Trip to the Hip

My alarm went off at 4 AM, but I shut it off and laid myself back over Kalani’s chest. “I don’t want to go,” I whined like a child not wanting to get up for school. “My hip feels pretty good today, actually….”  He kissed my forehead and said, “You’ll be fine. Probably back running up the Mills before you know it!”

“I hope so…….”

We climbed out of bed and I showered with the “wonderful” antibacterial soap I was provided at the Pre-Op appointment. Then i slipped on a pair of oversized sweatpants and a long sleeved T-shirt.  I put on my blue flip-flops and headed downstairs to wait for my poor 80 year old father to pick me up. (Afterall, he’s still my daddy….).  I hadn’t had anything to eat since 7:30 the night before and I wasn’t really hungry anyway.  I couldn’t even have a drink of water.

Kalani waited with me being his almost annoyingly encouraging self ( a little pity would have been acceptable…), until my dad pulled up in his car.  Kalani walked me out and put my things in the trunk.  He kissed me good-by and helped me into my dad’s car.

“How are you feeling?” by father inquired.

“Oh, just peachy…” I replied with a hint of sarcasm.  Truth was, I really wasn’t scared or nervous.  I just really wanted to get on with it, get it over with, go through the anticipated pain that was to come and get out of the hospital.

Dad parked the car in the parking structure and we walked into the Kaiser building’s main entrance.  We were supposed to report to the Admitting Office on the first floor, but the instructions didn’t exactly say how to get there.  Now if you have been to Kaiser Fontana and walked through Building #3, oldest building, you know that the place is like a labyrinth of hallways that all look the same.  So we began what became a major trek, to the Admitting Office.  We followed the signs on the walls turning left and right and left and left and right and straight.  Every turn found a new sign. Although my 80 year old father is spry of mind, his poor 80 year old heart isn’t.  We had to stop a few times so he could catch his breath, but Dad never complains. Never.

Finally we get to the office. (I later realized had we just gone straight into the hospital building and NOT the office building we would have cut our walk in half). There was already two other pairs of people waiting there in the small narrow room.  Dora the Explorer was playing on the TV although no one in the room, except me, was under 60.I gave my name to the secretary who told me to have a seat and they would call me in a minute.

30 seconds later I walked into the screening office where a rather ghetto looking gentleman asked me a bunch of questions, took my Advanced Directive for my file and banded my right wrist with the customary identification bracelet. I also received a red bracelet warning of my supposed allergy to penicillin (according to my mother). I then returned to the waiting room which had filled with at least another four pairs.  No one was talking, except Dora.

About 15 minutes later a nurse-like lady came and asked all of us to follow her including the people who we had come with.  She wanted to show everyone where the recovery room was and where our families could join us after surgery. Then she said, “Say good-by for now and give your family your belongings.” We did. I kissed my dad and said, “See ya in a few.” He smiled took my bags and my grabber and began his walk back to the waiting room.  I worried about him walking so much.

The patients-to-be and I followed the nurse down the hall a little farther.  It felt rather sci-fi.  Like those movies where people think that there’s really a surgical facility behind those metal swinging doors but it really turns out to be processing plant for Soylent Green. (look it up)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soylent_Green Read the rest of this entry »

«blink,blink» dim lights, ceiling…………..fade to black «blink,blink» nurse next to bed typing………………….fade to black «blink,blink»someone’s talking to me, I think……………….fade to black «blink,blink»”How are you doing?” fine…………………fade to black «blink,blink»how long was I in surgery? “Two and a half hours” fade to black………

I’m so groggy and still feeling dreamlike, dizzy.  I can’t keep my eyes open. Two people in surgical attire (minus the masks) come and begin to push my bed.  I’m assuming to get me to my room.  Florescent lights buzz by overhead in a smeared stream of light. The aide at the end of the bed smiles at me (I think).  He looks like a maniacal Jim Carey and he’s pushing that damn bed at what feels like light speed. Taking turns like an idiot teenage driver trying to emulate the Fast and the Furious. Bump! Into the elevator. 4th floor. Doors open and Evil Knievel is at it again. We get into the room and at this point I’m so dizzy and nauseated that I know I’m going to vomit.  They help me into the bed and then hand me a pink plastic box over which I retch and retch, but thankfully, being that you aren’t to eat or drink before surgery, nothing came up, except the feeling of bile not quite making it to my mouth.  “Are  you all right?” Jim Carey inquired? I probably would have been I thought, handing him back the empty box, if you hadn’t taken gurney driving lessons at the Ontario Motor Speedway.  I lay back and rest. I close my eyes because the room is spinning. I think I fell alseep again.

My dad was there by my bedside putting my little bags on a table behind the bed.  He inquired with the customary question, “How are you feeling?” Sometimes I think, isn’t it obvious…. like crap. But I didn’t say that, I smiled instead, because talking was way too complicated a movement at this point.  He moved around the bed, careful to step over the foley catheter that was conveniently collecting my urine and around the IV tower that had several bags of clear liquid dripping their contents into my vein. The nurse entered with a machine which she placed at the foot of the bed.  She strapped a velcro booty around each foot and turned it on.  The booties filled with air alternatingly, right, pshhhhhh, silence, left, pshhhhhhh in a neat little rythmn, pumping against the soles of my feet.  It’s to keep the blood moving in your legs and help prevent blood clots (which can break off and get into your lungs or brain and KILL  you) she smiled.

