This year, in May of 2012 my last grand-mal seizure put me in the hospital for observation with a VEEG until I had another seizure. This was not going to be exciting and it wasn’t. Most of my seizures were weeks to months apart and I was afraid that either I would leave with no seizure or have one and get a diagnosis I wasn’t prepared for. Turns out, I had another grand-mal seizure after they slowly reduced my ativan to nothing and from that, they diagnosed generalized Epilepsy and started medication treatment immediately. After a few days on the medication I was released with strict rules to follow regarding this medication. During my stay and after the seizure, however, I complained about the worst back pain I had ever experienced. Everyone shrugged it off telling me, “this is not why you are here. You are here for seizures, not chronic pain.” Um…this is not chronic pain, this is ACUTE pain. You know the kind that makes you want to scream every time you breathe, move, stand up (nearly impossible) or sit down. I waited a day just for a doctor to prescribe a heating pad. Really? So they made me think it was all in my head. If anything it was a muscle pain, like a charlie horse in my back from my intense grand-mal seizure.

After 5 weeks of my moaning and complaining and very unusal appearance to my husband, he took me to the ER because my less-than-helpful PCP would not schedule me for an emergency appointment (I know they exist). So I had no other choice; I went to the ER. They were skeptical too. “Are you pregnant?” they would ask. Uh, not a chance in … was I pregnant. “Are you willing to provide a urine sample?” If it gets you off my back about it, yes! After 2 and a half hours of lying there crying in pain the doctor comes in with my films and simply stated, “Well, I know why you are in pain.” Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you – more vindication for me, not in my head. He proceeds to show me my x-ray of my spine and wouldn’t you know it, a completely crushed L1 vertebrae. We hypothesized this happened during my seizure in May and that the muscles contractions during it pulled that bone apart. Painful? Yes…there are no numbers on their scale of uselessness to explain this level to them. “Those injuries hurt really badly.” Hey thanks, I know, what are YOU going to do about it? Well, the position of the break is one where we can do nothing. I consulted a surgeon and he said he could do nothing to help other than offer a body brace (something like a body cast but could be removed when lying down). Out of the humanity in his heart he offered IV Dilaudid which helped a TON. Nothing at home would touch the pain because what I had at home I was already using to make my already present chronic pain tolerable. I attempted to go in for pain help a week later as it was preventing me from sleeping and they gave nothing but IV torodol and benedryl. I’m thankful for that much but would have rather had something for my pain. Instead I got a muscle relaxant and medication for my progressing UTI that popped up that day.

So, I’m struggling. Trying to take it one day at a time, one hour at a time and living for good days that seem to be getting further and further apart. I often wonder if anyone is listening to me and believing in what I am saying when I express pain through teary eyes. With all my medical issues, do I really look like some drug dealer off the street? I have an appointment with one of the most amazing pain specialists in the state on the first of August and hope he can provide me with something else as I know the limits of a PCP or any other specialist are heavy due to the messed up Washington State laws regarding narcotics, as if they have some right to determine who is really in pain and who is not. I’d like to break a few of their bones, give them the throw-up flu and infect their bladder and deny them pain medication and see how long they’d last. Certainly not as long. After tomorrow, I will be finding a new PCP and my wonderful friends on Facebook have pointed me in the direction of the University of Washington. My geneticist is there, so I figured I would give it a shot. I really can’t do any worse than I have with my current doctor.

Sorry if this post is a bit negative. I am very much dreading my appointment with my PCP tomorrow. I hope she has her crap together because so far, she hasn’t. No return on my phone calls or e-mails unless she has something negative to say or something that would make me work harder than is necessary to get something accomplished. Sometimes I feel like giving up but it is people like my GI (Dr. David Patterson) who keep me going forward. He actually called me and asked me to come in. Feeling as if I had done something wrong, like you feel when your father uses your middle name and calls you into his office (you KNOW it won’t be good), but he assured me it was merely a check-up and to review my medications. That is the first time I had an appointment scheduled not by me, but my doctor. It is apparent he is thinking about me and worried/wondering how I am doing. For that I am grateful. In this whirlwind of life I lead there are a few constants, my husband and family, and my GI doctor (who I have been with for at least three years).

Anyway, it is late and my appointment is early. Good night everyone and good luck.

~ Happy Tummy Days!

I just wanted to share something with everyone. Most people don’t know that I live in constant pain, so much pain that I’m not even aware of it at times (but it shows itself in other ways like increased heart rate). I don’t tell anyone about this pain anymore. They know the story and roll their eyes so I’ve put on a smile, and go about my day. Fake most of the time but sometimes real. What frustrates me most is that the ones who are supposed to help me, believe me and understand me are the ones who deny me help and call me crazy. “If you were in that much pain all the time you’d be screaming and unable to do anything.” Not true, sir. As any ER doc would fail to understand is that those with chronic illnesses cannot simply cry out every time they feel pain, lay down every time they feel tired, nauseated or upset. What would life be? The difference between a real chronic sufferer and a fake one is the smile, compassion and understanding.

