Ow. Groggy, hurty. but wow can I breathe. I'm told there was a bleeding issue and I lost a half a liter of blood on the table. The surgeon, who does tons of thyroidectomies, said this was one of the most difficult he had ever done.
Apparently they shaved my chest in preparation for going through my sternum. Thanks for not having to do that Doc
Your thyroid is tiny, a delicate little butterfly nestled in your throat. Mine was compared to nearly 2 full 1 liter IV bags. Wow.
I haven't had food since 9pm monday and water since 11:30pm Monday. Suxor. Ice chips are heaven.
Depending on how I do overnight I should be released tomorrow, but I may be here another day.
Now for sleep. It's been a long day.
P.s. Foley catheter? Not freaking cool. Just because there's a hole doesn't mean a tube needs to be shoved up it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Last update about yesterday. Promise. Poorly written novella ahead
Now that the sedatives are completely out of my system, I can think a little more clearly and give an update about yesterday. My brother Adam came with me and spent the day helping me get a clear picture of what was going on.
I went in expecting just a bronchoscopy. Everyone else was expecting surgery. The problem? I had never given any consent to surgery. I thought this had been made clear in my communications with the surgeon. So I made it very clear: no surgery today, and they said, "yes! No surgery!" And I felt better.
The bronchoscopy went exceedingly well. I was initially told that I would be given general anesthesia, but as it turned out, I only had a strong sedative (they said it was a strong hypnotic and that I would have no memory of the procedure - they don't know me very well!) and a lidocaine inhalation. If you ever have to inhale lidocaine, be warned that it is NASTY, even if you are all hopped up on smiley drugs.
They wheeled me into the procedure room - the walls were covered with giant HD displays (sproing!) and I immediately asked if I could watch the procedure. "Really?" "Yes!" I was so excited! So, I went through the lidocaine inhalation (ew) and they slipped the camera down my throat (pink and slimy, all the way down!) . It was like a Disney ride! I saw my vocal cords! And throat slime! It was SO COOL! IT'S A SEREEZ UV TOOBZ!
Then I saw the trachea and the compressed area. It was scary how small the opening was, but still ping and slimy (which is GOOD, as it means my thyroid hasn't invaded my trachea which means no tracheal reconstruction is necessary..phew!)
During the procedure, I'm fighting off mild panic; the lidocaine had my airway, including my lungs, completely numb, so I couldn't feel myself breathe or swallow. This is disconcerting. I put my hand on my chest to feel my breathing for reassurance. I was a little disappointed, though; I was having a mild zombie fantasy...Mmm, brains, indeed.
They removed the camera and I immediately started chattering on about what an awesome experience it was, but if you've ever been numbed teeth to toes like that, you know it comes out as "Glluuuurgaaahaha! Fufffffufufufufuuf!!". They told me to just relax and let everything wear off. I started getting really bouncy, then really tired, then really bouncy and tired, then just tired.
They told me to report to Pre-Op to speak with the surgeon. I was feeling a bit paranoid from the drugs; I thought that someone was going to grab me and make me have surgery. Adam and I get there, and I was on the surgery list. I made it very clear that the surgery was canceled. My surgeon was in removing someone else's thyroid, so they told us to come back later, so we went for lunch.
An hour later, we come back, and as it turns out, they had been looking for us. They sent us up to Pre-Op. We get there, and the nurse (who was all pissed off) sends us into the surgical prep room and assigns me a bed. I make it very clear - there is no surgery planned today! She tells us to wait. Another nurse comes up and we have to make it clear again - NO SURGERY TODAY! Somehow, word never spread.
The surgeon finished with his last patient and comes in. He was expecting the surgery, too, but is completely understanding - this has all been rushed, and none of my concerns have been addressed. There had been a HUGE miscommunication starting with the ENT who ordered the CT scan and said "OMG, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" without talking to me. The surgeon said he would have never ordered the MRI I had on Saturday if he had known about last Thursday's CT scan.
Either way, the thyroid needs to come out. Fairly soon.
The Surgeon came up to me and kicked my tires, so to speak. He checked the swelling in my neck and said , "oh, that's not so bad, I've seen much worse. Here's what I'll do: (using his index finger as a scalpel), I'll slice you here and here (slices my neck), get the thyroid out, close you up and you'll be able to breathe better than ever." The risks are bleeding, blood calcium issues and permanent hoarseness. He also says that the possibility of having to go through my chest is so minuscule that I shouldn't worry about it. I feel pretty confident with him.