Dad sat with me and watched some TV.  I was lousy company, for sure.  I was still sick to my stomach, and refused my dinner tray when it arrived. Just the thought….. I couldn’t move my legs because they had been velcroed to a large piece of V-shaped foam to prevent me from moving the operated-on leg past the mid-line of my body, a BIG no-no with hip replacement. My upper body was raised  to a slight upright position and at that moment, I felt, as Pink Floyd might have said “comfortably numb.” Read the rest of this entry »

1. Tuesday….October 20th…… a day so long it is told in 5 parts

   Part 1 — Pressure Problems

   This could really be just a continuation of the day before because in a hospital one never gets a full night of uninterrupted sleep.  One day just melds into the next, in hour after hour of repetitive actions. Vitals, blood, check IV, food, repeat every few hours until discharge…….

   I was still woozy and nauseous so breakfast stayed on the cart. I  was uncomfortable because I was still in a slight sitting up position, and my back was beginning to cramp. How to move? Above my head was a triangular trapeze contraption, so I reached up as far as I could with my right arm, barely managing to wrap the tips of my fingers around the bar. Then I pulled my body slightly up so that my left hand could reach and tried to adjust the angle of my hips a bit so as to get off the spot that had fallen asleep. It was a move I would do many times in the four days I remained in the hospital. Thank goodness for upper body strength. See, all that time in the gym had some purpose.

   6AM

   I flipped on the TV, mostly to drown out the noise coming from the nursing station right outside my door.  Those people were having WAY too much fun, in my opinion. The nurse came in with my medication, pills that I already take at home but must continue taking here.  I had brought my own vials as had been suggested, but they provided me with Kaiser copies.   How nice of them to allow me to save my own supply (other than the birth control pills.  I had to use my own. Hidden meaning? I wonder.) Each pill was in a separate bar coded blister pack. The nurse would scan a bar code on my bracelet and then scan each pill as she popped them into a tiny cup. This was then recorded on one of the computers that is located in every room. Accountability and drug management, and probably a way of insuring the right person got the right medication. I swallowed them all at once with a drink of water, which by the way, was the most horrible tasting water I’ve ever had. (mental note: ask Dad to bring bottled water) So when not swallowing pills, I would drink only the water that melted from the cup of ice chips. For some reason, that tasted normal.

   “On a scale of 1 - 10 how is your pain level? One being no pain and ten, unbearable,” queried the nurse.

   I stopped a moment to take stock of my pain. “I guess about a five or six”

   “OK, I’ll see what we can do.”  She left and returned with my friend the “Vitals Machine” and took my blood pressure. It was low, I’m guessing very low.  80/54. “I can’t give you any pain medication until we get your blood pressure up, otherwise you’ll bottom out and we don’t want that to happen.”

   Bottom out ? I pictured it like leaping off a cliff and “bottoming out” on the canyon floor hundreds of feet below. Nope definitely did want that to happen. BUT I did want to do something about the pain that was beginning to crawl out of the anesthesia cave and light the surrounding countryside on fire with it’s dragon’s breath. The nurse left to consult about what to do with the blood pressure issue.

   She returned with another IV bag of fluid in her hand “The doctor said we can’t give you any pain medication until we get your blood pressure up.” She proceeded to hang the bag on the IV stand and connect the tubing.  She adjusted the flow and said, “Well give you some extra fluids and see if that does the trick. An hour and a half.”

   “Wait,” I said as she turned to leave,”Can you take this foam thing out from between my legs? I’m really uncomfortable,” She pulled back the blankets and unvelcroed  my left leg. Then she moved to the other side of the bed to do the right.  She had to lift my leg to get the strap off. I winced, tears coming to my eyes.  The slightest movement sideways would send a sharp twinge up my leg into my hip. “Sorry,” she apologized genuinely sympathetic.  “Well get you something for the pain as soon as we get that pressure up. All this liquid should help.” She smiled

   Funny how you can feel the cold liquid from the IV enter your vein and travel down your arm. I looked at the bag. Drip…….drip……drip……drip. It was ticking away at a faster pace in order to get the fluid in me as quickly a possible. I turned the TV back on and tried to ignore the pain.  I kept the room dark because I was still dizzy and I found it more peaceful feeling somehow.

   The nurse returned shortly to inform me that the doctor wanted the catheter out. “This wont hurt” she said tugging on the tube up my urethra.  She was right, it didn’t hurt at all, just a little disconcerting.  “You have to pee within the next 6 hours or we have to put it back in,” she said, almost like an admonishing mother saying “Eat all your vegetables or you’ll have to go to your room!”

   Pee? Wait a minute. That entails getting out of bed and walking to the little bathroom, which is about 5 or 6 good steps from the end of my bed.  And then there’s the sitting down part to consider… and ….  The thought of the pain all that would cause made me ask, “Uh, will I be walking to the bathroom?” my face twisted in an anticipatory wince.

   “Well, no. You can use a bed pan.” she suggested matter-of-factly.

   Bed pan? Hell NO! I thought to myself. I smiled outwardly and cringed inside my head.

   “Physical therapy will be here later this morning to help you get up and start walking.” she mentioned on her way out the door. Oh goody! I thought. That oughta be loads of fun. Read the rest of this entry »

   Comments (0)

   No Comments.
   
   Leave Comment

   Posted in Training