MIserable

Miserable doesn't really adequately describe the first 24 hours after surgery or so....

I woke up in recovery without anyone really near me. The young male nurse that had put my IV in told me to rest and he turned the lights out and disappeared. I was in a considerable amount of pain and I remember speaking to him in perfect Spanish telling him "Tengo mucho dolor" which means I have much pain! He told me that I had been medicated and would need to rest. I remember thinking - "OK.. this hurts so much. Maybe if I can sleep a little I will feel better when I wake up."

Two hours later I woke to the nurse (same one again) opening the door of the room and telling me that I needed to get up. I remember looking at the clock and thinking, "Geez... two hours isn't really much sleep after abdominal surgery!" Within seconds, I realized again how much pain I was in and I told the nurse again in Spanish that I was in a huge amount of pain and that I needed my "hijo" (or son).

I figured by this time Joshua was probably very worried unless they had kept him apprised of my condition and I needed the comfort of a loved one terribly at that point. He told me that he would work on that, but first I needed to get up and walk to my bed. "WHAT??" I thought.... WALK?  I was so woozy from surgery and an obvious amount of pain meds. All of a sudden the big burly anesthesiologist appeared (at least I *think* it was him. He took my hands and started guiding me up and out of the bed. My legs were so weak under me and I could barely keep my eyes open. He told me constantly to look him in the eye and walk. I really don't know how I stumbled out of that recovery room and walked to my bed, but I did. I was sure that I was going to fall or pass out as I went, but I made it safely with both men leading me. I sat on the bed, and instinctively brought my legs around to lie down. The pain in my belly was sharp and I didn't know if it was the gas I had been warned about by the surgeon (necessary to inflate the abdomen and use the surgical laparoscopic instruments), the incisions or the muscles in my belly that had been cut for surgery, but the pain was searing. I tried to get comfortable but I was so groggy and in so much pain, I just sort of slumped into the bed and tried to pull the sheet over me. The nurse was not helpful in this maneuver and left before I was even comfortable. As the nurse went to leave the room again, I asked him to please bring my son to me.

About 20 minutes later, I found myself in an ever increasing amount of pain. I was literally writhing on the bed and making quiet moaning sounds as they brought my son to me. He looked very concerned and a bit afraid as he came to the side of the bed. He asked me if I was ok to which I can only remember moaning, "sooo much pain"....  Shortly after the male nurse brought the other woman in who had the surgery second and dropped her off in her bed in a similar fashion. She was crying and moaning and looked miserable as well. She started to vomit in her emesis basin and the nurse looked annoyed to be emptying it, but took care of it. I remember feeling very sorry for her, as I thought throwing up after having most of your stomach removed couldn't feel good. Right about that time, I began dry heaving and Joshua quickly grabbed my emesis basin. I didn't sit up completely, just sort of leaned on one side and began to vomit. What came from me was not just mucous like the other patient. I was vomiting bright red thick blood and LOTS of it. Joshua ran for the nurse who told him that it was normal and to be expected but gave me no comfort at all. A female nurse was there now and taking care of probably all of the patients at once that had been done to that point in the day. I vomited a few more times - more bright red blood that was very disturbing to see. My son had to ask three or four times for it to be emptied before she finally came and took care of it. I can only imagine how scary all of that was for my son who had never seen me in so much pain and in what sure looked like dire straights.

One of the final times I vomited that night, I peed a little bit in the bed as I threw up so hard. I had only a hospital gown on and there was nothing to stop it. I told the nurse that I needed to get up and clean up and she literally chastised me for peeing in my bed! :(   It's not like I did it on purpose for heaven sake! She tossed a clean hospital gown at me and told me to go to the bathroom to clean up. In shock of the complete lack of nursing care, I drug my IV bag to the bathroom to sit on the toilet and try to clean up and change on my own. I was very dizzy not to mention in a terrible amount of pain as I sat there, trying to fish my IV line and bag through an arm hole and try to clean myself up without passing out. NEVER in the USA would you have a nurse expect you to clean yourself up like that right after surgery. I was stunned and starting to really worry... When I came out of the bathroom, the orderly had changed my sheets and my bed was ready for me, but Joshua was gone. I found out later that they had made him leave to give the orderly more room to change the sheets but then never told him it was ok to go back in afterwards, so I spent 1.5 hours alone wondering where he was. The pain was building and getting to a point where I couldn't take it anymore. Other patients, operated on after me were trickling into the beds around the room where me and my "sleeve sister" were. There was so much suffering. People were crying, moaning, yelling out and begging for help.