So, tomorrow, I have to call his office and schedule the surgery. I feel much better about all of this. It's still weird to know that I'm going to be losing an organ and on meds the rest of my life, but I'll get awesome breathing in exchange, and I've never had that before.
But today, I get a medical reprieve; it's my birthday, dammit, and I'm going to enjoy it!
I went in expecting just a bronchoscopy. Everyone else was expecting surgery. The problem? I had never given any consent to surgery. I thought this had been made clear in my communications with the surgeon. So I made it very clear: no surgery today, and they said, "yes! No surgery!" And I felt better.
The bronchoscopy went exceedingly well. I was initially told that I would be given general anesthesia, but as it turned out, I only had a strong sedative (they said it was a strong hypnotic and that I would have no memory of the procedure - they don't know me very well!) and a lidocaine inhalation. If you ever have to inhale lidocaine, be warned that it is NASTY, even if you are all hopped up on smiley drugs.
They wheeled me into the procedure room - the walls were covered with giant HD displays (sproing!) and I immediately asked if I could watch the procedure. "Really?" "Yes!" I was so excited! So, I went through the lidocaine inhalation (ew) and they slipped the camera down my throat (pink and slimy, all the way down!) . It was like a Disney ride! I saw my vocal cords! And throat slime! It was SO COOL! IT'S A SEREEZ UV TOOBZ!
Then I saw the trachea and the compressed area. It was scary how small the opening was, but still ping and slimy (which is GOOD, as it means my thyroid hasn't invaded my trachea which means no tracheal reconstruction is necessary..phew!)
During the procedure, I'm fighting off mild panic; the lidocaine had my airway, including my lungs, completely numb, so I couldn't feel myself breathe or swallow. This is disconcerting. I put my hand on my chest to feel my breathing for reassurance. I was a little disappointed, though; I was having a mild zombie fantasy...Mmm, brains, indeed.
They removed the camera and I immediately started chattering on about what an awesome experience it was, but if you've ever been numbed teeth to toes like that, you know it comes out as "Glluuuurgaaahaha! Fufffffufufufufuuf!!". They told me to just relax and let everything wear off. I started getting really bouncy, then really tired, then really bouncy and tired, then just tired.
They told me to report to Pre-Op to speak with the surgeon. I was feeling a bit paranoid from the drugs; I thought that someone was going to grab me and make me have surgery. Adam and I get there, and I was on the surgery list. I made it very clear that the surgery was canceled. My surgeon was in removing someone else's thyroid, so they told us to come back later, so we went for lunch.
An hour later, we come back, and as it turns out, they had been looking for us. They sent us up to Pre-Op. We get there, and the nurse (who was all pissed off) sends us into the surgical prep room and assigns me a bed. I make it very clear - there is no surgery planned today! She tells us to wait. Another nurse comes up and we have to make it clear again - NO SURGERY TODAY! Somehow, word never spread.
The surgeon finished with his last patient and comes in. He was expecting the surgery, too, but is completely understanding - this has all been rushed, and none of my concerns have been addressed. There had been a HUGE miscommunication starting with the ENT who ordered the CT scan and said "OMG, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" without talking to me. The surgeon said he would have never ordered the MRI I had on Saturday if he had known about last Thursday's CT scan.
Either way, the thyroid needs to come out. Fairly soon.
The Surgeon came up to me and kicked my tires, so to speak. He checked the swelling in my neck and said , "oh, that's not so bad, I've seen much worse. Here's what I'll do: (using his index finger as a scalpel), I'll slice you here and here (slices my neck), get the thyroid out, close you up and you'll be able to breathe better than ever." The risks are bleeding, blood calcium issues and permanent hoarseness. He also says that the possibility of having to go through my chest is so minuscule that I shouldn't worry about it. I feel pretty confident with him.
So, tomorrow, I have to call his office and schedule the surgery. I feel much better about all of this. It's still weird to know that I'm going to be losing an organ and on meds the rest of my life, but I'll get awesome breathing in exchange, and I've never had that before.
But today, I get a medical reprieve; it's my birthday, dammit, and I'm going to enjoy it!
Monday, October 12, 2009
Update
The surgery is tentatively scheduled for Tuesday morning, but at this point, it seems unlikely as I'm sporting a 100F fever and some seriously nasty tonsils. Add a touch of cough. This actually sucks because I was all geared up and ready to go.
The severity of the situation has been laid out in detail and I understand everyone's concern: my thyroid is massive and has grown well below my sternum. It's causing a moderate compression of my trachea. From the doc and the surgeon's standpoint, it's , "HOLY CRAP, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" From my perspective, it's something that I've just been dealing with because I've always had crappy breathing.
