Two Years Alive

I thought I'd take a minute tonight, while Alan's on call and the kids are asleep, to write about tomorrow. (Because there won't be time tomorrow...)

Tomorrow marks a two year anniversary for me. It will be two years since I had my thoracotomy. In early March of 2007, I had some chest pain. I went to the ED at UW Hospital. I was diagnosed with Pneumonia, given Zithromax and sent home. Two days later, my chest pain was worse and I was having difficutly breathing. I decided to go to the Immediate Care by West Towne. The Dr. listened to my lungs and ordered a CXR. My O2 sat was in the low 80s. I was then told that my x-ray was the worst that anybody in the office had ever seen--I asked to see it and it really looked like my right lung was just missing. The Dr. told me that I needed to be admitted that night. I was really suprised--I don't know what I thought would happen, but hospitalization was not it. So off to Meriter I went. I had Group A Strep Pneumonia. I ended up with a loculated pleural effusion/empyema (basically puss outside my lung, but in my pleural space). I had a thoracotomy and decortication--A long incision was made in my 5th intercostal space (between my ribs) along my back and side. The surgeons broke 2 of my ribs and then cleaned out the crap on/around my lung.

This is my incision (duh), not too long after the surgery. You can barely see a few of the chest tubes under the bandage on my side. The tiny tube (looks like a wire) in the middle of my back is my epidrual.

The next 3 weeks are pretty much a blur. I remember bits and pieces. I remember the insertion of my first 2 chest tubes. Now I've had kidney stones, 2 babies, a thoracotomy and 2nd degree burns to my face, ear and neck from a cooking fire, but the chest tubes were hands down the most painful experience of my life. I can't even describe the pain, other than horrendous. I get shivers down my spine just remembering it. I remember the cardiothoracic surgeon coming in to explain the procedure to me and my mom. He got mad at me because I fell asleep while he was talking (I was competely drugged, hello?!)--He may have saved my life, but he was still a surgeon... I remember when they removed my epidural, a few days after the surgery and I was allowed to get up to walk. My family had to push a wheelchair with all of my chest tube drains next to me while I walked. I had 5 chest tubes--3 between ribs down my right side and 2 in my back. It took everything I had to walk from one end of the hallway to the other. I think we had a party when I made it around the entire unit. I remember a time when they were worried that it was TB and they told me the kids couldn't come to visit. That was heartbreaking. I remember coming home. I remember the pain that lasted for months. I remember getting my first blood transfusion. I remember the physical therapy that I had to do for months following the surgery/3 weeks in the hospital. I remember that they had to install grab bars and a bench in my shower because I wasn't strong enough to stand. I also remember that I had a positive Romberg when I got home. (Basically, I couldn't stand with my eyes closed without falling over.) I remember being grateful that I'm a nurse so that I could do my own antibiotic infusions through my PICC line at home. Alan and I could work together to change my dressing too. I remember my mom staying with me at the hospital every single night. I remember Alan trying to take care of the kids, the house and me all while doing his surgery rotation for med school. Surgery is notoriously the worst rotation of all of med school. Ironically, he was doing cardiothoracic surgery.

Looking back, I can't believe that this all happened to me. I had no idea at the time, probably because I was drugged for months, how sick I really was. I could have died. Looking at the facts (and the CT scans), I probably should have died. My survival is nothing short of a miracle--I would not have made it without Dr. Gilliam, my surgeon. I would not have made it without Dr. Fox, my infectious disease doctor. It seems like I should have something very profound to say--Something huge I learned from this event in my life. I think that I am still learning, though. If I ever question the devotion that a mother should show to her child, all I have to do is remember my mom sitting next to me all day and night for those 3 weeks. I will never wonder if my husband can do it all--He is a superhero. I will never worry that my children will go uncared for if something else were to happen because my inlaws cared for them unceasingly for months. I will never question the love, kindness and infrastructure of my church. Meals, childcare, cleaning, etc... It was all covered, for months. I must have needed a serious lesson in humility--Not only did I need help with my kids, home, etc. for a LONG time, I couldn't even shower by myself. I really had to let people help. I'm not very good at that. I'm definitely still learning lessons from all of this.

But I am alive, and I am so grateful that I am.