We did have a phone in our room and I used it to call my mother at one point in the night as well as my terribly worried husband. I was not able to really speak well as I was in so much pain, but I was able to at least let them know that I was ok and alive. At least there was one thing that had been promised to me as a patient that was working out right.

I couldn't sleep although I wished for it to for a relief from the pain. I guess I was just hurting too much to sleep. I made a point of getting up once every single hour that whole first night to walk as everything I had read to date said that walking was the best way to get the gas out of the abdominal cavity. My roommate and I were sharing an IV pole, so everytime I got up to walk I had to reach up (OUCH) and take the IV bag down from the pole and then close the drip off before walking to avoid my blood backing up into the bag. It wasn't the easiest thing - waddling down the narrow corridor most of the night. Every time there was a nurse or orderly needing to get up or downstairs, I would have to stop, turn sideways and let them by, and then continue on my walk. It hurt so much that much of it is a blur to me now. I just kept doing it because I believed what I had heard - that it would help. I just wanted some kind of relief from this horrible pain!  The nurses and staff that stayed at the hospital all that night were watching tv, eating incredibly delicious smelling food (which only made me kind of nauseated at the time) and they seemed to have little to no concern for our well being or comfort. When any of us asked for pain relief, we were told that we couldn't have more than one dose every 6 hours. I found out the following day from a wife that was trying to help her husband that had surgery the same day as me that we were being given only 1cc of Morphine every 6 hours. NOT worth giving. :(  It wasn't even enough to make us sleep and relieve even a level of the pain. The crying and moaning from all of the patients continued throughout the night. It was one of the most helpless and hopeless situations I have lived through. I felt trapped, not being properly cared for in a foreign country without even my son with me. I was plenty happy when 7am rolled around. We had been told that we could have nothing by mouth until the next morning at 7am. My mouth was so dry (as it always is after surgery anyway) and I was dying to suck slowly on some ice chips.

The office manager (as I would best describe him) came in about 7:30am and my roommate and I both immediately asked for the ice chips we had been promised. He told me that I would be going back to the hotel and my "sleeve sister" to the recovery house. The hotel?? I had been promised in email that I would recover in a beautiful home with a nurse to care for me 24/7. What was I going to do at the hotel? I felt fearful but only for a moment as I realized that at least I would be with my son in a quiet room to sleep and recover. Paying for the hotel was going to be out of my pocket, even though the surgery fee had been to include lodging for me and my son at the recovery house, as well as meals for my son. I was irritated at the unexpected expense and my mother made a phone call to the program coordinator was well as did my son. We of course never received even so much as a courteous reply or an explanation.

They gave me 15 minutes to get dressed (again alone, without assistance) and then we were escorted back to the bumpy and uncomfortable vans to the hotel. Most of us were either silent or moaning quietly as we made our way through the bumpy streets of Tijuana. We all had small cups of ice chips, but most were vomiting them as fast as they could swallow. I felt a lot of pain and cramping in the area of my stomach, so I swallowed VERY slowly and managed to keep everything down. When we got to the hotel, our loved ones were waiting outside for us. I climbed gingerly out of the van and grabbed a hold of my son and started to cry. What a horrible night I had had! It was so good to see a familiar and caring face!

The driver told us he would be back at 5pm to pick us up and take us back to the hospital for meds and an IV bag. It was very daunting to think of spending the entire first day after surgery in a hotel without any pain meds or nursing care, but we had no choice. We made our way up to the room and I tried to get comfortable, which was not easy. My son went to the front desk and got 2 extra pillows for me which helped a lot, but without any pain medication, I was up and down and not sleeping that whole day.

I would have had no communication with anyone at home if it hadn't been for my IT son who set up a wifi hotspot in our room and called loved ones on Skype to let them see me and talk to me to know I was ok. It was very comforting especially to talk to my husband. He was so worried and it was good for us to see each other while talking. Although I was in too much pain to fly home, I wanted so much to leave and go home right then.