So, the big bugger is coming out. Maybe not this week, but surely as soon as I'm well enough.
Saturday was an MRI and tomorrow is a bronchoscopy to measure my airway. Dude knocks me out and shoves a ruler down my throat. Sweet!
I decided to Googlestalk my surgeon. He's a very well known surgeon who seems to be quite good at what he does. A little extra hunting led me to his Twitter and Facebook pages; he only has 14 friends. Unacceptable. I only allow people with more than 20 friends to perform surgery on me. :)
The severity of the situation has been laid out in detail and I understand everyone's concern: my thyroid is massive and has grown well below my sternum. It's causing a moderate compression of my trachea. From the doc and the surgeon's standpoint, it's , "HOLY CRAP, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" From my perspective, it's something that I've just been dealing with because I've always had crappy breathing.
So, the big bugger is coming out. Maybe not this week, but surely as soon as I'm well enough.
Saturday was an MRI and tomorrow is a bronchoscopy to measure my airway. Dude knocks me out and shoves a ruler down my throat. Sweet!
I decided to Googlestalk my surgeon. He's a very well known surgeon who seems to be quite good at what he does. A little extra hunting led me to his Twitter and Facebook pages; he only has 14 friends. Unacceptable. I only allow people with more than 20 friends to perform surgery on me. :)
Friday, October 9, 2009
Birthday present?
An hour ago, I got a call from my doc. My thyroid is massive and cutting off my airway and it needs to come out. It's (probably) not cancer. Yay! It's (most likely) going to require surgery. Not yay!
That started a snowball of phone calls. So far, I've talked to my doc, the surgeon twice, the MRI office twice, the interventional pulmonologist once and the anesthesiologist once.
They want the surgery to happen next Wednesday. My birthday. Thanks.
Too fast. This is moving much too fast.
I've got an MRI scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. I'm off for some blood work right now. Most of all, I'm feeling pissed off. Pissed that my feeling of relief has been shattered by this..pushiness. The surgeon has this air of eagerness in his voice. Why the urgency? I can breathe. Sure, it's tight, but it's BEEN tight..for months. A few more days won't kill me. Let's find out WHY my thyroid is so freaking huge before ripping it out.
I've never had surgery. I've never had anesthesia (beyond nitrous oxide, that is). I've never had to stay overnight at the hospital because something inside me was broken and had to be snipped out.
They better let me keep it in a jar. I'm going to fight for that much. If it can't stay in my head, then my damned thyroid is going to stay on my desk.
That started a snowball of phone calls. So far, I've talked to my doc, the surgeon twice, the MRI office twice, the interventional pulmonologist once and the anesthesiologist once.
They want the surgery to happen next Wednesday. My birthday. Thanks.
Too fast. This is moving much too fast.
I've got an MRI scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. I'm off for some blood work right now. Most of all, I'm feeling pissed off. Pissed that my feeling of relief has been shattered by this..pushiness. The surgeon has this air of eagerness in his voice. Why the urgency? I can breathe. Sure, it's tight, but it's BEEN tight..for months. A few more days won't kill me. Let's find out WHY my thyroid is so freaking huge before ripping it out.
I've never had surgery. I've never had anesthesia (beyond nitrous oxide, that is). I've never had to stay overnight at the hospital because something inside me was broken and had to be snipped out.
They better let me keep it in a jar. I'm going to fight for that much. If it can't stay in my head, then my damned thyroid is going to stay on my desk.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Cats and scans and computer-aided distractions
Surprisingly, I didn't have too much trouble getting to sleep last night, even after discovering my new love of tea, Earl Grey, hot. I prepped by removing all of my piercings so I wouldn't have to struggle with them in the morning. Squish tried to give me a few new piercings as his food was running low; he panics when the bowl develops spaces. Sorry, lil buddy. The crohnchy treats and catnip seemed to do us both some good.
I was up bright and early for the CAT scan this morning. I was jonesing for my morning tea, and at the very least, some water, but they said I could have no fluids for 3 hours prior. My mouth felt like it was full of sand; I could swear that my eyeballs were wrinkly, but no water means no water.
I got lost on the way to the imaging center, but still made it with 10 minutes to spare. It wouldn't have mattered if I had been late; the CAT folks were late themselves. 40 minutes later, the radiologist came for me and explained what would be going on. He said they would be giving me an IV. The first scan woulld be of my nech with no contrast dye and the second would be of my lungs, with contrast. Lungs? Apparently the doctor ordered it just this morning. Fuck. Ok. I'm not going to get into the multitude of things running through my head at this point.