Why are there all these message boards and forums created by patients? Because we want to forget our problems, for they cannot be solved (for lack of trying by the medical field or for they truly cannot be helped – hospice), and try to help others through their problems, their reaction to the truth of their disease and just to be there for them when they need someone to talk to because no one else wants to listen. There is a definite difference between want and has to, and that was intentional. Most doctors have to listen, but they aren’t really listening because if they were really listening, understanding and believing, they wouldn’t have to listen, they would want to listen. The boards have been very helpful to me and the people visiting my site, e-mailing me and leaving messages there have been amazing. I could not say more about them. No one knows them like I do. The chronic sufferer.

The pain medication I receive acts only to take the edge off my pain. It is enough to allow me to move around as opposed to being in bed all day. However, most people make the false assumption that activity means absence of pain. It couldn’t be further from the truth. When you live with pain for so long, you build up a tolerance to it. I’ve even had this justified by my gynecological oncologist, who said that I was in a considerable amount of pain of which I was unaware.

This was mostly tested when, during my VEEG (testing for epilepsy through in-patient EEG…NOT FUN). They were able to reproduce my grand-mal seizure by slowly reducing my ativan (that I have taken for years for sleep and anxiety) to nothing. Bam, seizure, and a very bad one at that. I don’t know if they did what you should NEVER do, and held me down but all I DO know is that when I came to and asked about it, my back was in excruciating pain way above a 10 on the pain scale of uselessness. They refused to listen or provide proper pain relief medication. They kept telling me that wasn’t what I was here for (referring to my chronic pain). I wasn’t talking about my chronic pain but rather acute pain in my back that made it hurt even to breathe. I even had to wait for them to get a prescription from my neurologist for a HEATING PAD! What is that about?!

They kept me off my sleeping medications but instead fed me Ritalin after 9pm to sleep deprive me as well and once I had my seizure, I was allowed back on them and sleep I did. They immediately diagnosed general epilepsy. My epilepsy neurologist brought up the idea of getting tested for mitochondrial disease. It was something I have been considered for quite some time but with the recent events, it made the diagnosis very plausible. I have an appointment with one of the best geneticists in the state, thanks to a friend I found on Facebook for recommending her. My seizure was strong enough in the hospital to crush the L1 vertebra in my back. If you know where this is, you know it is one of the worst places possible. It hurts to breathe, let alone do anything else. I was given a brace to use if I’m not lying down but truth be told, I am laying down a LOT. I am not a fan. If taking away driving for 6 months wasn’t enough, I can no longer even preform simple household chores. The burden on my husband continues to grow but I hope that once my back heals properly, I can return the favor in some way.

I guess I’m not feeling all that well so it is hard to make or see the positives. This weekend my husband and I are going to the Seattle sympohy to watch them play Disney music. That should be fun and it is in the middle of the day so I should still be relatively feeling better than I do by the time evening rolls around. It is my first REAL outing in quite some time. Just to be out is a treat in itself. Maybe afterwards we could catch some dinner. I don’t eat but I completely enjoy the company. In any case, I’ve rambled on and most of it doesn’t make sense but I thought I would update on the VEEG and upcoming appointments and tests. My issues with my current PCP are for another day. If I commented on it now, I would 100% guarantee things would be said that I would most definitely regret. Let’s just say, I’m on the look for a new one and many of my friends have led me to the University of Washington (where my geneticist is, coicidentally), so I figure I would give it a try. Anyone is better than who I have now.

Thank you for all your support, prayers, thoughts and love through all my difficult times. I read them all and respond when I can. They mean the world to me and you are why I continue to keep my site active. To promote awareness and to give a place to those who may feel alone with a diagnosis that is poorly understood, not well documented, and contains patients who can be countries apart. Should you ever need a listening ear, encourage, or help, I am here for you all <3

Thank you all for everything and I hope you are having a good night watching the Olympic summer trials (my favorite thing to do aside from the real ones held this year in London!)

– Kirby

I’ll be updating this blog shortly as many things have happened and I’m still trying to wrap my head around them and find doctors who are qualified to make the correct diagnosis that may explain why all my organ systems seem to be affected. For now, I have updated the GP INFO page with a new introduction to the life someone with GP/CIP or any digestive disorder lives with day-to-day. It is lengthy but well worth the read if you are truly curious. It will help you try to understand but we all know that until it happens to you, complete understanding will never be possible. We, as a group, would not wish that on our worst enemy. I hope everyone is having good tummy days and are with doctors who really do care for them and do everything in their power to make them well, even if it means sending them to someone else for proper diagnosis as it might be beyond their scope of knowledge and understanding.

