BIG #24- Emergency Surgery #9

Thank you for being so patient for this chapter of my BIG.  And thank you for reading the post I wrote this past week and posted yesterday about Frankie's BIG.  If you haven't had a chance to read it, check it out.  He is such a little fighter and remarkable toddler.  I will get part 2 of HIS Story up this week.  For now, here is the next chapter of mine.

If you need to refresh your memory about where we left off in my story, go here.

As the night went on after surgery #8, I continued to deteriorate.  I was hooked up to the telemetry, and it was constantly beeping.  HR way too high. Blood pressure way too low.  Fever started creeping up.  Worse of all, every time I picked up my blanket, I was sitting in a pool of new blood.  I knew I was bleeding out as the IV team came to start 3 more IVs and had me sign the consent for blood products.  Labs were drawn every 30 minutes and every resident on the surgical floor was in and out of my room.

My abdomen started to feel hard and develop what looked like a baseball sized lump underneath the skin.  The pain throbbed.  It felt like my organs were about to rip right through my skin.  I didn't cry or scream.... no.  I was freaking terrified.  I clenched the bed and shivered.  I shivered for hour after hour, praying silently that somehow this was all a nightmare that I'd wake up from.  Sleep was completely out of the question. 

I knew something was terribly wrong.  Nurses were in and out of my room checking my vitals every few minutes and every time the doctors would look at my abdominal wound, they seemed more panicked.  Finally enough was enough and they called my surgeon to come in from home in the middle of the night.  Seeing him show up at my bedside at 3 a.m. was not a sight I wanted to see.  He is one of the most prestigious surgeons in Chicago, the very best for nec fasc and burn victims.  He doesn't get called in the middle of the night unless there's a real emergency.

The residents had warned me that there was a possibility I was bleeding internally and the blood was starting to clot in an internal "bruise" called a hematoma.  I could see a baseball sized lump forming on my stomach as I lay there, and the pain was unbearable.  I called my parents, and my dad started frantically googling "hematoma after surgery."

What worried me the most was my vitals and my labs.  I knew I already had an extremely low hemoglobin and hematocrit as well as platelets from the shock and organ failure I'd gone through during my first hospitalization.  I started shaking when I heard the nurse call the blood bank and demand units of blood and platelets be sent up immediately.  "No, NOW. We need it like YESTERDAY," she said.  Luckily I had been typed, screened, and cross-matched many times before.  My name is probably well known in that blood bank after this entire fiasco over the last year.

When my surgeon ran in at 3 a.m., he took one look at me and called it.  We're taking you in NOW.  "Call the OR, emergent case," he ordered the nurse.  "Her platelets are 55," the nurse said.

I grabbed my phone and called my parents and Jon.  "I'm going into emergency surgery now. No, Jon, you can't talk to the doctor, we're  going now.

It was then that I heard the 3 words that I'd heard so many times as a nurse, but never, ever, ever expected to hear as a patient.  "CALL A CODE."

A code can mean a few things.  Every hospital has different names for these codes (or emergencies).  In many hospitals, code red or code blue is when the patient is in cardiac arrest... the code they called for me (not red, but I can't remember the number/letter they used) was because of my rapidly declining status and need for additional and immediate help to get me stabilized and into the OR FAST.  

At that point, I was the most terrified I have ever been throughout this entire journey.  I knew I wasn't stable.  I knew I was going to be put to sleep AGAIN, my wounds re-opened AGAIN, and the doctor was gonna have to start initiating measures to stop me from hemorrhaging to death.  I had already been on death's door once.  I honestly felt like I was at that door again, and this time, I might not be able to survive it.

I was still shivering uncontrollably.  I didn't know what to do but pray.  I put my hand on my abdomen and prayed that God would stop the bleeding, as He is the Great Healer.  I had nothing left but faith.  I couldn't trust my body.  I couldn't save myself by mentally being a fighter.  It was no longer in my control and I prayed that God would put his hands on the hands of my surgeon and heal me.   

Then I prayed that if He was ready for me and I didn't make it, that he would take care of Jon.  This is the first time I've actually told anyone about these moments.  It was so painful but all I could think of what this would do to my husband and family.  I prayed that if I didn't make it, Jon would find comfort from God.  I prayed that He would look Up and not Away.  

As we headed into the OR and the anesthesia started to kick in, I asked God for forgiveness and His grace and begged that He let me live and I promised that I'd continue to use this experience to witness to others.  

***

When I woke up, I was in recovery.  I felt the burn in the back of my throat from the breathing tube and  was immediately hit with the most intense pain I'd felt since the skin graft surgery.  I gripped the side of the bed and tried to breathe through it.  I couldn't stop shivering, as that is my body's response to pain, as we have found out.

I couldn't think of anything else besides the pain.  The nurse that took care of me was concerned with my wounds, labs, and vital signs and wouldn't take me back to my room where my family was.  I kept telling her I was okay, but she kept me there for an additional 4 hours.

The doctor explained that I had a baseball sized hematoma in my abdomen where they'd removed the skin graft.  They had to operate so deep and the graft was attached to several organs, so it was difficult to remove, and therefore, a lot of blood vessels and nerves had been severed, which explains the the hemorrhage and hematoma.  Because of the re-opening, muscle maneuvering, and nerve damage, pain was inevitable.  In order to drain the fluids and blood inside the body, four drains were placed.  Three were in my abdomen and there was also a drain on my leg.

Finally I was taken back to my room, to my family.  The pain was horrible, but I felt better being back in my room with my family at my bedside.  

I was kept in the hospital for 3 more days, to monitor the wounds, hematoma, drains, vital signs, and my labs.  I was running a fever of 100-101 the whole time.  They started several IV antibiotics in case an infection was brewing.  My heart rate was also extremely high.  My body was just having a hard time keeping up with all the trauma.  

When it was time to go home, I was worried.  I still had a fever, my heart rate was still high, and the pain was unbearable, particularly where the hematoma had been removed.  I was told I could not be standing for more than a minute or two, no showering (bed baths only) no walking without a leg stabilizer and abdominal binder and my walker.  "So what am I ALLOWED to do?" I asked Dr. C.  Not much, he said.  We don't want you moving too much because we don't want to disturb the scars and cause any stretching or tearing of the wound and stitches.  "How long?" I asked.  "Probably at least 6 weeks," he said.  No moving, running, shopping, gym, driving, etc. etc. for 6 WEEKS??  Ugh.  

As it turns out, the restrictions were the easy part of my recovery.  Little did I know that I was about to face my most painful recovery yet.  Will talk about that more in BIG #25 Final Recovery.