Log In | Register
If you have not read part one, you need to read that first to get the whole picture. Thank you.
You can find Part One here:
After three days of reporting to sick call, I was finally admitted to the hospital under a diagnoses of mono that had been based on a high white count and the fact that I was throwing up. The doctors had already dismissed the bright red blood in my stools and the blood that I had told them was in my vomit.
I arrived on the floor and changed into baby blue pajama. I had already noticed that my normal 30 inch waist was expanded and my pants had felt as if they were cutting me in half. Still, it was mandatory that uniforms be wore to sick call and I did what I could. My gut was already hurt like I was being stabbed with hot knifes at each move that I made. So, I climbed into bed and tried not to move.
The room was sparse. There was no TV and no phone. All I had was my pain and that was a constant that I could only wish to be without.
That night and the next day, the nurses were trying to get me to eat. The sight of the food, much less the smell made me nauseated and sent me to the bathroom to throw up. The nurse also tried to get me to take a shower, but I tried to tell her that I hurt horribly when I moved. She simply left me laying there.
I found myself crying over and over. I had never known such pain and I felt as if no one cared if I lived or died.
That evening a doctor came through to see my room mate. I found myself begging him to do something. All that he could do was to tell me that my doctor should be by soon. My doctor never did come by.
My third day in the hospital and it was Friday. My pajamas no longer fit and I ended up putting on a pair of triple X sized. I was amazed that my stomach had distended from a size 30 (guess a medium) to a XXX-large. The pain was over whelming and I found myself passing out off and on.
That evening a Psychiatrist came by. I openly wept as I answered several asinine question such as, "Do you hate your parents?" and "Do you want to kill yourselves?" I again, I begged for help and was reassured that my doctor would be by. Again, no other doctor came.
By the next day, I knew that I was going die. Yet, I did not want to go without telling my parents good bye and that I loved them. I carefully crawled out of bed and crawled into the hall. I saw a pay phone across the hall and crawled on my hands and knees to the wall. Using the phone cabinet, I pulled myself up and managed to make a collect call.
I cried as I told my mother that I was dying and that I loved her. That was all that I remembered. I passed out.
I woke up and was in my bed with a little nurse standing beside me. She told me to lay still and that she was going to get the doctor on call. I gut was screaming and I could feel the tears streaming down my face.
Just as quickly as she had disappeared, she came back. She was holding the tubing for an NG tube (an NG Tube is a tube that goes up the nose, down the throat and into the stomach. It pumps the stomach.
She tried to place it the first time and missed. I tried to get her to stop as I felt the tip go into my lung. She kept fight me. I finally pushed her away and yanked the tube out. As I gasped for air, I said, "You missed." It sounded weakly and almost like a whisper. I could tell by the horrified look on her face that she knew what I was trying to say.
I held the tube toward her and said said, "Try again." She got it right the second time. Once she turned on the pump, a mixture of dark green, red blood and black liquid started up the tube. The pail that it flushed into was filling quickly and the nurse smiled at me. She excused herself and told me that she would return shortly.
I allowed myself to feel hopeful that something was finally being done.
When the nurse returned, she had several doctors in tow. I later found out that it was the chief of surgery and his team.
Each doctor took turns listening to my gut. Each one pressed on my belly and I felt as if I would scream when they did. The doctors were in and out of my room in a steady stream. Shortly, an x-ray tech showed up with a portable x-ray machine and took a shot of my abdomen.
Shortly after this, the Chief Surgeon told me that my intestines were splitting wide open and had been for some time. I told him what had happened with sick call and he cursed. He called the other doctors a bunch of amateur hacks that had no business practicing medicine.
I was told that I would have to have surgery and I signed all the forms for approval - I did not see that I had any choice. The Anesthesiologist came in and gave me shot. After a while, he came back and asked how I felt. I told him that I still hurt horribly and he left the room. I heard him talking with the other doctors and he came back and gave me another shot.
Again, after a while, he came back and looked at me as if he were amazed. He asked me how I felt and told him that I felt better, but that it still hurt. Again, he left and talked to the other doctors. When he came back, I asked him what was wrong. He told me that he had already given me enough to put an elephant under.
I looked at him and said, "My stomach usually isn't this big." He laughed and the the Chief came in and told him to go ahead and give me another shot, which he did. When he went back to the hallway, I heard him say tell the chief surgeon that the dose could kill me. The response was one that I never will forget. He said, "He probably won't make it through the night. The least we can do is make him comfortable."
From there, my life became murky for the next several days. It almost like a dream and I remember things in bits and pieces.
I remember asking them to call my parents. They were about a three hours drive away. I remember the operating room. I remember waking up in a dark area that had a curtain around it. My Father sitting in one corner with his head in his hands. My mother standing next to my bed praying.
I remember my Father saying something about the way I smelled and something else about fresh meat. I remember the waking up and a hand pushing the side of my face as I felt a feather like touch on my neck.
The next thing I remember was waking up to a loud alarm and my mother and someone else telling me not to fight the machine and that it was breathing for me. I also remember several people coming and going. One told me that their church was praying for me. Another told me that they had an assignment to Alaska and that they had helped in the surgery. I still do not remember most of the faces during that time.
I was out for six days. At one point, I felt someone yank my mustache and I punched them! As I opened my eyes, I saw it was the Colonel who had done the surgery. His nose was bleeding and he had a cone shaped object with tape over it in his hand. He told me not to worry about it and I fell back to sleep.
The worse part (of this episode) was over. Yet, I still had to stay in ICU isolation for a total of 30 days. I had no visitors and no flowers. I felt abandoned, yet I found out, after I was moved to a regular ward, that visitors and flowers were not allowed, because I had been inn isolation.
There was no TV, radio or phone. There were no books, no magazines, puzzles or games. I could not move off my back. I had several tubes in my stomach and a few IV's. One IV was in my neck and another was in my foot.
I did spend my first week awake watching funky things such as pink elephants and eating non-existent steaks. Then they cut back on the amount of Demerol I was receiving. I found out what it was like for a prisoner in solitary. The nurses, the doctors and techs rarely came by. Later, I was told that it was due to the smell.
I figured that one was true. I had not had a bath/shower since the day they had admitted me. My hair was greasy and matted. The medicine smelled horrible and I could barely stand the smell. I got to a point where I was begging for someone to help clean me. Eventually, an Airmen that I worked with had asked a friend that work in the hospital to check on me. The young man took pity on me and got permission to shampoo my hair. I had never been so thankful to someone and he will never know how much it meant just to have your hair washed after three weeks.
I eventually was weighed and was told not to look at the weight. I insisted and was horrified to find that I was 88 lbs. The Nurse tried to console me by telling me that I had gained weight. I had weight around 160 lbs when I had first came into sick call.
I even talked one of the nurse into helping me stand at the sink long enough to shave. I never knew how much the simple things like shampooing your hair, shaving or getting cleaned up could feel like such a blessing.
After a month of this, I was moved to a regular ward and eventually allowed to eat. The doctors were and nurses were shoving almost every type of food you can imagine into me. I brought cookies, cheese cake, pizza, and fast food. As I built my strength up, the doctor had insured that all the nurses and techs knew that I was a special case and they should share as much food as possible with me. I even had a tray coming from the kitchen 6 times a day.
Still, when they finally released me, I weight about 110 lbs. I was put on convalescent leave for 6 months.
I didn't know it at the time, but the trip I started had only begun. I went through more of the same treatment over the years.
PART THREE WILL COVER SOME OF THAT.
Part three maybe found here:
