First installation of the crazy three days, not necessarily in chronological order

Pretty unbelievable, isn't it. I mean... Monday night I was at a wedding, having a good time, even dancing! Then Tuesday morning I woke up fevery and fluey feeling, with a sharp pain in my right side. I *knew* Something Was Wrong. I know my body really well at this point. So after about nine l o n g hours in the ER with all sorts of tests (all over the hospital, dragging myself everywhere because there is a big problem there finding orderlies to ferry you around), I was informed that I'd need immediate surgery, in a few hours. It was a whirlwind three days, and now I am home. I have three new incisions, with 19 staples in total! And that is laparoscopic surgery. I am quite surprised at how big they made the incisions. Two incisions have 6 staples, and one has 7. I tell you, Laparoscopy isn't all it's cut up to be (hehehe pun).

They actually inflate the abdominal cavity with co2 in order to create the effect of an open space where the surgeons can have clear access to the internal organs. So, in theory, the incision is smaller, but you need a few more than regular open surgery. These incisions are quite a bit bigger than the ones I had 6 weeks ago with the arthrosopic surgery for the PVNS.

There was one big problem with the whole laparoscopic thing; in my case, the co2 wasn't completely released before I was closed up. So, the morning directly after the 2am surgery, when the nurse came to help me out of bed, the pain was unbearable in my chest and shoulder. I later learned that these are the places the air can get trapped. But at the time, I didn't know any of that. I told the nurse about this extraordinary pain in my chest, and she offered me Opalgin. Optalgin is like an extra-strength Tylenol. I was 4 hours after major surgery, I thought I was getting into cardiac arrest with the pain I had, and nobody was explaining anything to me. When I told her that Optalgin doesn't help at all with this much pain, she accused me of rejecting pain meds, and said she'd give me morphine only when she finished all her rounds. The she left me there sitting upright on my bed, panicking about not being able to breathe.

Then the real panic set in. I started hyperventilating and wheezing. I started trying to chokingly call for help in English and Hebrew. I had no cell phone, and no nurses' call button (I was put in a corner of a room that is meant for six, me being the 7th). Nobody was coming to help me, even though there were doctors and nurses in my room!! They were doing rounds with the other patients. Still, nobody explained what was happening to me. Then, more panic set in, and I could barely take in air. Finally the girl in the bed opposite me came over to ask what can she do. I chokingly said to call my husband, and slowly got the phone number out with panicking breaths. Please realize, I am in no way exaggerating. It was completely NUTS. Then the doctor finally returned, without the nurse who wanted me to take Optalgin. He was just looking at me, as if waiting for me to calm down magically. He then said that this is a normal effect of the air getting stuck in the chest, and I shouldn't worry about it. Yeah, that calmed me right down to hear that ...***NOT!*** I then said (rather uncalmly) I can't breathe! The pain is a knife in my chest! Do something, you S. O. B.!!!!!! Yup, I said that (and not using just the initials), loud and clear, hyperventilating and wheezing afterward. I'm quite sure the whole ward heard it.

Then I grabbed his arm and begged him to help me. The Optalgin nurse came back with a morphine shot. She grudgingly, with an attitude, injected it into my arm. I was still gasping for air, and everything hurt like knives. It was just surreal.

The doctor was able to change his mode to compassion, thank the Merciful Lord. He proceeded to talk me down. I was in an all-out panic attack, the likes and intensity of which I have never experienced in my life. The doctor held my hand and got me to look him in the eyes. He helped me breathe. The nurse brought a oxygenation machine and put the clip on my finger to show me I am getting enough oxygen. I was able to watch the machine and learn how to lower my racing pulse. The doctor kept calmly explaining that it is a result of the laparoscopy, and it will pass. The air will work itself out of my system. I should try to stay still; the more I move, the more it may hurt for the time being. This is the way he talked me down, it took about 10 or 15 minutes. Then he had the nurse bring me a Valium.

When the morphine kicked in, the pain was less. When the Valium kicked in, I was able to completely relax, finally. Remember, this is only four hours after the surgery ended. Then Robert came back (he had stayed the night in the hospital with me because of the surgery at 2AM, then he left while I was still asleep so he can drive the kids to school. A good friend had come to stay in our house all night and was getting the kids ready in the morning- thanks H!!). Robert came back when this was all calming down already. I was stoned from it all; the shock, the hyperventilation, the morphine & Valium combination, the insanity.

Robert sat in the lounge chair next to my bed (where he had slept that night before), we talked it out, then we both drifted off to sleep, and didn't wake up until 3PM when R had to leave again and be home for the kids. Oh, and thank Gd we started the new babysitter beforehand. She is really working out well, Baruch Hashem!

Later in the afternoon, the air started working it's way out, in the form a sort of airy throwing up. It was so weird. I had a bag ready (thanks, M) because I felt the nausea and thought I was going to lose it. Then lots of air was projected from my chest. Sounded like I just polished off a six pack of Bud ("This one's for you").

When I apologized to the doctor for having called him an SOB, he said no problem, I'm not the first, nor will I be the last one who will call him that. He then said that it was, however, refreshing to hear it this time in English. ;-)