Mr. Brown
Listen lady, I have frequently blogged about Cardin’s incessant vomitting and sensitive gag reflexes. We feared any other child we brought into this world would surely have the same Olympic puking ability.
I won’t lie, the amount of puke I caught bare handed was directly proportional to the length of time we waited to have Rory. In fact, there was a short window where we even questioned having another one for the simple fact that we didn’t have enough hands to catch all the puke if two kids existed in our family dynamic. Needless to say, introducing another catalyst was a giant risk.
As it turns out, we struck gold. Rory doesn’t seem to have a puking problem (at least not yet). Instead, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Brown
Rory has the opposite problem. He poops SOOOOOO much, that he explodes all over his clothes. We’re not talking a little blowout every once in awhile either. We are talking daily blowouts that cover him from his shoulder blades to his knee caps. Based on the quantity of formula and baby food that enters his system, the amount of poop that is expelled from his body is totally unnatural. It’s as though he is going through an adult colon cleansing every single day.
More poop comes out of the diaper than actually stays in and we are struggling to come up with unique ways to lift the onesie over Rory’s head without giving him a faceful. Eventually, it’s going to get so bad that I’m going to have to go all EMT style and just cut the clothes off this boy.
This has been going on for at least 2 weeks now and we have gone up a diaper size too. I’m considering wrapping him in plastic before the day is through.
Ménage a Trois
Turns out, I had three organs removed. Two spleens and a gallbladder. You read that correctly, TWO spleens. Listen lady, one gigantic spleen wasn’t enough, I needed an accessory spleen to go along with? Accessorizing is all the rage lately.
We received the official pathology report which lists the size and weight of the spleen. Although the surgeon said he has seen bigger, my spleen weighed in at 3.86 pounds with an impressive length of 10.24 inches. And you wonder why my incision is a good 9 inches?? After surgery, my spleen was aptly described to Brett as the size of a regulation football. Another indicator of my inclination towards football.
During this doctor visit I also had my staples removed. It was not painful, a little pinch and tug as the staples went flying through the air. My incision feels immensely better now that it’s not constrained by tiny metal clips.
On a side note, with the removal of organs and as my stomach adjusts to handling new food I’ve lost all the baby weight and am back down to “wedding weight”. Organ removal= excellent diet. I do not recommend.
Recovery
My time spent in post-op marked the beginning of a long road to recovery; one I fear that will not be very speedy.
I spent 5 days in the hospital and the first few days were dreadful. Because my gallbladder was removed, I left the operating room with an NG tube shoved down my throat into my stomach. The object….remove any excess bile or stomach acid so that this would not back up and cause vomiting that would aggravate or rip my stitches and staples. Since this tube was down my nose, I wasn’t allowed to drink and I was only given a little cup of ice chips. Listen lady, I know what parched means now.
On top of the NG tube, there was the actual incision. A good 9 inch diagonal incision now spans my left abdomen; stapled shut 27 times. Luckily, the incision pain was mostly controlled with IV pain medication. Unfortunately, because of the placement of the incision, the surgeon cut through every major abdominal muscle I had; albeit hidden under a layer of baby fat. LADY, do you have any idea how difficult it is to move without your core abdominal muscles intact. Bending, rolling, twisting, sitting, standing, walking….these acts are all near impossible unless someone physically helps you. For days, I needed help getting in an out of bed, to a chair, to go for a short walk, even to go pee.
By day two, I was running an unexplained fever that hovered between 99-102 degrees. Blood and urine samples were checked for infection. A cat scan was done of my chest to rule out pneumonia and a blood clot. Still, the fever persisted.
The surgeons were confident that this was a normal reaction after abdominal surgery; my bodies way of healing the giant incision. I was insistent on a preventative course of antibiotics. There was no need to play fire with the chance of sepis. The doctors finally caved.
By day 4, things seemed to be on the upswing. I was finally handling solid food and my intestines, which had been so rudely disturbed during surgery were beginning to work again. I was able to walk a full lap around the nurses station without the assistance of a walker (something I had not anticipated using for another 40 years or so).
By the end of the week we had managed to get my pain under control with pills, and I finally found freedom late Saturday afternoon.
It was so wonderful to feel carpet beneath my feet and shower in my own bathroom. And then my parents, who have so graciously watched and cared for Cardin & Rory during my multiple hospital stays, brought them home.
