Even the Predictable Isn’t.

March 26, 2013 at 5:38 pm (Hospitalizations, Medical, The Panniculectomy) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

This will be short, as I can still feel the effects of the Versed, Fentanyl, and Morphene in my system. Today I went to JH to get the new drain put in via Interventional Radiology. I’ve had it done twice before, so I wasn’t nervous or worried much; my only fear was that something odd would happen and they’d make me stay at the hospital, as the first two times were done as part of a bigger inpatient stay, and this was supposed to be outpatient.

I whisk through registration, and only wait for about ten minutes before it’s time to go back and gown up. I’m cool as a cucumber, watching some Netflix and joking with the nurses. They come to take me into the procedure room and other than the knowledge that this is going to hurt quite a bit, I’m still doing okay.

The first two times I had this procedure, it was done on an emergency basis, so I wasn’t able to do things like fast and limit my fluid intake. They tell me this time, that could be why the “twilight sedation” didn’t do much for me. The truth is, the first time I wasn’t given much of anything due to my blood pressure being too low; the second, I was given very little. This time, the nurse cooks up a cocktail I can feel; although I didn’t fall asleep (because, well, having a wire shoved into the sorest part of your abdomen isn’t really dreamland material), but I did find myself following trains of thought and being generally spacey. The nurse kept bringing me back to reality by loudly asking me to breath deep breaths; I couldn’t see the stat board, but I assume that even with the oxygen and my CPAP, my pulse ox was dipping. This is common for me when I have to lay flat on my back, which is why I never sleep that way.

When the procedure was over, they wanted me to shimmy from the procedure table to the gurney. I remember distinctly, both times before, being allowed to sit up, come off the table, and then turn around and hop on the gurney. This time, because I had been given much more sedation, they would absolutely positively not allow me to do this (and actually denied that it had ever been done, but whatever). Part of my chronic issue is that my arms and legs are very weak, so between the soreness in my abdomen, the terrible pain in my lower back from having to lay absolutely flat for so long, and the weakness in my limbs, this shimmy plan was not going to happen. So they grabbed some big burly doctor/orderly types, and yanked the sheet with me on it onto the gurney. Let’s leave it at: I cried. It fucking hurt. It hurt my newly punctured abdomen, and it really hurt my screaming lower back. They look at me like I’m an idiot, and without even putting something under my head to support it, they wheel me to post op.

Because of the pain, and that I metabolize sedation super fast, once I was in post op the first thing I asked for was if I could sit up. They bring me a recliner and my back is forever grateful. The nurse starts taking the personal items off of the gurney, notably my cpap machine, which some nurse has graciously packed up for me after the procedure. Except.

See, my CPAP: it’s a machine I use at night that forces air into my throat and lungs in order to bypass any partial or full blockages my epiglottis or other anatomy puts in the way. Sleep apnea is becoming fairly common, and I can name at least ten of my friends who use some sort of apnea device to sleep or who have had surgery because of it. And most machines have a water reserve, since pushing dry-ass air into your mouth and nose all night can be harmful; the machine humidifies the air (great for when I’m sleeping in hotels!), and you can control how little or much humidity is released. However, the big fat honking rule, for what I feel are fairly obvious reasons, is that you have to empty the water chamber before you pack up the CPAP. In case it’s not obvious, failure to do that means that the electronics that make the CPAP work get water all over them, and they think it’s a spring break wet tee shirt contest and stop working.

So I’m in post-op, and the post-op nurse is moving my CPAP case from the gurney to a table in the recovery space. She notices the bag is soaking wet. I groggily try to explain to her that I’m betting the nurse left the water in the chamber, and the machine is now broken. Now, to be fair, this has happened twice before to my particular machine. Since it is often people other than me who pack up my stuff, it’s been packed with water in it before. However, the big difference is, when my friends have mistakenly packed it wet, it was after a full night’s sleep, so there was very little water in the chamber. The nurse in the procedure room had filled it as though I was going to sleep for eight hours, and then only used about an hour’s worth of water.

We plugged it into the wall, and I was right. It tried to start up, but it wouldn’t go.

I don’t think I’ve seen more nurses turn pale white. Fucking up someone’s personal, very expensive, medically necessary machine is, one would guess, one of those things nurses don’t just get away with. All of a sudden, there was a lot of hustling and bustling as they were trying to figure out what to do. Secretly, Rave and I knew that she had an old machine back home, so worse came to worse I could use that, even if it wasn’t set to my specficiations, at least long enough for me to see the doc and get a new one. But even with that in hand, my biggest concern was making sure that from the moment we discovered they were responsible, and there was absolutely no way I had done anything to cause this, that Johns Hopkins was buying me a new effing CPAP. (And what good timing, as mine is old and makes a lot of noise compared to the newer models!)

Then the charge nurse announces that they can’t legally release me until they know I have a CPAP to use that night, and if we couldn’t figure something out, they’d have to put me in a room. No way, I thought. I tell Rave to call my sleep doctor’s office and explain the situation to them, and see if I could get a loaner or something. Johns Hopkins is doing the same thing on their end. I covertly planned that no matter what my doctor’s office actually said, I would tell them I was getting a loaner, and I’d figure out the finanicals later.

But as it turned out, my doc’s office does loan out machines, pretty much indefinitely, if yours is broken. However, it was now 2:15, and the office in Frederick (about an hour away) closes at 4:30. So my discharge goes in fast forward: I’m given some morphine to make the drive home a little less unpleasant. Since I’ve had this sort of drain before, they skip teaching me how to take care of it. They grab me a bunch of supplies, since I need saline flushes for the drain and they’re pretty hard to come by over the Internet; there’s other stuff, but I have most of it at home. And then they even call one of their orderlies to help Rave carry all the stuff back to the Duckbus so we can hurry our way to pick up the loaner.

We get to Frederick with plenty of time to spare, and it takes us all of 20 minutes to get the loaner. I get a phone call from Johns Hopkins Customer Service, as they’re just checking in that I was able to get to my doctor’s in time. I told her I was, and that I would be in touch very soon about how Johns Hopkins plans on fixing this issue. I must have sounded like a bolded statement, even though I was half-asleep from all the meds, because she gave me her personal line and promised that JH would replace the machine as soon as we could figure out all the details.

This is what I get for thinking any procedure involving me would go smoothly and without incident. I’ll be offline for the rest of today and possibly tomorrow recuperating from yet another tap of the Del keg. So far, the draining fluid looks serous, or not infected, so that’s a very good sign.

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6 Comments

  1. Stephanie said,

    Gah. I’m sorry that things had to be so fucked up today. I’m glad you could at least get a loaner CPAP. Sending hugs if you want ’em. And if you aren’t up for BACONPANCAKES Friday, don’t sweat it. It will happen, eventually. I want you to be happy and safe and comfortable.

    • Del said,

      I should be okay by Friday, but I’ll let you know Thursday night if I think I might have to cancel.

  2. aeddubh said,

    I am amused that serous serious in this case. Although it also humorous (or humerus) in this case either.

    You are, have been, and will remain in my prayers.

    • aeddubh said,

      Erk. Please insert “!=” before “serious” and “humorous”… WordPress ate my angle brackets.

  3. Elizabeth said,

    For the love of the gods, I cannot believe that they broke your machine. I mean, seriously? Gnnngh.

  4. Alex said,

    oh my goodness. I was reading your other post and caught the tags on this post. You must have been super loopy when you did this one, because I laughed for a good five minutes over it.

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