Good day all my faithful followers. I know that I’ve been quiet lately but in reality, not much has been going on. The twice a week visits to my parole officers transplant team have been nothing but positive, so that’s a plus. I have also gotten out and about in Aurora (where my cousin Danielle lives and where I’ve been staying mostly) with the help of Tracey’s car. Last week I stumbled upon the Wings Over the Rockies air museum and spent an afternoon wandering around one of my boyhood dreams, military aircraft. I got the distinct impression that security was not impressed with my precise recitation of Top Gun lines from the cockpit of the F-14 on static display. Some people have no appreciation of the dramatic arts…
The last two weekends have been spent at Aunt Barbara and Uncle Skip’s place in Colorado Springs. This past weekend we went up Pikes Peak on the cog railway, a spectacular trip I would highly recommend to anyone. A word of warning – even though you might be sweating as you get on, you will appreciate the jeans and jacket you have because, for example, even though it was a chilling 79 degrees at the bottom, actual temp at the peak (14110 feet) was 33 with a 19 mph wind chill making it significantly colder. So yea, a bit of a temperature swing. The rides up and down are a bit fun with steep drops of 2000 feet or more on either side of the train while traversing up to a 27% grade. To give you a reference point, the famed Lombard Street in San Francisco is only a 14% grade.
Of course I had to be treated to Colorado weather while I’m here. What is Colorado weather you ask? Sunday, when we drove out to ride the railway, it was 79 degrees and I think it topped 80 that day. Not bad for a Florida boy. The very next day, Monday, it never rose above 50 and that night it snowed and kept doing so all of Tuesday. Yet today, Wednesday, all the snow is gone and the temps are well into the 60’s. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be back into the 70’s. I know that Florida has its fair share of weird weather but I don’t think you can quite go from shorts, tshirt and flipflops to jeans, snow coat and insulated boots overnight. Not that I’m complaining – I know back home it’s been AC-on weather for weeks by now.
But enough about what I’m doing while not working. I’m sure all of you are dying to know how Tracey and I are doing. Well, maybe dying is an inappropriate adjective. Anxious. We’ll use that. Tracey is up and around pretty well and at this point is planning on being back at work next Wednesday. She still has her moments and both of us still need to take it a bit easy but life is returning to normal day by day.
And then there’s me. The 6 inch gash in my side is almost healed but as a genius once said, ‘tis but a flesh wound. The insides are a little different. On paper, I’m a fully healthy kid (only one part of that was true) and my blood work thus far has been stellar. I’ve been a perfect patient for the doctors with no surprises. Well…. That’s not entirely true. I decided I was tired of being perfect and decided to throw a monkey into the wrench yesterday. That’s not true – all I did was lie there.
Let me set this up a little first. During the surgery, faceless people put a plastic tube inside me called a stent. This is designed so that despite my best efforts, I cannot possibly twist the new tubing inside that hooks everything up and lets it flow properly. Think of a thin piece of PVC inside a garden hose that prevents kinking and you get the idea. Google at your own risk. I don’t even notice it while it’s in but from what I’m told, it needs to come out. One thing to note about this is that it apparently curls (like little piggy tails) on both ends to hold it in place and also might be held in other ways. (this is what is called foreshadowing)
So, now that you know almost nothing about double pig-tail ureteral stents, I can get on with my story. Yesterday was my big day to have this insidious piece of plastic removed. One thing to note is how these things get installed and subsequently removed. As you can imagine, it’s not something I swallowed. Thankfully it was installed while I was under the influence of something and talking to a double headed purple platypus. I would not be so lucky, however, for the removal. I won’t go into specifics about the device used (called a cystoscope) but suffice it to say the entire procedure is decidedly uncomfortable. Let’s just say it’s very unnatural to be going against the flow of traffic, yea?
OK, so I get myself once again into a fashionable gown and steel myself for what is about to occur. Various people come into the room bringing random pieces of equipment and others pepper me with the same $%^&ing questions I’ve answered 50 times already. You know, they write this stuff down each time I tell them, no, I don’t have an allergy to latex or iodine – is it so hard to pull my chart? Next time they ask me, I think my response will be, “no, but I do tend to have a bad reaction to being asked the same question over and over”. Most likely I would end up leaving feeling like a pin cushion but my point would be made on deaf ears.
Once everyone was in the room, the fun began. I end up flashing the goods to world+dog (remember what I said about dignity and hospitals not being good bed fellows) and the doc gave me a squirt of numbing gel. “You’ll appreciate this in a minute,” he said ominously. He proceeded to uncurl what can only be described as a cross between a mid-evil torture device and something from Aliens. Without another word, in he went. After rooting around looking for the stent or a pot of gold or Elvis, he stated, “I need the other one” and ripped his torture device out like he’s ripstarting a lawnmower. Much confusion transpired as the nurses attempted to translate the language of doctor (and you thought their handwriting was bad) but finally the “other one” arrived. Sinister black, this device did not inspire calm and rational thought. Again, a little squirt of gel and in it goes. The hunt began in earnest and I swore that he got bonus money for how many times I squirmed as he literally scraped my insides. Oh, forgot to mention this was a two person job – the doc and a nurse to hold the scissor-type wire thing. That got fed into the cystoscope and as they closed in on the stent, it got opened and closed as they tried to grab the offending plastic tube. Much teeth gnashing on my part later, eureka, they had it. Then, like fishermen, they yanked the wire out (and with it, the stent) much to my surprise. Magically, the fruit of their labor appeared and the doctor said something that will stick with me for some time: “Huh, looks like it broke. How long is it supposed to be?” Aren’t you supposed to know buddy? Much confusion ensued as people scrambled to find out what the stent was supposed to look like. The doctor looked at me and said just what I wanted to hear, “I’ve got to go back in and check your bladder.” So in it went for the third time and found nothing.
In the interests of keeping this post below Shakespearean lengths, let me skip to the end. After consulting with people who know about these things, it was decided they would leave the other half in for the time being. Doc told me that they wouldn’t be able to get to the stuck piece with the cystoscope but rather would have to stick me in the stomach with a needle the size of Texas and get the piece “from the top”. The jury is still out on which method is better for me (read: less painful). As of right now, the uncomfortable acupuncture is scheduled for tomorrow at 9am so any chants, dances or other religious psalms sung in my favor would be appreciated.
After all that, I am hoping/expecting/anticipating being home in Florida no later than Monday, 4/9. That’s the plan as of right now but as I’ve noticed, life doesn’t really seem to care if you have a plan. Here’s to hoping…
p.s. - yep, that's an x-ray of what the stent looks like... no, it's not me...
No comments:
Post a Comment