The Drill Sergeant
I called Diane my “nanny” rather than my “caregiver” when she came to Alaska to help me through my hiatal hernia repair surgery. I figured, knowing my propensity for pushing the envelope, that she would restrain me from doing things too early in my recovery.
Instead, she turned into a drill sergeant.
“This afternoon,” she declared, “I want you up doing laps in the hallway.” Dang, I thought, all I want to do is lie in bed. Plus, that’s a long hallway. But, I consented. I knew I was supposed to be moving around to prevent pneumonia.
So it came to be. The worst of the pain was gone, I was sticking to my Tylenol schedule, and getting out of bed was—well, it wasn’t easy but it was doable.
We made two complete laps of the long hallway and I felt pretty good. Later, Diane went out to get food and I made one lap. After her return, we started on another two laps and I noticed, when we paused at the end of the hall, that I was somewhat out of breath and we took a longer break before moving on.
I was again out of breath when we returned to the room, so I sat down.
I was awakened during the night, very short of breath and struggling to get enough air. My respiration rate was quite high, and I was aware of having to take every breath, one right after the next.
I sat up as far as I could and struggled.
Fifteen years ago, I fulfilled a lifelong dream and traveled to Tibet. Three hours after arrival, I had a massive migraine headache. During the night, I found myself lacking air.
With that experience in mind, I knew what was happening. The extreme altitude (10,000 to 11,000 ft) meant there was a lot less oxygen in the air than my usual sea-level air. Now, the cause was different but the feeling was similar.
Diane stirred and I told her we would need to go to the ER in the morning. I don’t think she slept after that and early morning found us heading back to the hospital. She lay awake listening to my breathing.
Test after test after even more tests. I can tell you, though, that the chicken broth a nurse prepared for me in ER was far better than from the hospital cafeteria.
It was ten hours before I was admitted and put in a room. During that time, I had 1.3rd liters of fluid drained from the capsule around my right lung and I could breathe easier. The tech who did the procedure was astonished at the amount.
The blood-tinged fluid was sent to the lab for tests.
The next day, a half-liter of fluid was drained from my left lung area, so 1.8 liters in total. I told the techs in the ultrasound room where the pleural effusion was drained that I was supposed to lose up to 20 lbs. from the hiatal hernia surgery and that I was coming back for refund if I didn’t.
We had done some quick conversions from liters to quarts and I remarked, “You just accounted for four pounds of that.” It wasn’t, however, the weight I hoped to lose.
Finally, near 10 P.M., I was wheeled into a two-person hospital room, admitted until further tests showed I was okay.
I was hoping for a good night’s sleep after last night’s sleepless one, but an hour later they wheeled in a roommate, and that was the end of sleep.