Good luck to all of you. I think of you often and you are all in my hearts and keep me going. You really are my inspiration for putting my story out to the world for it is by these words, patients become stronger and wiser in their disease, a disease that is so very much misunderstood and often underestimated and even mocked. We have to ban together to make ourselves heard and this is one way I think it can be done. Sharing stories helps us find ways to help ourselves in ways we never thought of before. Continue to read, research, share and post so newly diagnosed or those diagnosed for years but had no one to talk to can find peace in the knowledge that they aren’t crazy; this disease and those it cause are real and sometimes it is us, the patients, that are the only ways to help progress in the positive direction in terms of a cure or even treatment of symptoms. I hope you are all doing well and keeping your tummy troubles at bay as the summer quickly approaches. I hope you can enjoy it with family and friends without the extra burden of this and other diseases. I love you all and think of you often. Keep fighting. Our battle has not yet been won.

I have other news and a new diagnosis, one that some who have friended me on Facebook already know of, but I will explain it in greater detail here and what it all means when it isn’t so late. For now I will leave with a picture. Good night everyone. Rest well! <3

She knew I needed her most – even if I was completely knocked out after three days of no sleep thanks to the Ritalin they made me take after 9:00pm each night…She stayed by my side the whole time. Best dog in the world. My princess.

Love you always and forever,
Kirby

People do not cry because they are weak, but because they have been strong for too long.

Saturday, February 11th, 2012, started off like any other day, but it was not to end like any other day and has forever changed me in ways I didn’t think possible. I wasn’t really feeling myself all day. With GP, who really does have a normal day? What is normal? I was still trying to figure out that very question when I became very abnormal. I have issues controlling my temperature so being insanely cold is really not that out of the ordinary. The uncontrollable and massive shaking attacks that happened that night before bed probably would have been my first clue that something was horribly wrong. Again, what is normal and what requires a doctor appointment? I bundle myself in every single blanket, haul the personal space heater upstairs to the bedroom, set to high and also sleep on a heating pad set to high and attempt to sleep off whatever it was that was making me feel like crap.

The night was very surreal. I would wake up but feel very weird, delusional and disconnected. It was 3:00am during one of these awake moments that my loving husband checks on me. He realizes right away that I was burning up. I’m not entirely responsive but adamant about NOT going to the ER for what is probably just the flu, especially at this time in the morning of February 12, 2012. He is not happy about it either but takes the stand that if something needs to be done, just get it done and over with. Little did he know that many somethings needed doing and it was going to be awhile before they’d be over with. He runs downstairs to get the trusty SpongeBob thermometer and finds out that it read a very convincing 103.6 (both times). That thermometer never works quite right and if it was reading a temperature, then more than likely, the actual temperature was much higher. He says to me that we have to go to the hospital right now. Ugh, I roll over and refuse. My energy at this point is rather pathetic so it doesn’t take much to convince me to grab what I could and get in the car for a ride over to the Redmond ER. *Side note: we will never again be visiting the Evergreen Hospital due to their enormously high error rate when it came to diagnosing and treating patients. So we will take the extra 15 minutes just to be in the Swedish network with doctors we know and trust.*

As I walk in bundled in my favorite blanket, half-awake and probably looking a little like death, the receptionist, upon seeing me, simply says, “Oh no.” Not exactly the words you want to hear and definitely not something that conveys any sort of positive attitude towards this downhill situation. At 3:00am the ER is not all that full and we are seen immediately, stats taken, blood taken, IVs started and the decision is made, though not as hastily as I would have thought they would be, given how obvious it is that I was septic from an infection in my port, to transport me via ambulance (yay, my fourth one) to my favorite hospital, Swedish Issaquah. My temperature continues to rise and my self-awareness continues to decline. I vaguely remember the ride to the hospital, my arrival to the ICU and the number of tubes they placed (urinary catheter, NG tube for suction – my stomach began to fill with fluid at a rate that had doctors overly concerned that I may aspirate that fluid along with it forcing me to use more than necessary energy just to breathe, breathing tubes and many PIVs for fluids, pain medication, broad spectrum antibiotics, etc.).

It would be three or four days before they would get a correct identification on the infection quickly taking my life, and for the antibiotic to bring me back from an almost coma-like state. I remember during the first few days, that I was not breathing well. I was sleeping but in my sleep I hear the nurses telling me to take a breath. For me, at the time, breathing and not breathing were the same. There was no urge to breathe and because of that, I would stop breathing periodically requiring nurses in my room 24/7 just to tell me to breathe. I was in such bad shape that the doctors discussed placing me on life-support. Life-support…in one single night I went from one extreme to the other. I was very unaware of how bad things were, who all was involved, though I do remember Dr. Patterson being there – love his accent, so I never experienced fear, the fear I’d lose my life after so many years I spent fighting for it.

