A BIG surgery. Part 6.

Wheeling into that last surgery-- THE CLOSER-- my doctors called it, was one of the scariest moments of my life.  Sure, I'd had five surgeries in the last few weeks already, but I was vented for most of them and don't remember the first two, because the sepsis had gone to my kidneys, shutting off the parts of my brain that contained my memory.  This would be the first surgery that I'd remember going into, remember coming out of, and remember the pain.  And my doctors had warned me that the pain was going to be BAD.  Skin grafting is one of the most painful types of surgery you can go through.  And I had ALOT of wounds that needed to be covered by ALOT of skin.

I could barely see my favorite surgeon Dr. G. when they pushed me into the OR.  My glasses were off and tears filled and poured from my eyes.  Dr. G. came over and hugged me.  "We've gotta put humpty dumpty back together again, Ames," he said.  As the anesthesiologist put the oxygen mask over my face and told me to breathe slowly, Dr. G. petted my hair and the sweet OR nurse held my hands.

Four hours later, I woke up to a breathing tube being pulled from my throat at the same time I was getting moved from the OR cart to a hospital bed.  I couldn't tell which pain was worse...the huge plastic tube scraping out of my already dry and sore throat, or being moved to the other bed.  IT WAS  THE WORST PAIN I HAVE EVER, EVER, EVER FELT OR IMAGINED.  It was absolutely horrifying.  My left leg felt like it was literally on fire.  All of the skin from my hip all the way down to my knee had been removed from the left leg and grafted onto the massive wound on my right inner thigh/quadricep and onto the huge divet wound on my abdomen.  It felt like I had been in a motorcycle accident where layers of skin were completely stripped off by the road.... road rash.  It was so painful that I literally could not move.  I laid there completely flat (which was painful enough.... at that point, my hips were too stiff and cut up to lay flat, so I had to sleep at a 45 degree incline.  My entire body shook violently.  There wasn't a recovery bed open, so I was out in the hall right outside the OR.  The nurse started giving me some IV pain meds but it literally did NOTHING.  My respirations were 5 because of the anesthesia as well as the fact that I couldn't breathe...it hurt too much.  The nurse refused to give me any additional pain medication because my respirations were too low.  She wanted them above 10.  My throat was on fire and I couldn't talk because my mouth was so dry.  I begged her for an ice chip, but she refused.  I laid there with my eyes closed, tears falling out of the corners of my eyes and sliding down my face onto my pillow.  In my head, I cried out to my God.  God, have mercy on me... please lessen this pain.  I can't live through this.

The anesthesiologist came to check on me and was horrified that the nurse hadn't given me pain meds.  "Don't you see that she's holding her breath because she's in pain?!  I don't care, give her something NOW!  Actually, forget it, give me that, I'll do it!'  The doctor grabbed the medication from the nurse and gave it to me herself.  Again, it did nothing.  I felt like both legs had been set on fire.  I knew that day what hell would feel like.  I could imagine burning in the fires of Hell would feel exactly like this.  I knew that meds weren't going to cut it and I needed to get to my mom FAST.  I knew I needed her to lay her hands on me and pray.  I knew at that moment that that would be the only thing that would provide me some relief.  I started to beg the nurse to take me back up to my room on the burn unit.  She refused and said not until my respirations were above 10.  I started hyperventilating, trying anything breathe faster so that she'd take me back up to my room.  Finally, she looked into my eyes and saw the panic and terror and pain.  "Okay," she said.  "I'll take you back up."  I laid as straight and stiff as I could, because any jolt of movement, like the bed hitting a bump, was absolutely horrific.  I was afraid that I might not make it back up to my room alive, because my throat was so dry that I felt like it was closing and I couldn't breathe.  I pictured myself sitting in the hand of my God, him holding me and wiping away the pain.  That had become my go-to image when I was in pain or scared or sad or anxious.

We finally made it back up to my room on the Burn ICU unit.  My nurse Casey was waiting in my room for me.  When I looked over at him, he looked like an angel.  He was holding in one hand my PCA for pain medication and in the other hand, a glass of purple G2 (low-cal gatorade) on ice.  He knew how thirsty I'd be and how much pain I'd be in.  He immediately hooked up my PCA and pushed it himself.  He gave me a bolus of pain medication too.  And he held my gatorade so I could sip it out of a straw.  That sip of gatorade was literally one of the best moments of my life.  THE RELIEF!!!!  It was indescribable.  As a nurse in the Burn ICU, Casey knew what kind of pain we were dealing with.  He didn't care about holding ice chips in case I was nauseous or holding pain meds because of my resps.  I was breathing, so he was medicating.  Those Burn ICU nurses know their stuff.  They know how to take care of a pain unlike any other kind of pain.  It isn't like have a shoulder surgery or gall bladder removal or kidney stone or even a c-section.  Skin grafts and necrotizing fasciitis cause debilitating, ungodly types of pain.  I can't honestly even find descriptives to tell you what it felt like.  It was an absolute terrifying nightmare.  My mom was there.  I begged her to put her hands on me and pray.  And not stop praying.  And that's what she did.  She and Jon put their hands on me and prayed...for hours and hours.  I was weak and tried to stay as still as possible because any movement resulted in horrible pain, but I raised my skinny little arms to Heaven anyways, as if to reach out to God and beg for his help.  Tears poured down our faces as we looked to Heaven for help.  Soon, my sister-in-law came.  She found a book and used it to fan my open wounds.  The coolness of the fan helped to ease the burn a little.  We stayed like that until I finally fell asleep hours later.... my fiancé and my mom praying with their hands on me....me reaching up to God, and my sister-in-law fanning my legs and pushing my PCA button.  God listened to our cries to Him, and slowly the pain lessened enough that I was able to fall asleep.

I knew that I had an incredible amount of pain in my future, but that night was the worst of the pain, and I had learned how to lean on God for pain relief.  I challenge you, the next time you are in pain, close your eyes and pray to God for him to help relief the pain.  Trust Him.  Allow Him to help you.  And He will.

In the days following, the nurses kept me well-medicated, but the pain continued to be insanely intense.  When I'd get to that point, we'd pray.  My mom and dad would also pick up "Jesus Calling" and just start reading passage after passage.  It worked.  I still felt the pain and it was horrible, but I lived.  I survived.  And I'm stronger now.

Even though my wounds were "closed," my journey was far from over.  I had been in bed for around 5 weeks at that point without moving.  After a week of recovery from the last surgery, it was time for me to get out of bed for the first time.  It was time to see if I'd ever be able to walk again.....