Approximately 2
months ago now, I had major surgery to both extend my life expectancy and help
me feel better for the duration of it, all made possible thanks to Tom’s
courageous sister, Emily! She kept a similar blog to me from the view point of
the donor: http://kidneydonorjourney.tumblr.com/post/114414555965/long-time-no-see
During my time in
hospital, I tried to keep a record of everything I went through, both
physically and mentally. However, given I was in for a week and each day feels
like two…it became long. So I’ve split it into sections and will (try to) post
every Tuesday with a new part of the diary entry.
Any comments or
questions plus corrections from family who remember differently, welcome.
[Brief shameless
plug while I have your attention: On top of being an extremely generous person by
giving me one of her internal organs, she’s also a ridiculously talented graphic
designer and created the cover of Tom’s first book. You can see the cover and
obtain a copy of the book using the links at the end of the article on this
website: http://thomashbrand.com/ or via
his Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/ThomasHBrand?fref=ts]
Diary of a
transplant patient
Sunday - Admission: 4pm
About a month or so before the day, I received a letter requesting we attend a particular ward the day before the operation. On arrival, Mum, Tom and I went straight there and arrived and were swiftly informed there were no beds available on this ward and I’d need to attend the one above.
The move,
unfortunately, meant there was a slight administrative issue as they now couldn't
find my file which had been seen last in the previous ward.
However, step one
was complete: safely deposited in hospital with mum and Tom for company.
Realising we weren't
actually waiting for anything and we were all just sat around anyway, I
suggested they head off home. Especially as I now wanted to unwind before sleeping.
The nurse then quickly
popped in and reminded me I couldn't drink or eat anything after 12am as I had
to be completely clear for the operation.
After reading for a
bit, at around 10pm, I finally decided to curl up and get some shut eye. That’s
when I realised the woman in the bed next to me had now been talking for 6
hours. And not quietly either. Ignoring it was unsuccessful, so I finally got
out of bed, peered round the curtain and informed her, politely, I needed to
sleep, but couldn't if she kept talking. She immediately got out of bed and
left the room....continuing her conversation.
Getting back into
bed, I was out like a light. Woke up a couple of times in the night, but that
was a given so I slept sporadically, but well. The beds in the hospital were
inflatable mattresses with crisp white sheets, comfy pillows and a blanket that
looks depressingly thin, but was actually really cosy. Especially as they keep
wards relatively warm so you don't really need anything thicker.
6a.m. the next day...
I woke up, thirsty
and hungry and seriously fantasising about pastries, but unable to have
anything. Gradually, over the morning, things started to happen. First had a
cannula placed in my wrist, then was given a pill, had something
injected via the cannula and bands with my details on them attached to my wrist
and ankle.
I was then informed that
Emily was in surgery (her admission had been at 7.30am) and they'd be calling
me down as soon as the kidney was removed.
The final
preparation was a drip attached to the hand cannula : an anti-biotic to
prevent potential infections during and after surgery.
A chat with the
doctors and anaesthetists and I was a step closer to my own procedure.
By now I can't recall if they'd found my notes or created a completely new one
for me, using computer based information to fill it in. But everything seemed
to be pulling together.
As well as hungry
and thirsty, my lips were ridiculously chapped. I’m talking about a whole new
layer of dry on them. I desperately longed for my lip balm. Not because of
vanity but I felt like I had glue drying on them. Bleh! I dealt with it,
however, knowing I had bigger things to come.
During this time the
doctors and nurses all hovered around my bed, making notes, passing on
instructions and so on. I continued to wait.
That's when the
itching started. However, as I hadn't eaten in a while and my sugar level was
starting to drop, I was tired and woozy and despite the back of my head itching
like crazy and now needing the loo, I stopped processing logic and didn't think
anything of it.
At this point I was
asked if I could walk to the theatre. On asking how far the theatre was she
looked doubtful and replied 'a bit of a walk'. Nope! So a trolley was called to
take me there.
Finally, nature's
call became more of a yell and I nipped to the bathroom. The itching seemed to
have spread so I checked my stomach...and that's when I saw the rash. A small
part of my exhausted brain couldn't be bothered to mention it, but watching
hours and hours of 'House' the weeks leading up to the operation, I knew that
everything has to be mentioned, no matter how small it may seem. Especially
before major surgery.
On leaving the
bathroom, I pointed out the rash and the itching to the nurses and the
doctors were immediately notified....literally just as one of them came in to
announce I'd been called in for surgery!!! Does my body have timing or what?
One of the nurses
pointed out I hadn't shown a reaction to anything until I'd been attached to
the drip which was the final medication they'd given me. They checked me over,
ascertained I was definitely allergic then unplugged the drip. Cue 5 minutes of
the doctor (very subtly but his body language spoke volumes), going
'shitshitshitshitshit' as the kidney was now out of Emily and they had to put
it into the recipient asap.
For those curious to
know what would have happened if I couldn't get the kidney, Emily had been
given a form to sign prior to the surgery. This came with 3 possible options:
1.
Return
the kidney to the donor (can't be done after it's been placed in someone else)
2.
Give
it to someone else
3.
Bin
it
Tom, Emily and I stared at the form: 'that's
an option?! That?? Yeah sod all the other people waiting for one, let's get rid
of this fresh, really healthy one'.
Anyway, the doctor came back every few minutes for 5 minutes, checking my breathing and confirmed my throat was not in fact closing up. The white arm and ankle bands I've been given were replaced with the same, but now in red, so if anyone saw it they wouldn't try the same thing again.
Finally the trolley
to take me down was brought in and here the doctor got a touch more urgent,
asking me how I was feeling. I told him as gently, yet as defiantly as I could
that the itching had gone down, I had no problem breathing and I should be
fine. I even took a couple of deep breaths then grinned at him.
Then they received
another call to notify the doctor that they had another range of antibiotics
down there and to get me there asap. I laughed when I realised they'd just
happened to use the one antibiotic I was allergic to. Which I discover
literally minutes before my operation. Beautiful.
So we get the go
ahead, and I was helped onto the trolley due to now basically having no
strength.
On arrival, I was
pushed into a preparatory room just outside the operating theatre. Here I met
two very cheerful nurses plus the anaesthetists from before.
Hooking me up to the
monitor took 3 attempts as it wouldn't take easily and when it did, one of the
nurses said ‘yay! She’s alive!’
At this point, they
turned away and I found myself getting emotional. Nopenopenope! I was to stay
calm and relaxed. If they saw me get upset and reassured me, I’d’ve gone off on
one.
On turning back to
me, a mask was slowly put over my face, causing me to cough as it poured some
almost flavoured air into my nose, shocking my air canals then watched as the
final liquid was injected into the cannula in my hand, thinking ‘this is it’.
I remember watching
the world first blur, then heard a faint voice say 'she's nearly there'...and I
was out.
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