The fog lifted a few days after my mom arrived. She jumped on a plane that same day Victor called her and informed her that I was not doing well. From his voice she could tell things were desperate. I will be forever grateful to have had her there with me. She fought to get me the things I needed. It was the first time I had someone else in my room with me all day. None of my family lives here and Victor has to work. I think it was Friday of that week that I began to stabilize. Well, they had gotten me on the right antibiotic and my temperature lowered to normal for the night. Waking up was a different story. I had begun to spike another high fever, my O2 stats were dropping as my heart rate escalated above 170. I was shaking from pain and fear. NOT ONE NURSE OR DOCTOR responded to my help button. I pressed it several times. Each time I’d get someone talking to me, “OK, I’ll send your nurse in…” and then another 15 minutes go by, “OK, I’ll send your nurse in…” 30 minutes go by and I’m getting worse. Scared to death I’d die alone. It was too early for my mother and husband to be by and my doctors were not yet doing their rounds. It was a half-hour after nurses changed shifts so I know they were around. But they were not by me. I desperately called people just to talk to someone, anyone so I wouldn’t be alone should I die. My husband’s phone is dead, my mom doesn’t answer, but my GI does. I’m in complete tears and hysterical by this moment and told him what is happening, he asks, “NO ONE is in your room right now?” Nope, not a soul. He told me he’d call the hospital. At that point, while waiting for Dr. Patterson to shape up the nurses (Hello, I am in the ICU – why are you all taking so long in the first place!), I called my dad. He is at home because of the flu and wouldn’t be allowed in the room anyway, even if he had made the plane trip with my mother. I told him what had happened and how scared I was and that I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to talk to someone. He couldn’t handle it. He told me that everything was going to be fine and in that, I found enough peace to end the conversation with him as it seemed to be entirely too much for him to handle, being so far away. I took my camera and made a short video for insurance purposes to prove a severe lack of ANYONE in my room or even at the nurses station which I seemed to have a straight shot of (because those darn nurses NEVER close the darn doors!). It is slightly upsetting but I offer it here. NEVER let your ICU room be void of nurses if you are in shock. It really is common sense but for whatever reason, today, common sense failed them.

*Enter Nurse From Hell – AKA: Crystal* My husband, mother and service dog, Ellie, had already arrived to help calm me down but in strolls Crystal. For whatever reason, before she even spoke to me, she had some sort of resentment towards me. She had no business being a nurse, and an ICU nurse at that. To be a nurse requires feelings, sympathy, empathy and a general care for the well-being of any human that walks through your doors despite their shortcomings or mistakes. She possessed nothing of the sort.

As she walks in, she informs me that the previous x-rays they did last night of my abdomen (yay for paralytic ileus), my PICC line was noticed to be out of place, dangerously close to the apex of my heart (where one of the pacemakers is located and if tampered with could cause the heart to stop entirely), and they could not use it. She then stated that she would be placing another PIV to allow for fluids and medication while we waited on the PICC line nurses to assess and fix my line. Fine, do it – I am in clear need of morning medications (including the life-saving antibiotic) and fluids. Crystal notices Ellie quietly laying in the corner behind Victor’s chair. I’m watching Crystal as she places the WORST IV EVER.


How she managed to find that tiny little vein is beyond me. I can only attribute it to her skill and my clenched fist. Fact is, the vein is small and my veins are already notorious for blowing (infiltrating) and she thought she could run everything through that little PIV, including D10. D10 is basically TPN minus the lipids and a few other things. It is thin enough to be given through a PIV. However, even if it is thin, my vein is still too small to handle it and as soon as she runs the pump, I scream out in pain, crying and pleading her to stop the pump. Slowly she does so and I, not being ignorant in the area of IVs, TPN or the tubing, quickly clamp it off. She gives me the stink eye and tells me not to touch my lines. I tell her then to clamp it and flush it because it is currently burning through my tissues. Crystal simply says, “I’m just following the doctor’s orders.” I don’t care what she is doing, I’m the patient. She clamps the line and flushes it and continues to push through the rest of my medications, one including my pain medication. Before she leaves, she tries to be all stealth-like and flips on the D10 pump while I am distracted. Again the burning, stinging pain comes back. I turn to her and ask, “Did you just turn the D10 BACK ON?” She nods. I said, “well you best turn it off because the pain is making me want to chop off my hand.” “That’s a bit exaggerated,” she says. Oh no you didn’t. I reach over and clamp it myself and then demand she flush it before she leaves. And, she does…so forcefully I notice the pain returning. I yell at her, “not so hard!” “This is just as hard as when I pushed all the other medications,” she lied. By this time I’m hysterically crying AGAIN, in pain and shaking from her mere presence. This has my service dog all upset too, and rightfully so! She is there to protect me. The nurse finishes flushing and leaves the room.

