02:29 - 24.07.07
Surgery
I started re-reading the Deathly Hallows today simply because it was too hot to do anything else. "Record-breaking temperatures" quoth the weather people "but it's a dry heat". Quite frankly I don't want to hear that phrase again. My body can't distinguish a difference. Hot is hot. When the book was first delivered to me, the cats were slouching about the kitchen doing their morning routine. I turned back into the house and found that there wasn't a feline in sight. The mystery was solved when I walked into my bedroom where I had set up pillows to make the most comfortable reading position so as not to be distracted by physical discomfort. What I saw was five cats all stretched out on the bed waiting for me to join them. I guess they thought I would be reading aloud to them the first pass through it's pages. I would have, but it takes so much longer when I verbalise a story. Maybe next round.
To continue catch-up on the surgery story. On the Sunday - the eighth - I stepped out of my shower in the morning and noticed that my voicemail alert was flashing. A message from my Dad stating that he and his neighbour would be arriving at my home soon - within half an hour - to do yard work. They were supposed to be out camping, but had come back to town because their camper had no air conditioning and the air temperature was in the mid-30's C/ mid-90's F. Too hot. I looked at the clock and realized their arrival was imminent. Hustled downstairs to wake my youngest, so that he could help with some of the work. I was just pulling on clothes as they arrived. They had brought their own doodads, but my Dad was also pleassed to reacquaint himself with his power hedge clippers. They had been passed from sib to sib the past few years and he had lost track of them. He happily went off to clip the hedges while his neighbour cut the grass. My youngest moved the lawn decorations out of her path, while I bagged the branches from the trimming being done in the front yard. My elbow was really painful the more I did, but it just didn't seem right to stand there and watch everyone else work. As we were reloading the truck so that they could go on their way, the nice neighbours from across the street rushed out of their home to visit with my Dad and his neighbour. It was as if they knew each other and were friends, but that didn't make any sense.
I realized that bagging those branches was a big mistake by that evening, when my elbow swelled up to its previous size and the pain became intense again. I thought sleep would heal thatre-injury, but instead it became increasingly worse. By Tuesday I couldn't tolerate the discomfort any more and I was also worried because there were now red streaks moving up my arm and getting close to the lymph glands in the axilla (arm pit). Blood poisoning going into the main blood stream was a very real possibility and that can be a dangerous proposal. My Dad returned that afternoon and took me to the clinic. I wanted it drained then, but the doctor I saw stated that their clinic didn't provide that service because they didn't make any profit on such things. I would have to go to the local hospital. She said they wouldn't likely drain it there either, but make me attend there two full days for intravenous antibiotics before carrying out any other actions. I didn't want to ask my Dad to spend two full days chivvying me to the hospital and back. I wasn't feeling well enough to manage taking the bus back and forth either though. Over the weekend I had increased the dosage of the prescribed antibiotics because they weren't staying with my system the full time and I wanted constant coverage. The doctor represcribed a second prescription at the dosage I was now using. My Dad and I headed off for breakfast - the first real meal I'd had since that picnic with my friend the week before. Then he went home, as I went to bed. By late that night - about 2:30 in the am - the elbow had swelled up and one of the pockets of fluid burst open spewing out pus, blood and what looked like tissue - cartilage or something. I called the health line and spoke with Bob the nurse. I could cope with the first two exudates, but the tissue spewing out of my arm had me foxed. His recommendation was to go to the hospital emergency right away. I waited until 8 in the am to call number three son to check if he was working a full day then. He said he would be finished around one in the pm and would take me to the hospital then.
He arrived as good as his word and we arrived at the hospital not long after the appointed hour. July 11 2007. At the admission window the nurse looked at my arm and stated it would be a minimum six hour wait before I would even be seen. I started walking out at that news thinking I would try to find another clinic that did drainage instead. One of the nurses behind the desk grabbed a clipboard and rushed up to me. Please stay - you really need to have that seen. I was really upset that after nearly two weeks of trying, I still was getting no help getting it drained since the admitting nurse had also stated that there was no guarantee that drainage would be decided on by the staff. I knew I was going to be in a lot of trouble very quickly if immediate action wasn't taken. The clipboard nurse said that they were in the process of doing quality analysis of the ER processes and she thought that my wait would be much less. She did persuade me to stay, with my son chiming in that he would rather spend the afternoon waiting with me than taking me home.
