My Staycation in Anchorage, Part 10, Barnacles and Vitals Thieves

Barnacles and Vitals Thieves

 

And yet another nurse arrives beside my hospital bed and says, “May I take your vitals?”

I reply, “If you girls keep “taking” my vitals, soon I won’t have any left.”   That one took a moment, but she got it.

All my smart-mouth joking serves a purpose.  Not only does it keep me on the bright side, but it also lets me know that everything is okay cognitively.  I continue to monitor myself assiduously for any signs of anesthesia-related cognitive decline.   That was my worst fear about surgery.

Later on, two nurses arrive for checks, and this time they want to see my five laparoscopic incisions.  I pull up my gown and they count the four near my waistline.

When she hesitates after counting four, I say, “The last one is up here near the barnacles.”   I am referring to the brown seborrheic keratosis that dot my torso and back.  They are caused by many factors like age, genetics, and exposure to sun, and are common in the elderly.

 

This time, all three of us started giggling and it took a while before the ladies could continue their exam.   They left smiling.  Score! I said to myself.   

 

Diane arrives with a bouquet of flowers.   They are a replacement for a previous bouquet sent by Diane’s daughter and two sons and were to contain specific flowers with specific meanings.   The daughter was not happy with the first lovely bouquet as it did not contain lavender, which symbolizes purity, silence, devotion, serenity, grace, and calmness. 

First flowers

Neither did the second bouquet—purple stocks.   Nonetheless, it’s the thought that counts and the flowers are lovely. 

Second flowers

Once again, I am wheeled down to the Ultra Sound lab where a tech locates and pinpoints the spot for another tech to drain the pleural effusion around my left lung.   This time, the half-liter of fluid is not milky and is a brighter red.   My “limousine driver” wheels me back up to the third floor and I get back in bed.  

Altogether, they have drained 1.8 liters of fluid from around my lungs.  Picture almost two Nalgene bottles of fluid, or close to four lbs.!

 If all goes well, I can expect to be discharged tomorrow.

Tomorrow arrives.   Another X-ray reveals only a residual amount of fluid around the right lung.  Not enough to worry about as long as I am breathing well.   

As I pack up to leave the hospital, I ask Diane what she thinks about giving the second bouquet to my roommate.   She approves.  We call the woman’s husband and give him the flowers.    He gives them to his wife and she is happy.

He says, “They put my single rose to shame.”

Ah, my.   So often my good intentions have unintended consequences.

Back at the hotel, we are in a new room as we had to change rooms when our original reservation expired.    

I climb into a sofa bed with an array of pillows that prop me semi-upright, per instructions.  

Then, I start to make plans to go home.  It’s now Saturday.  We canceled Diane’s original Friday flight home and rescheduled it for Monday night.  I get in touch with my friend Julie, who lives in an apartment on my property.  She is returning Sunday from vacation and I will get a ride with her.   Diane will have use of the pickup until Monday.  

Neighbors volunteer to go to Anchorage to get my truck and bring it to Moose Pass for me.   All is set and by Sunday late afternoon, a week after first going to Anchorage, I am home.

Then begins the at-home recovery process.  It will be marked by successes and setbacks, but no more hospital visits.

My Stay-cation in Anchorage, The Lead Up

For Spring Break this year, I opted for a week in Anchorage.   A stay-cation, rather than a vacation, if you will.

Borrowed this photo from the Internet.

 

No islands in the Caribbean with tropical breezes and sharks slipping through the clear waters, no vast  savannahs with African birds of every color and prowling  big cat predators,  no penguins of the Southern Ocean surrounded by their pink poo, where hurricane-force winds rage.   No scenic views, either because my view would be the rooftops of various hospital buildings.

Instead, I chose—somewhat involuntarily—the city where I grew up, graduated high school, and worked in several professions.   No single career choice for me, either.  I began in print journalism, then radio, then as a legal secretary.   I doffed it all to be a breakfast cook at a ski resort 35 miles from Anchorage, where I felt more at home surrounded by mountains and forests and black bears.

Some people think I’ve had a varied career;   I think I had a short attention span.

I went on to many other jobs, but that’s a story for another occasion.   I've gone astray.  Today we’re talking about my Stay-cation in Anchorage.

Up in the second paragraph, I mentioned it was “somewhat involuntary.”  Put the emphasis on involuntary.  I would never have done this t had it not been necessary

I’ll tell you about it because I want it to serve as warning for the rest of you who have similar symptoms, like when you think you have heartburn and sit around patting your chest with your fist.

I dealt with GERD, for decades, a condition in which stomach acid bubbles up into the esophagus.   The esophagus becomes very unhappy and lets you know about it.

 

Google provides a better description:  

This is a chronic disease that occurs when stomach acid or bile flows into the food pipe [esophagus] and irritates the lining. Acid reflux and heartburn more than twice a week may indicate GERD.

Symptoms include burning pain in the chest that usually occurs after eating and worsens when lying down.

 

Relief from lifestyle changes and over-the-counter medications is usually temporary. Stronger medication may be needed.

This is a video.   Click one the YouTube link after you skip the ad.

Pay attention especially to the last part where it describes hiatal hernia.

 

Always the contrarian, my GERD pain transmitted  to my spinal area and was so strong that when it first began occurring, I thought I was having a heart attack.   It was scary. Little did I know then what scary could be.

 

Left untreated, the stomach acid can erode the lining of the esophagus, leading to a pre-cancerous condition called Barrett’s Esophagus.  That got my attention. 

 

I detected (don’t you love self-diagnosis?) that it happened when I overate. I bought Costco-sized bottles of Tums and tried not to overeat.  “Overeating” can be as drastic as eating a huge juicy steak with all the trimmings, or as simple as half of a Costco hot dog.   It varies.

 

So, the Tums accompanied me for a couple decades wherever I went and then one day in Anchorage, things turned ominous. 

 

After two bites of a delicious hamburger at the Arctic Roadrunner, I was literally foaming at the mouth.  I could eat no more, certainly didn’t want to, and soaked napkin after napkin with foamy saliva.  I could not stop it.   It was awful.  And embarrassing.

 

I employed my usual method of medical treatment: ignore it and it will go away.

 

And I went on like that for another couple decades, trying not to over-fill my stomach, and occasionally failing as the “signal” that I was full was slow. 

 

 Until two years ago.   That’s when the fan got plastered with globs of unpleasant stuff, so to speak.

 

Next:  Pain transference