A sudden realization hit me. I was barely managing to care for myself, how in the world was I going to take care of two little children, even with Brett’s help??? I’m unable to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds or chance herniating my incision. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, BUT IT AOUNDS TERRIBLY PAINFUL AND I DO NOT WANT TO FIND OUT. Because of this, I can’t pick up Rory or Cardin. It will be at least 5 more weeks before I’m able to pick up and hold my newborn or have a dance party with my preschooler. I suppose in the big scheme of things this is minuscule, but it lays enormously on me right now.
Recoup at home has been painfully slow. I get a little better each day, but nights are difficult as it is hard to lay in one position for so long and sleeping through a dosage of medicine is pure agony. Brett has been home with me and is my constant help. My parents are still helping with the kids and there are never enough thank yous. Family and friends have sent cards, money, flowers, dinners all out of the goodness of their heart and I’m forever grateful.
But you must understand Internet, this type of dependency is unnatural to me. I was not raised to be a dependent being; if I need or want something, I go get it. It has been a struggle to accept help because I’m so eager to get back to my normal routine, but even the slightest extra push or challenge of the day will send me spiraling back to the couch in agony.
For now, we take one day at a time. Tomorrow I head back to the surgeons office, to have the staples removed. I’m hopefully this will help with my comfort level, especially with sleeping.
Surgery Day
The dreaded day had arrived. September 25; Surgery Day. I wasn’t so concerned about the actual surgery, sure, there were risks, but I was confident in the surgeon. My bigger concern was the recovery and my future health. You can certainly live without a spleen, but your chances for infection or fatal disease increase tenfold.
That morning, we dropped Cardin off at preschool and I gave her an extra big hug. I told her I loved her and that Mimi would be back to pick her up. She walked into the classroom as I wiped tears from my eyes. Afterwards we dropped Rory off to my parents house and it was pretty much the same scene played out over again as I left care of my two babies to my parents.
Would I see them again? Would they remember me? Crazy insane thoughts swirled my head as we drove to the hospital. Once there, we checked into to the surgical center and I was almost immediately brought back to pre-op. Stripped to nothing but a surgical gown, I was immediately hooked up to IV fluids.
After about an hour, I was taken back to pre-anethesia, where I was able to stay with Brett until the time of the operation. We met both the surgeon and the anesthesiologists.
Then it was time to go. I said goodbye to the man who’d been holding my hand this whole time. He promised me, one more time, that everything was going to be alright. And I fell asleep…
I don’t remember leaving for the operating room, I don’t remember any part of the operation. What I do vividly remember is waking up screaming in post-op. My mouth had never been more dry, and there was a tube down my nose into my stomach; causing trauma to my esphogause. I had additional IVs and my family was nowhere in sight. To say I was out of my comfort zone would be taking things lightly. I waited in post-op for 4 hours before a room was available for me.
Which leads to the recovery…..
PICC Insertion
Late last week I met with the surgeons about going forward with the spleenectomy on Tuesday the 25. I was, at the time, still running a fever and feeling pretty shitty from both the return of my skin infection and also the plague that Cardin bestowed upon me after 2 days of preschool.
The deal we struck was this:
I’d stay on the surgery schedule and call first thing Monday morning to review my condition. Hopefully, rest and fluids over the weekend would help speed up the healing process
In theory it sounded like a marvelous plan. In reality….I spent ALL weekend running a fever and hacking my lungs out. Listen lady, as a side note, a maniacal cough is not a pleasant arrangement for oversized organs.
When I called this morning, the surgeon initially jumped on the cancellation bandwagon. However, after consulting with anesthesiology I was given the green light for take off.
In order to avoid a confrontation with the IVs, I had the surgeon request a PICC line. For those that don’t know, this is similar to an IV, but instead of it going into a vein in your arm or hand, it goes from your upper arm into your chest, near your heart. This should allow for fluids, antibiotics, and blood draws without the need for continual punctures.
It’s a fairly painless procedure. They use lidocaine to numb the area. Yea…this stings and burns, but once it’s numb, the rest of the procedure is pain free. Perhaps I will start a new fundraising campaign. Instead of “save the whales”,we could go with “save the veins”.
So lady, we are set to remove the most gigantic spleen in history tomorrow, around lunchtime. Fingers crossed that the surgeon gets a good nights rest and has a steady hand tomorrow.