3-30-2000
Just another day, exactly 8 years ago. Seems like a LONG time ago but yet it seems like just yesterday. But a life changing day for me that I am forever grateful.
I remember arriving at the hospital before sunrise. I'm led to the surgical suite prep for my complicated and hopefully, life saving surgery.
I'm nervous yet resigned, never once thinking about a bad outcome or what I would have to endure post surgery. All I knew is that whatever was in store for me had to be better than the state of my health the past year.
Eight months of IVs, 40 lbs of alarming, quick weight loss, fevers, no sleep accompanied by night sweats, hurling everything I ate, and unbearable, non stop hacking my head off.
It all took it's toll on me to the point of being exhausted & numb.
NOTHING was working, I was in a freefall, I knew I was dying.
Pictures of me from that time period don't look like 'me'.
I was an empty shell of someone who resembles me, but completely, emotionally and physically spent. My buddy MAC was in the driver's seat, out of control, causing me to crash & burn.
The last thing I remember is the nurse saying it's time to go.
Terry gave me one last hug, kiss and 'I love you' as the nurse pushed a drug into my line, I was immediately out and in la-la land.
My next foggy, surreal memory was 4 days later, when a nurse yelled into my ear. "We are going to remove the vent tube and you HAVE to breathe on your own. TAKE A BREATH!
I vividly recall thinking, "Oh Lord, please let me breathe, just breathe."
As I drew my first unassisted breath, I was overcome with a feeling of relief and smack-me-in-the-face realization of where I was. I didn't know the day, time or date, nothing mattered . . . I knew I had made it through surgery and I was on my way forward. Two more days in the ICU, then on to a private room that became my home for the next month of recovery.
My surgery was called a 'wedge resection'. MAC had literally eaten away areas of my left lung, leaving large, non functioning pockets filled with bacteria with no way to escape. Since tests revealed that some areas of my lung were still functioning, my thoraxic surgeon decided to perform the resection rather than remove the whole lung. His reasoning was to leave me with as much, viable lung as possible. A straight lobectomy was out of the question because both lobes were affected. He explained that resection recovery would be hard and long, waiting for the incisions and sutures in the lung to heal. I knew it was a last ditch effort . . . so let's do it!
Here's a quicky drawing showing the resection I had, about 2/3 was lopped away.
My one month stay in the hospital was a challenge. I had 2, 2' long x 1" diameter chest tubes to not only drain excess fluid but to serve as an escape for air leaked from between the stitches of my new shrunken exhaling lung. The tubes were extremely painful, requiring the opiate, narcotic Dilaudid every 3-4 hours. The euphoria I felt as the Dilaudid entered my veins was indescribable. I could feel an incredible, feel-good-warmth spread to every part of my body before the syringe push was finished. My mind was at complete peace without a care in the world. The pain, INSTANTLY gone. Without looking at the clock, I could tell exactly the 3 hour mark since my last fix. The intense chest pain rolled back in a wave of vengence. I would try to wait 4 hours, but by then it was excrutiating. Oh yeah, push that button, call the 24/7 pusher, oops uhhhh, I mean nurse, give me drugs - now!
NOTHING was working, I was in a freefall, I knew I was dying.
Pictures of me from that time period don't look like 'me'.
I was an empty shell of someone who resembles me, but completely, emotionally and physically spent. My buddy MAC was in the driver's seat, out of control, causing me to crash & burn.
The last thing I remember is the nurse saying it's time to go.
Terry gave me one last hug, kiss and 'I love you' as the nurse pushed a drug into my line, I was immediately out and in la-la land.
My next foggy, surreal memory was 4 days later, when a nurse yelled into my ear. "We are going to remove the vent tube and you HAVE to breathe on your own. TAKE A BREATH!
I vividly recall thinking, "Oh Lord, please let me breathe, just breathe."
As I drew my first unassisted breath, I was overcome with a feeling of relief and smack-me-in-the-face realization of where I was. I didn't know the day, time or date, nothing mattered . . . I knew I had made it through surgery and I was on my way forward. Two more days in the ICU, then on to a private room that became my home for the next month of recovery.
