August 1st
This will probably be remembered by me as the 'lost
summer'. I had one when I was a kid. I got mono.
Infectious mononucleosis, that is. Who didn't, back
then? As a twelve year-old, I spent most of my summer hanging around the
house and bedroom. Anyway, it's August already.
Where has the time gone? Into blood tests,
doctoring and writing in this diary.
The port is out of my arm. I went through the
surgery yesterday. It was like an instant replay of
June 27th, with some exceptions. This time I drank plenty of fluids so I wouldn't be thirsty. See, the surgery was at 11 a.m., and I was requested not to eat or drink anything after midnight. When the port was put in, I had spent some time working in the morning outside on a warm day, as a result, becoming very thirsty. I avoided that this time by hydrating just before bed.
Jane and Bryn both came to the hospital but left shortly afterwards because we found out when they should return : 12:30 (no reason for them to hang-out in the waiting room). So I answer all the questions again (they don't have this info on computer) about family and personal health history. I have the blood test and bleeding time test. My blood clots in five and a half minutes, one minute quicker than last time. My platelet count is up higher than when that test was first performed. It dawns on me to have the results of the blood test serve as my weekly test. I ask the nurse if I could have a copy to take to Dr. Thai. She said it could be arranged. This would help free up my day. We are going to Chicago on August 1st, so this will allow us to leave a few hours earlier.
On my way to the pre-op room I see Dr. Keen. He is cheerful and seems somewhat surprised that the port is coming out. In fifty words or less, I explain the decision. He leads me to the gurney and the nurses begin to go to work. Pillow, blanket, shave the arm, small talk to soothe the patient. What do I do for a living? That's a tough one for me. I try to explain but it only generates more questions. What is a free spirit anyway?
The anesthesiologist puts an IV in my right hand and starts something flowing. I'm so used to being stuck and IV'ed that I don't even think about what is in the plastic bag that is now drip-flowing into my vein. He is a young fellow, accomplished at inserting the needle and I remark that there is a great variety of techniques and abilities in inserting the needle with or without pain.
Dr. Keen is there now with questions about allergies and reactions to certain drugs. He also has information about care after the operation. He says going to Chicago should be no problem. He wants me to keep the left arm straight, level, and resting afterwards. Finally, I'm wheeled through the halls to the operating room. This one is not the same as the installation procedure room. I am more alert too. The room seems newer. The nurses help me onto the operating table and soap up the arm. Dr. Keen arrives and gives me tranquilizer through the IV. Last time it was a sedative. During this procedure, I'll be awake throughout though sleepy. Last time I was out like a light. Dr. Keen asks me if I have any questions. Yes, why do helicopters eat their babies?, I ask, a reference to the discussion around the operating table during the first surgery. He laughs and tells the nurses that it's a test he uses to see if the patient's mind is foggy or not. That is, he needs to know if the sedative is working properly. He said the other one he uses is "How many nickels are there in a week?"
The procedure goes fairly quickly. The nurse asks if I'd like to see the port, which he holds now in his hand. Yes, I would. It's about an inch long, half an inch high and wide, slightly blood stained and has a thin plastic tube attached to it about 18 inches long. Good riddance, I think to myself.
Shortly afterwards I'm wheeled away to the recovery room where Jane and Bryn arrive. They're glad to see me but are somewhat taken aback at the size of the dressing on my left arm. It's bandaged from the elbow to the fingers. I give them a brief recap and tell them I feel fine.
After more instruction, we are left to get dressed. Jane helps me out of the hospital gown and into my clothes. We are out of the hospital in no time. I'm hungry, but the Wendy's we've chosen to eat at is crowded so we decide to drop off the blood test results to Dr. Thai first. The most important number is the white blood cell count. It's up again! This time it is 3.0. The low side of normal blood is 4.0 so I am nearing a state of normal. This is good. My canoe trip to Utah on August 22 is starting to look like a reality.
After lunch, it's home for a nap. I'm sleepy and the rest feels good. There is no pain in the arm, yet. But upon rising I start taking the Lortab prescribed for pain. I'll take two of these every four hours unless the arm feels fine. I'm also using an ice pack on the arm. I need to do this for 24 hours to keep the swelling down.
The rest of the day is uneventful. I'm somewhat active but very protective of the arm, of course. I go to sleep early but awaken at 2 a.m. The arm is stinging some, so I exchange the water in the ice pack for ice and take two more Lortabs. The remainder of the night is somewhat restless. Sleep twenty minutes, wake up. Have a strange dream, wake up. Adjust the arm and ice pack. And so on. My body seems to itch in various places too, but I recall from the first surgery that this may be normal. Is it the Lortab? or the surgery? Whatever. Maybe on the way to Chicago I'll take a nap. Both Jane and I have parents living in the northern suburbs. We are anxious to see them.
August 7th