Nowhere to go but onward

So I left the last post with a bit of a cliffhanger. Brian said it was decidedly anti-climatic. But then that is because the story mostly centered around those several hours in the emergency room. Brian also was a little put out with me for not talking about my feelings with him way back then. I'm pretty sure I did try, though. I don't seem to talk well anymore, however. If I ever did. I think winning debate in high school was a fluke. But I'm pretty sure I did try. I'm actually pretty big on sharing my feelings. It is something I have to keep in check, actually. I am your stereotypical open book, over sharer and TMI type of person.

I also think Brian may have been a little hurt that I did not continue on because he played a large roll in my recovery the next several months. I would have been put out, too. I may have felt worthless and adrift, but I don't think he ever did. If anything, I think he felt more needed than he ever had before and he was completely up to the challenge. Or at least seemed to be. He was, for lack of a better cliche, my rock through the whole thing. Not that we didn't have our stress filled yelling moments, but, for the most part, we came together as husband and wife in exactly the right way.

From this point on, if you have a gentle disposition or stomach, you may wish to have someone else read it and summarize it for you. There is more than a little gruesome detail coming up. Also, I suggest you do not do a browser search for would vac, either. I just did and really wish I had not! You have been warned.

So I was admitted into the hospital for the third time. This was one month after Runa was born and there was very little, if any healing done at this point. Well, I should say the lining of the abdomen and all inside there was good, as far as I know. I was not in any danger of having my innards fall out or anything. But the wound was very deep and wide even so. I have photos, but, again, I won't share in this case, because they are wicked. To give you an idea, you could put both hands into it completely up to the wrist even a month after the surgery.

Ok, I am going to back it up yet again. Sorry. Bear with me.

You see, I am a very large woman. I've been averaging around 333lbs for the last five or six years. One of the main reasons the incision fell open is because of the weight. However, it is also very likely the drain was not put in the right place when they sewed me up. When I had my first c-section with Leel, there was a lot of drainage for several days. This time there was very little. Because of that, I opted to have it removed as quickly as possible, too. A good half a day or more before they would have taken it out normally. See, I got a bad infection in the drain after Leel, so it was kinda a knee jerk reaction on my part to have them pull it as soon as possible. Course, as the doc said who took it out (ok, an intern took it out, but under supervision of a doc), no sense leaving it in if it is not draining. Yeah, the interns. Gotta love teaching hospitals.

So, anyway, even though interns flocked to my room to see the wound both times I was in the hospital, it was actually not considered an uncommon problem in large women who have abdominal surgery. And there you go. So, again, from the beginning, sorta, the fluid built up in the wound and kept it from healing. A week after the c-section (I'd been home three days) they noticed fluid coming out of the incision and realized it was not closing on the left side. They sent me home with packing supplies to deal with it myself. Then I noticed the other side was draining, too, so a week after I was released from the hospital with Runa (about a week and a half after her birth), I was back in. They cut the incision back open (it had healed a bit, sporadically, along the top), then scrubbed the inside down to get circulation going and ordered me a would vac.

Ah, the wound vac. How I loathed that thing. It is a wonderful invention, mark my words. It increases healing time exponentially! But... well, I'll get into that in a bit. So I was eventually sent home three or four days later to await a home health nurse to attach the vac to me. I really liked the woman they sent me. She reminded me of a very serious Tyler Perry. I wanted to tell her that, but was afraid I would offend her. Unfortunately, she was never really able to get that damn vac attached right. She didn't go deep enough with the packing, which was a real issue with my doctors. You have to keep the wound packed from the bottom up so the wound heals from the bottom up. If you don't pack it right, tunnels and pockets can be left behind in the healing which would require the whole thing be reopened again to start from scratch. She did try though. There was some weird thing where the maker of the vac could not demonstrate the machine with the nurse on a patient, so all instruction was by phone.

The biggest issue was with the tape. The tape, or drape, is very important so the vac maintains a seal. What is the point if the thing doesn't hold the wound closed, right? Problem is I am allergic to adhesive and my skin is very thin on my abdomen, so there was tearing, blistering, rashes, etc. It was terrible. The thing had to be redone every other day. Unfortunately, the nurse's solution to the abdomen damage was to add more tape. Oh, the horror stories I could tell about that. Anyway, about two weeks later I got infection in the blisters on my skin. The infection eventually moved into the wound which gave me fevers. So back to the hospital I went, only this time, I had to go through the ER. You know how great that experience can be. So we are basically right back where we ended the last post. Considering, I think I am going to have to leave it here yet again. Sorry about that.

I do want to reiterate, however, that there was very little to no pain in the wound itself. All major pain I suffered during the aftermath and months of healing was all from the tape associated with the wound vac. All of it. When I was shuddering with fever and pain in the ER, it was all the wound vac pulling on me. I couldn't take it off even though the drain bin was full of fluid and puss (sorry for the visual; it kinda looked like strata, though). To this day I have no feeling in the scar or area surrounding except a little spot on the right side. Small blessing, eh?