My surgery was called a 'wedge resection'. MAC had literally eaten away areas of my left lung, leaving large, non functioning pockets filled with bacteria with no way to escape. Since tests revealed that some areas of my lung were still functioning, my thoraxic surgeon decided to perform the resection rather than remove the whole lung. His reasoning was to leave me with as much, viable lung as possible. A straight lobectomy was out of the question because both lobes were affected. He explained that resection recovery would be hard and long, waiting for the incisions and sutures in the lung to heal. I knew it was a last ditch effort . . . so let's do it!
Here's a quicky drawing showing the resection I had, about 2/3 was lopped away.
My one month stay in the hospital was a challenge. I had 2, 2' long x 1" diameter chest tubes to not only drain excess fluid but to serve as an escape for air leaked from between the stitches of my new shrunken exhaling lung. The tubes were extremely painful, requiring the opiate, narcotic Dilaudid every 3-4 hours. The euphoria I felt as the Dilaudid entered my veins was indescribable. I could feel an incredible, feel-good-warmth spread to every part of my body before the syringe push was finished. My mind was at complete peace without a care in the world. The pain, INSTANTLY gone. Without looking at the clock, I could tell exactly the 3 hour mark since my last fix. The intense chest pain rolled back in a wave of vengence. I would try to wait 4 hours, but by then it was excrutiating. Oh yeah, push that button, call the 24/7 pusher, oops uhhhh, I mean nurse, give me drugs - now!
Ummmm yeah, let's just say, that I now know what a heroin addict experiences when they shoot up.
Not only did the Dilaudid do an excellent job at keeping my pain at bay but I found myself with a new dilemma. When the tubes were finally pulled 5 weeks after surgery, I no long needed the Dilaudid for pain. But mentally and physically, I craved it, and soon found out that I was indeed, addicted.
HUH-ME? Someone who doesn't even drink, A MAINLINER DRUG ADDICT?!?!
Yep, it had a hold on me. Methadone became my 'Dilaudid replacement' to help go through withdrawls that lasted 2 weeks. It was miserable - UGH!
As I continued to recover at home, I rebuilt my endurance with daily walks.
After a month, I felt better than I had in 2 years.
Surgery was a complete success and restored health that I thought was ancient history. The next 2 years were filled with intense, nauseating, oral ABX cocktails to finish eradicating the MAC. It worked! I 've not cultured positive for MAC since. *** knock on wood ***
But I did pick up the dreaded MRSA bug in my lungs from that long hospital stay.
Would I do it all again?
Absolutely, in a heartbeat!
Not only did the Dilaudid do an excellent job at keeping my pain at bay but I found myself with a new dilemma. When the tubes were finally pulled 5 weeks after surgery, I no long needed the Dilaudid for pain. But mentally and physically, I craved it, and soon found out that I was indeed, addicted.
HUH-ME? Someone who doesn't even drink, A MAINLINER DRUG ADDICT?!?!
Yep, it had a hold on me. Methadone became my 'Dilaudid replacement' to help go through withdrawls that lasted 2 weeks. It was miserable - UGH!
As I continued to recover at home, I rebuilt my endurance with daily walks.
After a month, I felt better than I had in 2 years.
Surgery was a complete success and restored health that I thought was ancient history. The next 2 years were filled with intense, nauseating, oral ABX cocktails to finish eradicating the MAC. It worked! I 've not cultured positive for MAC since. *** knock on wood ***
But I did pick up the dreaded MRSA bug in my lungs from that long hospital stay.
Would I do it all again?
Absolutely, in a heartbeat!
The last 8 years have brought me more happy memories and enjoyment than ever before. I re-prioritized my life and started living "my bucket list", savoring and living every moment. That's not to say I haven't had my struggles since, but nothing compared to what I know it could be. I've learned to take what ever CF crap is thrown my way in stride and do the best I can to beat the current situation.
My only reminders of that day are the 12" chest scar from front to back and 2 round, quarter sized, hole scars.
They are my battle scars & proof of another war won.
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