The radiologist brought me in, plopped me on the table and popped in the IV, aligned me and scanned away. A robot voice instructed me when to breathe, when to hold my breathe and when to exhale. Along with the voice, there was this little illuminated illustration directing me. It was ridiculously cheery and I struggled to keep from giggling when it turned green.
Neck. Done. Chest. Done. I was expecting him to come get me - there was a long pause, about a minute or so, then he announced that they were starting a second scan of my lungs. This one took longer. I'm surprised I didn't burst a blood vessel. Why were they running a second scan? Why was this one taking so long? What do they see??
They finish up and a woman comes over and removes the IV. Where was the guy? Why did he go away? Did the image show something so horrific that he needed to Run.Away.Now.? The woman told me to hop down from the table, but I told her that I couldn't see the floor; the guy took my glasses and didn't tell anyone where they were. After a few minutes of searching, she found them. I put them on and found what I interpreted to be a worried expression on her face. I asked, "so, what did you see?" "We don't read them. We're just photographers." Of course, she's hiding something from me. Or not. This is what worry does.
I stopped for some cat food on the way home. Squish would be happy. At the very least, it would relax him enough to let me borrow him for some full-face burrowing time. That always helps. But I need more distraction, so here I sit on the computer, doing anything and everything I can to keep from browsing to medical sites or to keep from refreshing my medical record page to see if the test results are in. I can play World of Warcraft for about 5 minutes until the distraction wears thin. Read a few sites. Thinner, still. Gah! Maybe I'll take a nap. Nope.
So now I wait. I could hear something today, tomorrow, next week, who knows. I hate waiting, I hate not knowing. Exactly a month ago today, I received a phone call from NPR saying, "I'm sorry, but I have bad news". That feeling is so fresh in my mind that I fear it again today. It's much easier to deal with bad news from a potential employer rather than your doctor, though. It's not as simple as "something is wrong" or "nothing is wrong". There's a big lumpy thing in my neck, so it's a matter of -which- thing is wrong and how treatable is it. But right now, I just don't know, and it's driving me nuts.
So I wait, with distractions. Computer, Tea, Earl Grey, Hot. And some facekitty, too.
I was up bright and early for the CAT scan this morning. I was jonesing for my morning tea, and at the very least, some water, but they said I could have no fluids for 3 hours prior. My mouth felt like it was full of sand; I could swear that my eyeballs were wrinkly, but no water means no water.
I got lost on the way to the imaging center, but still made it with 10 minutes to spare. It wouldn't have mattered if I had been late; the CAT folks were late themselves. 40 minutes later, the radiologist came for me and explained what would be going on. He said they would be giving me an IV. The first scan woulld be of my nech with no contrast dye and the second would be of my lungs, with contrast. Lungs? Apparently the doctor ordered it just this morning. Fuck. Ok. I'm not going to get into the multitude of things running through my head at this point.
The radiologist brought me in, plopped me on the table and popped in the IV, aligned me and scanned away. A robot voice instructed me when to breathe, when to hold my breathe and when to exhale. Along with the voice, there was this little illuminated illustration directing me. It was ridiculously cheery and I struggled to keep from giggling when it turned green.
Neck. Done. Chest. Done. I was expecting him to come get me - there was a long pause, about a minute or so, then he announced that they were starting a second scan of my lungs. This one took longer. I'm surprised I didn't burst a blood vessel. Why were they running a second scan? Why was this one taking so long? What do they see??
They finish up and a woman comes over and removes the IV. Where was the guy? Why did he go away? Did the image show something so horrific that he needed to Run.Away.Now.? The woman told me to hop down from the table, but I told her that I couldn't see the floor; the guy took my glasses and didn't tell anyone where they were. After a few minutes of searching, she found them. I put them on and found what I interpreted to be a worried expression on her face. I asked, "so, what did you see?" "We don't read them. We're just photographers." Of course, she's hiding something from me. Or not. This is what worry does.
I stopped for some cat food on the way home. Squish would be happy. At the very least, it would relax him enough to let me borrow him for some full-face burrowing time. That always helps. But I need more distraction, so here I sit on the computer, doing anything and everything I can to keep from browsing to medical sites or to keep from refreshing my medical record page to see if the test results are in. I can play World of Warcraft for about 5 minutes until the distraction wears thin. Read a few sites. Thinner, still. Gah! Maybe I'll take a nap. Nope.