My mother and husband do what they can to calm me down so as to not die from a heart rate that is way to high. The charge nurse comes in and informs me that my service dog needs to be removed from the hospital. He states that a service dog can be removed from a hospital if the presence of the dog makes his staff uncomfortable to the level that they cannot perform their work. He stated that a nurse has complained that my service dog, Ellie…

whose sole purpose in life is to be happy and share that happiness with others, showed her teeth and growled at Crystal. Ha, never heard such a load of crap before in my life! Clearly this is her way at getting back at me for doing um, nothing! I did nothing and now I have a problem and she goes along her merry way. Before the charge nurse leaves I tell him I want a new nurse. He says, “I’ll see what I can do.” “Um, no…you misunderstood me, GET me a new nurse,” I demanded. He leaves the room, Crystal comes in and informs me that I have a new nurse. But not before belittling me some more by addressing my mother with the schedule of doctors appointments and tests that will be run that day. I’m not 2, you can talk to ME. I AM THE PATIENT! I still have a write up to do for her. No need for other ICU patients to be tortured by an arrogant nurse who shouldn’t even be a nurse in the first place. She is totally on my list.

The rest of the stay was pretty normal. I was there from February 12th – February 25th. We had some issues with pain management and sleeping medications but overall, things went as they should. My doctor never fails to remind me how close to death I came during my first week there. I was delusional and very much not myself. He said that if I had come in any later, they would not have been able to help me. My husband and the doctors and nurses of the Swedish Issaquah ICU saved my life. On the day of my discharge it was snowing. It was beautiful and perfect. I went home on IV antibiotics that were delivered via drip for another week and a half. I was then to have more blood cultures done to make sure the antibiotic was successful in eradicating the infectious bacteria. It wouldn’t be until a month or more later that I would receive permission from my wonderful infectious disease doctors to have my port replaced. And I did.

The monkey is its protector. This port placement was unlike any other. It meant something to me, I beat the odds and toughed it out. Simply stated: I SURVIVED!

Well – some of you know of the interesting string of events that I experienced over the past few weeks from Facebook status updates, but even Facebook was slightly censored. It all started out one night with an extremely bloated belly and lack of any bowel movement for the past few days. My husband had made the comment a few days before that I was bloated. Gotta hand it to the guy to have the guts to say something like that to his wife before even she noticed. Taking his observation for what it was worth, coupled with my own, I made a night trip to the ER at Evergreen. Mistake #1.

How NOT to be treated in the ER

I arrive at the ER with my husband and quickly get a room because they were not particularly busy that night. Bonus. I hate crowded ERs because those with chronic pain and chronic illnesses like us, always get the backseat when it comes to placing patients in rooms. Even the guy who drove HIMSELF to the ER, not doubling over in pain or wearing sunglasses or a washcloth on his head – complaining of a migraine – gets in over me, crying in pain, holding a throw-up bag with an extremely fast heart rate. Sure, let him go – he looks to be in a much more severe situation that cannot wait. —-Anyway—- we get a room as usual and I prepare for the normal battery of tests I thought were required for every ER admit. You know, bloodwork, x-rays, a physical exam… Nope, according to my attending, all those are for people in real pain with real issues. He walks in, with his face in my chart, sees the number of times I have been in the ER (yes it has been a lot but that’s because you morons can’t figure out how to control my pain or cure my disease! – hence my need for a pain doctor who he should have called but no, again, that’s for real patients) and he also sees my list of medications which contains ONE active narcotic given to me by my PAIN DOCTOR – Nucynta.

Side note: After the first two weeks of hell (mostly mental as it seems to screw around with your emotions and state of mind), it works wonderfully. No complaints after I’ve been on it for about 2 months now.

He takes his nose out of my chart and says simply this:

Go home and take a bottle of magnesium citrate. You are most likely constipated from all the narcotics you are on. Otherwise, you’re fine

Um..that is about the point I started crying in frustration and absolute rage. He didn’t even LOOK at me. Had he simply looked at my belly and listened for bowel sounds he would have noticed, without an x-ray, that something was wrong. I asked for an x-ray after he left because I was in absolute shock with my mouth open and paralyzed body. The nurse rudely says, “oh no, he won’t do that.” She hands me the bottle of magnesium citrate and I’m like – sorry, I don’t want it. If you have been to ERs enough you know what actions show the most rudeness back. Sorry but if you want to be rude to me, don’t expect me to take it. Not this late in the game. She gives me an ugly look and then hands me the typical discharge papers describing what constipation is and how to take care of it – proudly printed from the Internet. I said to her – take it back and shred it for me please, I won’t be taking those home either. Another insult. I’m boxing with both hands here. She gave another evil stare as she says, “well you will have to do that after I leave,” and she walks out with my rejected bottle of magnesium citrate. I promptly throw away their packet of useless information and advice. I’ve been dealing with this too long for there to be ANY information in there that I would actually benefit from. That and I knew it wasn’t a simple case of “constipation.”

