Any of you who visited this site over the last few weeks noticed my sticky post about going in for surgery. Now that it is over I can relax a little and fill you in on the details. Being the blogger that I am I tucked a small camera into my travel bag. So, lets take a peek around my hospital room.
This happens to be a room in the ICU (intensive care unit). The doctors wanted me where I could be closely watched for signs of complications after my lung biopsy.
I was in a third floor room but the view out my window was nothing more than the roof top of the surgery unit below.
There was lots of gravel and some nice blue sky
and lots of big stainless steel bowls and towers
Never did learn if this was heating, AC or ventilation equipment.
The view from the end of my bed. I had a flat screen TV and on the shelf on the right was a VCR and remote control. That gray square on the bottom shelf was a combination radio and I-pod player. Behind the door next to it was a small refrigerator. The long bench became a bed if someone wanted to stay with me overnight. I have never had such luxuries in a hospital room before.
The curtain opened onto a nurses work station and I found it rather noisy at night.
My room was large and had a sofa and work station for the Old Salt to use while I was napping.
Since I took a picture of the Old Salt he had to make sure and get one of me as well. That big smile was caused by the news that I was getting to go home and had nothing to do with how I was actually feeling.
My veins kept collapsing so it took five tries to get the IV started. All that sticking left me black and blue up and down my arms. There were some complications getting the airway tube down my throat which left me with a very sore throat. I have three incisions in my side and some badly bruised ribs from the procedure. But, overall I am recovering nicely.
Now why did I need this biopsy?
While being
treated for cancer last winter I developed some unrelated complications. After
months of visiting specialists and a battery of testing it was discovered that
I am suffering from Pulmonary Fibrosis. The doctors feel that it is rather
advanced since the bottom lobes of my lungs have started to collapse when I lie
down. The only way to know for sure was by doing this lung biopsy.
The lab
results will come in slowly over the next two to six weeks as all the different
cultures the doctor requested are grown in the lab. The doctor is
checking for both obvious and rare causes for my fibrosis. On the list are TB,
chemical and asbestos exposure as well as a number of bacterial and viral
causes. The doctors hope by finding a cause they will find a way to slow down
the progression of this condition.
I have
never been a smoker but my first husband died from COPD and smoked heavily
until his death. I breathed a lot of second hand smoke both at home and in my
working life. However there is no proof that smoking is the cause. Doctors
have said that currently there is no known cause for this condition and the
only treatment is a lung transplant. But, I have also been told that due
to age, cancer and diabetes I am a poor transplant candidate.
In fact,
one specialist very bluntly told me he believes I only have two good years left
before I end up on full time oxygen and that he felt I would be dead within
five years.
I am
hopeful the doctor's diagnoses is wrong. Current studies show that
doctors are mistaken about 15 to 20 percent of the time on average. And, of
course, some doctors more than others. If that fails I am certainly
going to do everything in my power to defy the odds. Studies we have
found say the median life expectance for this condition is ten years. That
means that as many people live beyond ten years as die before then. But,
a relative had this condition and lived almost twenty years with it. Admittedly
her last few were difficult for both her and her children. While my
diagnoses is not the same as my first husband's was, he did live for fifteen
years after he was told he had six months at best.
Having
already lived through being a caretaker for someone who was dying of a lung
disease I know what to expect when my condition reaches the point where I
cannot get enough oxygen to sustain normal activities.
My worry
however is not for myself, it has to do with the tole this is taking on the Old
Salt. He is not dealing with it very well and I can't fall apart because
he does better when I am not upset.
Caring for
my first husband taught me to live life in the moment. That knowledge is
certainly serving me well now and it is what gets me through all this waiting
for the final verdict.
I want to
assure you the state of my health is not going to become a major topic on this
blog. In fact, this will probably be the last time I discuss it this
openly.
Back in
2007, a wonderful lady named Tricia started a blog entitled "I slept with
Robert De Niro, but about my Cancer." The Old Salt and I read every
post from the announcement of her diagnoses to the day her best friend posted a
final entry on her blog telling all of us she had died in 2009. He said he would leave her post up so
that her followers could share their comments. Tricia was a
wonderful screenwriter and did a great job of mixing her life story around the
details of her cancer treatments. She wrote an honest narrative of
her illness using humor and suspense to keep you waiting for the next
installment in the story of her fight. She never gave up and fought the
good fight right to the end.
I do not
have Tricia's talent with words and I have never been known as witty. Besides,
I have a hard time getting my family to read this blog (which they find dull
and boring) so there is no way I will turn it into an essay on my health woes
which my family already believes I exaggerate.
I have been
dealt a rough deal, that I am now trying to get adjusted to. But, I will
continue to live my life as full and active as my situation permits. When I no
longer have anything I feel I can contribute to this blog that you, my faithful
readers, will want to tune in to read--- I will simply let it go as we must let
everything go in the end.
I take my
inspiration from Tricia. I, too, plan to fight the good fight and never
give up.
Let me end
this with a poem by Dylan Thomas that speaks volumes about how I'm feeling right now.
Do
Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle
into that good night,
Old age should burn
and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against
the dying of the light.
Though wise men at
their end know dark is right,
Because their words
had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle
into that good night.
Good men, the last
wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds
might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against
the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught
and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late,
they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle
into that good night.
Grave men, near
death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could
blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against
the dying of the light.
And you, my father,
there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now
with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle
into that good night.
Rage, rage against
the dying of the light.
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