So now I wait. I could hear something today, tomorrow, next week, who knows. I hate waiting, I hate not knowing. Exactly a month ago today, I received a phone call from NPR saying, "I'm sorry, but I have bad news". That feeling is so fresh in my mind that I fear it again today. It's much easier to deal with bad news from a potential employer rather than your doctor, though. It's not as simple as "something is wrong" or "nothing is wrong". There's a big lumpy thing in my neck, so it's a matter of -which- thing is wrong and how treatable is it. But right now, I just don't know, and it's driving me nuts.
So I wait, with distractions. Computer, Tea, Earl Grey, Hot. And some facekitty, too.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
What I really want for my birthday
My birthday is coming up soon. I tend not to think about my birthdays until the very last minute, but this year is pretty cool because it's the 12th prime. Atomic number 37 is Rubidium.
Early in September, I hit my technical one year unemployment anniversary. I say technical because I had 3 months of severance pay from my last job. I have not had a job in a full year all the same. Today is another anniversary: the beginning of the longest period that I have ever been unemployed. I hope there's no air of pride in that sound of that statement. One thing I'd really like for my birthday: a good job.
The frugality of unemployment can have an interesting effect on wants and desires; you're so focused on what you need that the things you once wanted oh so badly have faded to subtle background noise only to occasionally pop up and occupy your entire view for very brief moments of time. I've had times where I've desperately wanted a shiny new computer or a fantastic new DSLR, but I know better. Needs first now. The wants will come. And with time, the wants will shift and change. But still, some things I would really like for my birthday: toys.
It's been a long, silent, low energy, contemplative month. The NPR job debacle really stole my thunder. Followed up by a slow rampup to appropriate dosage on new migraine medication that turned me into a zombie (until now, that is; everyone says you go through zombie phase until you hit the right dosage then *poof*, no more zombie!), September turned out to be a complete bust. Something else I'd like for my birthday: an easy and relaxing, no worries birthday month!
The reality of that remains to be seen.
Years of perpetual breathing issues and infected tonsils convinced my GP to schedule a visit with the ENT to evaluate my tonsils for removal. After jabbing and prodding and gagging, he reported that my tonsils were normal and were in no way causing my breathing difficulties, but "there's a very large mass in your neck. Did your GP not say anything about this to you during your last exam?" No. She didn't.
I have a CAT scan scheduled for Thursday morning. I spent much of last week freaking out. I'm pretty relaxed about it now. Whatever it is, there's nothing I can do right -now-. And whatever it is, I'll do whatever it is I can do when I find out what it is. And if there's nothing that can be done, that's that. And if there's something that can be done, more the better. So, I think the thing I really want for my birthday is: a happy CAT scan.
Early in September, I hit my technical one year unemployment anniversary. I say technical because I had 3 months of severance pay from my last job. I have not had a job in a full year all the same. Today is another anniversary: the beginning of the longest period that I have ever been unemployed. I hope there's no air of pride in that sound of that statement. One thing I'd really like for my birthday: a good job.
The frugality of unemployment can have an interesting effect on wants and desires; you're so focused on what you need that the things you once wanted oh so badly have faded to subtle background noise only to occasionally pop up and occupy your entire view for very brief moments of time. I've had times where I've desperately wanted a shiny new computer or a fantastic new DSLR, but I know better. Needs first now. The wants will come. And with time, the wants will shift and change. But still, some things I would really like for my birthday: toys.
It's been a long, silent, low energy, contemplative month. The NPR job debacle really stole my thunder. Followed up by a slow rampup to appropriate dosage on new migraine medication that turned me into a zombie (until now, that is; everyone says you go through zombie phase until you hit the right dosage then *poof*, no more zombie!), September turned out to be a complete bust. Something else I'd like for my birthday: an easy and relaxing, no worries birthday month!
The reality of that remains to be seen.
Years of perpetual breathing issues and infected tonsils convinced my GP to schedule a visit with the ENT to evaluate my tonsils for removal. After jabbing and prodding and gagging, he reported that my tonsils were normal and were in no way causing my breathing difficulties, but "there's a very large mass in your neck. Did your GP not say anything about this to you during your last exam?" No. She didn't.
I have a CAT scan scheduled for Thursday morning. I spent much of last week freaking out. I'm pretty relaxed about it now. Whatever it is, there's nothing I can do right -now-. And whatever it is, I'll do whatever it is I can do when I find out what it is. And if there's nothing that can be done, that's that. And if there's something that can be done, more the better. So, I think the thing I really want for my birthday is: a happy CAT scan.
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