How you SHOULD be treated in an ER

I call up Dr. Patterson in tears asking him what to do. I knew something was wrong. He told me to go to the ER he is associated with and to have them order x-rays. He must have called them or something because that is the number 1 first thing they did. If he didn’t call beforehand, than A+ to Swedish ERs. Blood was taken, of course, fluids were started and I might have gotten some IV toradol for my back that is infected, but they don’t know it yet. We wait for the results. I’m exhausted by this point, the emotional roller coaster I was on was enough to knock me out but the physical pain and discomfort kept me awake. How nice. The x-rays came back in record time and they sat us both down together (LOVE my husband for being there as he is often my advocate when doctors fail to listen or believe in me) and explained that I had an ileus of both the small and large intestine. This is not common. My entire digestive tract was frozen solid, paralyzed, not moving. It was a pretty serious situation based on how quickly things moved after that. They knew I had to be admitted to a hospital as the ER I went to is just an ER (it also has doctor offices on the floors above). They asked which hospital I would like to be transferred to and Evergreen was a possibility. Ha, no thank you – I will stay within Swedish as my GI is there and they don’t screw you over when you come in. *note, the ileus was not caught by the ER doctor in Evergreen why? Oh that’s right, he didn’t listen to me, believe me or even do a simple x-ray or physical exam* I got transported to the Swedish Hospital in Issaquah as it is brand new – I’m talking they just opened the patient rooms a few weeks before and I was pretty sure I was the first one in the hospital to even use their pumps. To further ready my departure to the new hospital, they placed an NG tube. Not the normal NG feeding tube. No, this one was for suction and was about as thick as your thumb. They placed with with no sedation and as they advanced this HUGE tube down my nose, I hear it cracking all the way through. Oh it was horrible. Not another tube in the nose!

Throat, ear and mouth (jaw) pain, incoming. They didn’t run anything – they just set it up, including placement of a new PIV for contrast. They refused to use my port. They didn’t want to change out the needle for the kind that handle the contrast. Oh well, like everything else – I let them do their thing until they start screwing up and then I become devil patient.

I slept/rested in my room with my husband as we watched TV until the ambulance arrived to take me back. Victor went home, first, to take care of the dogs and feed them and I told him, since Issaquah is no short drive, he was welcome to stay home since it was so late already (after midnight, easy). Looking back, I probably should have had him stay. I’ve learned lots of things after these few hospital stays which I will sum up at the end of my novel of a post. Sorry =(

The Hospital Stay: Part I

The ride over to the new hospital was my first time in an ambulance. Not going to lie, I always wanted to ride one. Little did I know I’d be right back in one within the next week. Transition from the ambulance to my room was smooth. The room was beautiful, all the rooms there are single and have glass doors that slide open instead of the regular heavy door that opens without you knowing who is exactly coming in to hurt you.

A decorative curtain went all the way across that was usually open just enough to annoy me. What is it with nurses and doctors leaving doors and curtains wide open after they leave? Is that in their job description or do they think that much of themselves to NOT close the door after leaving? Their loss because each time they did, I hit the nurse call button just for them to close my doors (including the bathroom one, which I can’t on my own, and once in bed, I can’t get back out without help. No body needs to see the bathroom. Close the doors, people!

So I get hooked up to IV and TPN feeds (run over 19 hours) and the NG was on 24/7 suction. I’m waiting for my GI doc to e-mail me the x-ray that prompted this long chain of events so I can post it. Out of his mouth, “your first x-ray (I had many) was quite impressive.” Awesome in a not so awesome way. So I had my IV and my TPN but no medicine. It is by now like 1am. They have a list of my meds, none of which I received without asking. And even when I did ask – I wouldn’t get them for about four hours. Constantly clicking the nurse call button and I’d hear, “your nurse is with another patient, she should be done soon” or “your nurse is working down the hall of patients, she should be to you soon.” Any excuse to not get me my medicine, I heard it. I shouldn’t feel bad for asking for my medicine. I don’t care if a patient down the hall can’t keep her moans to herself. I still had the temporary spinal cord stimulator in, and a quickly growing infection. Take it like a man, sister, or I’m coming down there and giving you a real reason to moan and grown throughout the halls of the hospital. My pain was a 10. I NEVER give anything a ten, but this pain deserved it. But when you have an ileus (in my case – two), you aren’t allowed narcotic pain meds and the non-narcotic pain cannot bring down level 10 pain. It is like coming out of a major surgery and not having the proper medications available. Yes I get my gut isn’t moving but you know what? It hasn’t been moving or when it did, it did it sloooowly, I don’t care about it anymore. Take away my pain please!

