in the same town and helps out as needed. The other two sons, visit often and are willing to be there on a moment's notice. But the day-to-day grind falls to Harold. It's hard to watch the healthy dynamics of a marriage disintegrate, when in the end, this person you are caring for is not the person you married. Harold loves Marge and he will be there until the end but it isn't easy and I imagine each and every day feels like a chore.
As my daughter and I plan her wedding and I feel the excitement and anticipation just oozing from her, I contemplate how life changes and relationships change. You start out young and starry-eyed and, sadly, often end up bitter and disillusioned. The only options to this end of life scenario are that one spouse dies suddenly or both go at the same time- a rarity. The fact is, if you live a long full life; more than likely one of you will end up taking care of the other as their health declines. And, often, in the end, that person feels unimaginable frustration, oftentimes anger and resentment at being absolutely stuck in this position, through no choice of their own.
It's rather a depressing scenario and there is no real solution. No matter how you've cared for your body, no matter what your genetic history, no matter that you've never been sick a day in your life; in the end, most of us end up needing care. As my lovely neighbor Helen use to say, "Growing old ain't fun, girl."
I know it isn't and I hurt for my senior family members living through these tough times. I know the love is still there, it's just buried under the tasks of getting through each day. In the end, when the ill spouse is no longer with us; the memories of that person in their younger days will win out and those end memories will be forgotten. But, for those doing the care giving, it can be a long haul until then.
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