Well, sometimes small blessings can add up to a whole lot. :)

Hitting Misery's Bottom

I have not as of yet come close to death. But I did have a similar experience. How so you may ask? How can any other experience be close to death? Well, let me explain...
A short bit of history first. By the time I met and married my one and only, we were both on the old side. Late 30s, though not being horribly old, is a little daunting when about to start a family for the first time. And, of course, having kids, planned for and trying not withstanding, happens when it happens. So it took a few years. I was 39 when we had Leel. Unfortunately I lost my job and my freedom when he was born. I started hemorrhaging early and was hospitalized for a month. In the middle of that month Leel was brought out a few months early. He was fine and has grown into a fine boy. I never once doubted I would recover as strong as ever and I did. You can't go through something like that without some lasting effects, but I, for the most part, ignored them and willingly shut myself and my son away for a few months until he was old enough to finally be introduced to the world.
So on to the second child. After two years I figured it was a no go. I had had three miscarriages before Leel, but nothing after him. My monthly cycle was all over the place and I just figured my body was done with making babies. Well, turned out life wasn't done with me quite yet. Now I was worried I would run into the same problems with this pregnancy that I had run into with Leel. Thankfully, the doctor I had was lovely and went above and beyond reassuring me this pregnancy would be absolutely normal. And it was. We did run all the blood tests and gene tests for downs and such anyway. I mean I was 42. But all seemed copacetic. Unfortunately we moved at the end of my sixth month and I lost that great doctor. Getting one to replace her turned out to be near impossible.
Even in a MUCH bigger city, no doctor would touch me with a ten foot pole. I was too old, too fat, too poor, too high risk, too too. And I was fully insured, but still no love from those who need to make a profit. Clinics won't touch anyone with insurance and medicaid didn't help either. I was getting to my wit's end let me tell you! Finally, at the end of my eighth month I found a doctor, a student doctor at a medical school, to deliver the babe. The stress by then was so bad I was starting to get delusional. I was getting PPD. Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to keep myself from taking a knife to my own belly, a date was set to have Runa taken out. Relief! Everything went pretty well. The epi was too low so the pain was a bit intense, but I can take pain. We are old friends. Runa was out and I was home and all was good with the world...
I thought. Then I noticed something weird with my incision... To make a long story somewhat shorter (in my dreams!), my incision fell open and I was immediately hospitalized again. I tried to stay above it. Not think about it. Pretend everything would be normal and that I could handle anything. There was no pain after all, just a gaping wound. No worries... The first problem was my newborn was not allowed in the hospital with me. The newborn was not a patient and there are liability issues if something happens to the child or I can't take care of her and so on. Thankfully, after a tearful night without her, the nurses let me know they would turn a blind eye to her being there. So, that was the first time I was hospitalized.
The second time is where the life changing experience happened. The vacuum used to keep my wound shut tore my skin and I got infection in the tears and blisters that eventually went into the wound itself. I was in such pain and wracked with fever as I laid in the emergency waiting room... waiting. After an hour or so I sent my husband, Leel and Runa home. After they left I wallowed in my pain and fever, and started to evaluate my current condition.
My husband was an over the road trucker. He was home six days a month. My recovery was going to take months. We had borrowed as much money as we could from everyone we knew to keep things together up to that point. I could no longer take care of my children by myself.
I could not take care of my own children.
I had failed. Somehow. Someway. I suddenly saw myself as separate from my family. I was without them and they were without me. I could not cook. I could not clean. I could barely get around. I could not drive. I could not lift my daughter (doctor's orders). What was going to happen to us? Being older parents ourselves means our parents are long retired and in no condition to take care of children (those who are alive anyway). Our siblings lived far away and had families of their own. I felt adrift. And my family felt adrift and out of reach. I felt that my role as a mother and care giver was done and, without that, what was there? My family, my children, needed me, but I could no longer care for them. I was a burden to them now. They would be better off if I were gone.
I had a breakdown of sorts. I hit a bottom of misery so to speak. When they finally got me on a gurney and started getting IVs in me and antibiotics, they gave me some pain killer through the IV that seemed to take me down, down, down to a dark, warm place devoid of worry (now I see what people see in pain killers...). My last thought was, "Yes. It is true. I cannot take care of my children. Face it and continue on." And we did. Runa is two and, except for a wicked scar as a reminder, I am, we are, whole.
PS: If you are the kind to like photos of this kind of stuff, I do have them. They aren't for the fragile of stomach (pun intended). I was going to include a photo with this post, but it only lets me put it at the top. I don't want to gross people out before they even know what the post is about.