I did have two great nurses though. They were on top of anything I needed and when I told one nurse I was at a ten when asked, she was shocked and said, “I’m not happy with that, let me see if I can get you something else.” I also had HORRIBLE nurses, one I had the displeasure of having twice! She was the “special” one. When I came home to talk to my home care nurse about what she did, she was in absolute shock – completely speechless. My nurse put Imitrex IM (a SHOT) into my IV. I was lucky to survive that. My head was going to pop. I was like, did you just put that through my IV. Yeah, she says. Yelling now – Imitrex is NOT for IV!!!

I went through the whole week living off toradol and tylenol IV. They were never scheduled correctly so I’d get one after the other and then not get anything for six. Not too bright there fellas. I was also not given my normal medication. With this being my first ileus, I didn’t know what was normal and what wasn’t. Maybe they kept my other meds out to see if it accelerated the healing of my ileus. WRONG. After they messed up with my pain meds and not enough Ativan (again, it is in my charts people!) I asked for IV Benedryl to help calm me and let me sleep. Nope, nothing doing. So of course I’m up all night and manage to get into a deep sleep as my attending doctor crashes in my room, flipping every light switch on, that was available (I had the light blocker shade down to keep it dark (for my migraine’s sake). She shakes me out of my, what could have been, amazing sleep with her LOUD voice of pointless questions, spoken at the slowest pace ever. I’m sorry doctor, surely you understand you just woke me up in the worst possible way, I’m still trying to even understand where I am and what I’m doing, I am not going to be answering your questions. Oh, I am also not deaf nor mentally slow. Stop talking to me as if I was, kthx.

My GI doctor makes it in on Monday (I was there since Saturday night) and he asks are they giving you anything for pain? Um…NO! Nothing. He’s ah well let’s get that fixed. He didn’t offer much but he did what he could without further messing up my intestines. Yes, that’s right – I was without ANY pain medication for a few days with a MRSA infected incision just milimeters away from my spinal cord and a non-functioning gut that just kept expanding as air kept getting stuck.

By now they believe me about my back pain and how I believe it is infected because it soaked straight through my gauze dressing and onto my bed (that never got changed…Ellie sheds, enough said). No one in that hospital has even seen one before so they basically denied any responsibility for it or its care. It would be 2 more days of hell before they finally decide to take it out. It was the most painful thing to have in, due to the infection.

Even from just looking at it bandaged up you could tell it was infected. I, myself, had a temperature of 103 and my back, where the stimulator is taped, was so hot my doctor asked if I had been using a heating pad. It was also very swollen. So their pain “doctor,” the word doctor used very loosely here, came in, ripped off the tape holding down my machine and then starts to pull it out (my leads were long as relief only came from them people placed up near the cervical spine). I asked if he would at least wait for me to get my nurse to push some toradol or something. He laughs, this won’t hurt – it’s like getting stitches out. But it is infected, I said. He says, “no no no, it isn’t infected.” Yes yes yes, it is infected and hurts worse than anything. Is he listening as I say this…no. I should have stood up to him. Let that be a reminder for all of you, do not let nurses or doctors boss you around. Don’t let them do things without you knowing exactly what it is and you come first. I should have refused to turn over on my stomach until my nurse came with pain medicine, but I didn’t. I was lucky that one of my best friends was there to help comfort me as he pulled out the long leads. She also took pictures. Lol, I saw her whip out her iPhone and asked if she was taking pictures of this!? She nodded and I was like, well use my real camera then!

She was such a trooper having to watch that happen and to give me so much comfort. Well, anyway – it was out and I will say that most of my pain was gone and I was finally resting. Then jerk hospitalist comes walking in to look at it. He asks me to turn over so he can “look” at it and I politely refused until he stopped asking and started demanding. So I rolled over in complete agony and he starts poking around. Oh man, so much for feeling any better. Way to mix the pot and stir things up again, Mr. hospitalist. You rock!

They did culture it but it would be a few days before they’d know exactly what it was. They started me on two types of antibiotics and at the end stuck with one, Vancomycin. Days go by and my GI doctor comes to visit again. He sees I still have the NG tube in and insists on removing it. He’s pretty strong because I held it in as best as I could but out it came. Hurts just as bad going in as it did coming out.

With the NG tube out and antibiotics 3 days in, my hospitalist, despite not fixing my pain and not accomplishing any goals due to this pain (standing without support, walking, etc.). I was completely against discharge. I called up my GI again – sorry for calling you all those times, doctor, but you are just THAT awesome – and he said that I could go home any day I feel comfortable with. Well, today wasn’t that day and after a lot of arguing and such, I still ended up being discharged. I had asked for a social worker as soon as I woke up that morning because I felt I was not treated as I should have been treated. She did end up making it right before my discharge papers were made. She was pissed at how I was handled, especially the medication part. I said that I understood if they were short staffed (definitely not the case I later learned) or their nurses just can’t juggle this many patients, but I still do not accept that as any sort of excuse to neglect me. The social worker said that next time I go somewhere to be admitted or even at the ER, find a social worker to be your medical advocate. They can help you and will do anything within their power to keep the doctors and nurses on their toes.