About two and a half hours later I was called into the surgical suite with about half a dozen other people who had been waiting with me. The male nurse took my vitals right there in the waiting room - me, among five adult males from a number of different cultures. Thankfully the other patients were all gentlemen and looked away while the process was completed. How to feel like a slab of meat, eh? I was waiting for another hour before a cubicle became available for me. One of the other patients out in the outer waiting room was wheeled in as this was occurring. The nurse took his history and vitals while I pretended not to see or hear. He had been in a motorcyle accident and had ripped up one knee. He appeared to be in great pain.That said he, his nursing aide and his girlfriend asked about my now exposed arm, expressing horror at how it appeared. At least I got a little sympathy then. A young British soldier participating in war exercises south of the city also was shown in. He was struggling to maintain control, but was obviously distraught. It appeared that he might have been experiencing flashbacks - post traumatic stress syndrome or on a different tack, dts. The staff were trying to find some form of safe housing for him that would provide the care he needed, but that wasn't located at the hospital itself. I wondered why he was on his own in such a state and why care wouldn't have been available at the base, but it wasn't my right to ask, now was it?
I was shown to a cubicle and the doctor eventually arrived to look me over. She said that I would be having my elbow drained after I went down the hall for x-rays. I asked to speak with my son, who had been directed to wait out in the main lobby first, so he would at least know what was going on. Permission was given so I gave him the keys to my home and asked if I could call him to pick me up after the procedure - if he was willing - when all was done. It was about 5 pm by then. He agreed and left, while I headed to their x-ray department. That was perhaps the most difficult moment because the technician wanted the x-rays to show a fully extended elbow from several angles. The swelling was so severe by then that full extension just wasn't possible, but I tried.
Back at the surgical unit I was shown into a mini-operating theatre. Local anaesthetic. Good - I get to watch the process. The doctor was very good, although even though the freezing worked on the skin it had no effect on the inside structures of the elbow itself. Meant I felt the cutting and scraping. It hurt, a lot. At one point the doctor stopped and moved her skirt, because of a gush of fluid. Like a lot of the staff, she was in her Stampede gear and didn't want to have it all stained. My clothes were covered in goo too, but I had chosen fabrics that I knew would wash out clean if I got to it quickly enough after the surgery. She showed me the hypergranulated tissue that had started growing inside the wound. She said there was about a cup of infected fluid as well. Bleagh. Finally finished and was given yet another prescription for the same antibiotic, with the expectation that with the infection cleaned out, the body would be able to fight off the balance of the germs. There was no stitching up - the wound was packed and I was directed to go back to the original clinic in my community in two days to have the packing checked and changed.
About 7 or 8 pm by then - can't really remember. I found a payphone in the main lobby and called number three son. He had gone back to his home and had just finished up supper. He sounded quite pleased with life. Sat waiting and chatted on the bench outside the main entry with a nice Hutterite woman who was staying close to her Mom who had been admitted to the cardiac care unit about a week before. She needed to talk and that suited me fine, since I only had enough energy to listen. My son arrived and drove me to the drugstore, then dropped me home. I slept most of that evening and the next day I think. Friday my Dad and his neighbour arrived to drive me over to the clinic. It is only about four city blocks away, but I wasn't strong enough to walk even that far. Part of the problem is that the very hot weather - at least for this part of the world - was sapping what little energy I had left right out of me. I was sleeping in 90 minute intervals then waking bathed in sweat and feeling like I was having mega hot flashes. Showers were the only thing that relieved them. The doctor cleaned and repacked the wound within half an hour. We went off to have breakfast after that having arrived at the clinic just after it opened for the day. I had the special, which was a shrimp and mushroom omelet with a soupcon of Hollandaise sauce over top. The best omelet I've had in decades and my Dad and his neighbour agreed heartily. Of course having eaten only three meals in a 10 day period, shoeleather would have probably tasted good. I took the accompanying pancakes back for my youngest for when he arrived home from work. He was pleased as punch too. Maple syrup holders, they are.
I'm getting tired and my arm is really sore so I'll tell the tale of the portable intravenous episode tomorrow. Good night, dear diary.
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