Left Jaw Pain: 4/10
Right Jaw Pain: 8/10
Hip Pain: 3/10 (only when vomiting)
Inconvenience factor: 15/10
I don't want to dwell on my time in ICU too much. It's not pleasant and I can't see it serving much purpose.....unless one of you is a budding gore movie writer and needs some material! But if you are squeamish - maybe skip this bit.
Right Jaw Pain: 8/10
Hip Pain: 3/10 (only when vomiting)
Inconvenience factor: 15/10
I don't want to dwell on my time in ICU too much. It's not pleasant and I can't see it serving much purpose.....unless one of you is a budding gore movie writer and needs some material! But if you are squeamish - maybe skip this bit.
I remember staring at the clock. 7:27. I assumed this was PM. I was
awake....instant relief washed over me. Then every other sensation started
tuning in looking for attention. Oh wow. This was not going to be a fun ride I
could tell that already. I flashed in and out of consciousness for the next 12
hours with varying degrees of pain, discomfort, agitation and most of all
nausea. Sometimes I wonder which is worse. Pain or Nausea? They were fighting
it out for the title that night. My first spew was after about 10 mins of
consciousness. I must let you know that vomiting becomes an advanced manoeuvre
when your teeth are held tightly together with elastics (allowing only a few mm
of separation). Adopt foetal position on the left hand side (I was very quick
to discover that the right side of my head was far more painful for some
reason) and wretch. Oooh....Ow...my hip! Put hand on hip, cough, wretch into
bag again. Delightful!
Removing of the nasal intubation tube had left my nose in a bit of delicate
state so the first big heave caused my nose to bleed. And well, not really
stop. So the solution was to tape a big bung of bandage under it. I must have
been pretty as a picture at this point. Then I remember pain in my arm, I am
guessing subcutaneous drug of some description and I was gone again.
I would wake try and cope with the incessantly queasy stomach. Beg the nurse
for anti-nausea. Puke up blood in bag when I got it right and all over the
sheets, when I missed. The taste, sight and smell is not something I wish to
repeat in a hurry let me assure you.
It's all become a bit of a flash back picture show. Here are some
highlights:
I recall being extremely agitated a few times. Once my legs felt tied
together and adopting a functional foetal position was becoming impossible. I
told the nurse, well tried to, I can't imagine my speech was very good right
then and I couldn't understand why my legs wouldn't work. Eventually,
eventually, after 3 attempts to communicate with her she worked out my problem
when I literally ripped the sheets from my legs. They had attached some pads to
my calves and thighs to massage them (presumably to keep the blood flowing). In
reality they were horribly irritating and had woven into a tangled mess of
velcro straps which had effectively hog-tied me. She kindly set me free!
After 3 or 4 bouts of yakking, and lots of begging for drugs, they told me
they had to stop giving me anti-nausea as I had swallowed a lot of blood during
surgery and that blood in the stomach does bad things so it was just better if
I brought it up. Geez Great! One for the bucket list!
At one point an angel actually appeared (Thanks Emma). I could have kissed
her. She listened to me - no idea if she knew what I said but she gave me the
low down. Told me I was in step down (a good sign). She'd checked the charts
and I was doing well and in very good hands. She told me she'd decided not to
play paparazzi as requested as I look, well 'less than my best' and blamed the
Betadine! :) She then squeezed my arm gently and flew away. I closed my eyes
and rested peacefully.
Peacefully that is, until I was visited by the devil. I had firmly adopted
the foetal position so that blood could flow out of my bleeding nose onto the
bandage rather than down the back of my throat. Even in my drugged state, I
knew that at the end of my throat is the oesophagus which leads to my stomach.
No more blood for there, thank you very much! The cupid faced, motherly looking
Devil, wanted me to lie on my back. I refused. She tried harder. No!!!!
Apparently she was anxious about me getting bed sores. WHAT!?!?! I've only been
here a few hours. I'd rather a few freaking bed sores than more blood puking
right now lady!!! Not a hard decision (not that I've ever had bed sores so
maybe I am doing them a disservice)! It was an epic battle of wills that lasted
for more than 2 hours, but no amount of cajoling or devil treachery was going
to trick me into lying on my back again!!!!
There is more but I think you get the idea. It was no Caribbean cruise adventure.
I recall starting to feel vaguely in control about 8-9am the next morning.
The nausea had subsided a bit, my nose had stopped bleeding, those damn massage
pads were removed, the devil's shift was over and I could hold focus on things
for more than a few minutes at a time. Now I was just overwhelmingly tired.
Around 10:30am I think, they placed me on a wheelchair, took me to a
bathroom and made me presentable. It took awhile - I think I was pretty mucky!
Upon my return my bed was snowy white again, I was handed my gown, a fresh
crisp sparkling pin-stripe number and my hair was brushed. What was this? Had I
actually managed to remain human? Oh thank goodness for that! It was, however,
all too much effort. I slept. I remember being woken with the news that my
chariot to Q5 ward had arrived.
Finally, I knew that everything would be okay.
The Rock was waiting for me. :) A few friends and family
dropped in with cards, flowers, well wishes and plenty of sympathy. And so began the adjustment to life in the ear, throat and nose ward of the
hospital.
There were 3 others in my ward, a young lass who had had surgery on her top jaw (presumably the owner of the blood splat on the lamp), the lovely Mr Wilson who had diabetes and a tracheotomy and couldn't talk but seemed to manage to communicate quite successfully with a pen and paper and by clicking like a dolphin. The other bed, I didn't meet, just heard (the noises did not encourage me to explore further).
The routine of the ward was regular as clockwork. Periodic patient observations (blood pressure, oxygen saturation and ear temperature), 6 hours panamax dispension, harder drug dispension, food dispensing.....repeat. The lights, the noises and the constant interruptions to rest made the experience all a bit overwhelming as by now I was utterly exhausted. But luckily for me, I found that a good old oxycodene hit, sent me off to sleep in about 5 mins. It was night night by 8pm.
There were 3 others in my ward, a young lass who had had surgery on her top jaw (presumably the owner of the blood splat on the lamp), the lovely Mr Wilson who had diabetes and a tracheotomy and couldn't talk but seemed to manage to communicate quite successfully with a pen and paper and by clicking like a dolphin. The other bed, I didn't meet, just heard (the noises did not encourage me to explore further).
The routine of the ward was regular as clockwork. Periodic patient observations (blood pressure, oxygen saturation and ear temperature), 6 hours panamax dispension, harder drug dispension, food dispensing.....repeat. The lights, the noises and the constant interruptions to rest made the experience all a bit overwhelming as by now I was utterly exhausted. But luckily for me, I found that a good old oxycodene hit, sent me off to sleep in about 5 mins. It was night night by 8pm.