Back Home…it was nice

I get home and my homecare nurse comes by with more TPN (as I was in the hospital when my normal deliver would go out), supplies and my new IV medication – Vancomycin.


I showed her a rash I didn’t find until washing up before I got wheeled out of the hospital. I didn’t think anything of it until I mentioned the rash to her who then called my doctors. They all were aware of me and the infection I had (apparently when something bad happens to regulars, they talk to other people about it) and said to take benedryl an hour before taking the Vanco. If the rash didn’t improve (be gone is what it should have been) by morning, I was to come back in. And as a good girl, that’s what I did, but not Evergreen this time – I’m still shocked they sent me away with the ileus and MRSA infection.

ER again

So I’m in the exam room and they want to know why I’m there. This was going to take awhile. I first started off with the rash and how I was told to come back for that. I then showed them my back, letting them culture it and asked for it to be re-bandaged. I was also rolled in for another CT and x-ray. Ileus looked better, no NG tube. However, the results from the culture taken at the other hospital location came in just an hour before I came to the ER. My AMAZING attending actually found it and came in to tell me the not-so-good news. I sort of figured it out when my husband and father came back from lunch dressed in gowns; I had MRSA.

He talked with the hospitalist that released me about my rash and he STILL manages to be a jerk saying, “there really isn’t a reason to bring her back in, as it is probably not even related to the Vanco, but we’ll accept her if you feel she needs admitting.” So he goes and calls the infection disease (ID) doctor and he told them to transport me to his hospital immediately. Fever and resting HR of 140 on top of everything else, they once again, readied me for transport. This time it would be longer but the attitude of my ER doctor was awesome. He wanted to step back and have a real plan. So that’s what we did. Ambulance came and they let my dad come too. I slept most of the 45 minute drive (thank you traffic).

Hospital Stay: Part II

This one, I was told, would be short. ID looked at my wound and then changed my vanco to IV daptomycin. And guess what happened? A few days after the vanco got out, my rash went away! Amazing how that works out. I also was surprised by the service. My attending doc had ALL my medicines (regular and IV special ordered as well as TPN) already ordered, before she even came in to see me! They were all so nice and had everything under control. I was relaxed for the first time. And since my ileus was resolved, they allowed me pain medication strong enough to give me one night pain-free. I will always remember that feeling and hope to have it again someday, even if it is just for one night. But yes, this was a short stay. My ID doc came in the morning to check the infection and to see if anything new popped up and said I could go home that day! I felt so much better going home that day. They made me feel comfortable with myself. Thank you Swedish Hospital Medical Center: First Hill! You guys rock, keep it up.

Wrapping it up…whew

On the same day I was discharged for the second time, my father had to leave. He had arrived the day I was discharged the first time. Overall I learned:

  • Stand up for yourself as you know more about your body than anyone. Don’t be bullied by nurses and doctors.
  • Remember to take some responsibility for everything the doctors and nurses do, refer to my Imitrex IM situation, they make mistakes too
  • Get a Hospital Social Worker if you know you’ll be in the hosptial for a few days. They will help be your medical advocate and keep doctors on their toes in order to make your stay run as smoothly as possible.
  • Trust yourself. If you feel like something more is wrong then keep looking for someone who will listen. I had to go to two different ERs before someone would listen and DO something about it.
  • Still try to smile and enjoy being alive =)
  • Anyway – that is why I have been in and out of the Internet. The lead incisions are still swollen and there is a slight lump that I must have another ID look at so that I can be cleared for surgery. Yes, I have been approved for the permanent spinal cord neurostimulator. Everything on their end is ready, I just need to pass the ID test. I’m excited. In case I didn’t talk about it before, three days before I was admitted, I had a spinal cord neurostimulator placed temporarily in my back. I control it with a remote, unlike the gastric one which requires a doctor to change it, because simply standing up can move the leads on your spinal cord, changing the frequency and voltage. Those are the two things you can move up or down. I think I’m his first patient to ever have one placed for generalized abdominal pain but as soon as he put it in the right spot, I could tell a major difference. It was great. My ID appointment is on Tuesday. Because of all that has happened in the last few weeks, I may have to push my surgery date until after the holidays. As we will have family. Not something you want to be bringing them to – your hospital! Nor do I want to be in the hospital on Christmas either – did that last year. Not fun. But it is still coming up soon. If I hold off until the end of the year, I’ll have more time to recover and have that recovery time close to my doctor should anything go wrong.

    Time for bed. Happy Tummy Days to everyone!