dandelion

I’ve had 3-4 calls since my pre-op tests last week from not only the internal medicine doctor’s resident but the nurse in charge of my case, Stephanie, and a research nurse seeing if I would like to take part in s study that involved me taking Celebrex as part of my after care.

We had three phone calls. The initial one where she asked if I would like to take part. To which, I said yes because you know, pain management is going to be crucial after my operation. The reason being, I’m driving all my medical team up the wall because I have a severe reaction to all codeine and morphine based drugs. In other words, I cannot take them as part of my Pain Protocol.

The second call was in response to my leaving a message telling her (after I had read the online literature) that I have a small ulcer. You cannot take Celebrex with an ulcer. She said she would need to check to see if, in fact, I could take part in the study and call me back. Well, she called me back within about 30 minutes to say I was off the study and, in fact, wouldn’t be getting the usual 3 doses of Celebrex as part of my after care pain protocol, as most do, because of said ulcer.

Damn stupid ulcer.

So now, I can’t be administered Celebrex, or any of the usual strong pain meds, and was even offered in one phone call to be considered for, get this, Oxycontin and or Fentanyl.

Are you kidding me?

Both are narcotics and I’ve spent I don’t know how much time trying to explain to these people that I cannot, under any circumstances, no matter how much pain I’m going to be in, take these drugs.

No. I am not a recovering drug addict or anything like that. These drugs were administered to me when I was trying to pass a kidney stone back in 2017.

First, not one of these drugs did anything to ease or mitigate the pain. NOT ONE!

Second. Two of the three they gave me, gave me hallucinations that had me screaming at the sight of peoples faces melting. And other dark things I never want to relive again. EVER!

Thirdly. All three made me vomit till as such times as some idiot could fill me full of Gravol. It was awful from beginning to end. Worse was the fact that despite my protestations that they could not administer these drugs, they went ahead and did so anyway.

Which brings me back to the flurry of phone calls these past few days by those on my case worriedly trying to figure out what they can give me.

I told them. Tylenol.

I have no idea what it’s going to be like after my op, and just how much pain I might be in. But hope it’s not as bad as the kidney stone. I lived through that for a couple of months before I went private, and paid someone to vibrate the damn thing into grit.

Is Tylenol going to be enough? Ask me that after the op and I’ll let you know.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Yesterday afternoon I had a scheduled visit to one of our local CLSC (general medical clinics) for out patient treatment. My red blood cell count is down and, with a big op coming up, they wanted to boost my iron levels to stimulate making red blood cells (a process that takes upwards of 10 days after an infusion).

I should point out I had to go to the pharmacist and buy my own iron infusion, that came in three small bottles. Why three? I don’t know. These little bottles cost over $100+ Canadian so I was glad they came in a little box wrapped in cotton wool. I didn’t want to have to buy another set before I had even had the first administered.

My appointment at the CLSC was 1 pm but, like always, I was early. Dragging along the OH who had to take the afternoon off to supervise me. I had to go home with someone else to keep an eye on me due to any possible after effects, like dizziness, shortness of breath or turning blue [see: shortness of breath.] Thankfully, I had none of that.

This wasn’t my first iron infusion, I’ve had three others while in hospital in Montreal so I at least knew what to expect. 2 hours of sheer boredom sitting in an uncomfortable chair. Well, it wasn’t so boring this time around. And the chair turned out to be a fancy push up lazy-boy kind of chair you could almost sleep in. They also offered juice boxes and granola bars mid way through. I’m guessing they get a lot of diabetics getting iron regularly.

The worst part of the whole process wasn’t the actual infusion, that went as expected. It was the “Hunt the vein” palaver by the nurse who kept apologising, profusely, as vein after vein refused to play ball. That is, when she could find a vein to begin with. I had already explained to her, as I have to do every time I go through anything involving needles, that there are only two places where anyone manages to find a vein that works. And, lo and behold, it was on her third try, in one of the veins I suggested that she made a connection.

Ah, such is life. At least I got a good dose of Irn Bru. Come this weekend, I’m going to be swinging off the trees and dancing like it’s 1999!

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

It’s a little frightening to know they’re going to cut a foot of colon out of me.

Let that sink in for a minute.

That’s a whole foot.

You know, the length of a ruler. Go on, go find one, set it out in front of you and take a good long minute to stare at it. That’s what I did. I laid my metal crafting ruler on my desk and stared at it. Then shivered. It’s hard not to.

It’s not like that whole section they’re going to cut out is full of cancer. It’s not. It’s a small growth [size not specified by anyone] that’s taking up valuable real estate. It just happens that they … they being the surgical team, have to exorcise an entire section, that specified foot in length, to make sure they include the nodes to that section [where the major blood vessels are] in order to make sure they remove all possible avenue for the cancer to travel further afield, and start infecting other areas of my body.

Which, obviously, isn’t what anyone wants. A cancer-party going on in every major organ of your body!

If I’m lucky enough, this is it. This is all the action that will be necessary. Surgery. Followed up by regular check ups and colonoscopies. But that all depends on what they find when the do the analysis of cancer tissue. They might tell me that I will need follow up chemo, just in case.
Something I’m dreading almost as much as the surgery itself.

But that’s another decision for another if, and only if and when I have to cross that particular bridge. As it stands, I’m putting all my energies into trying to stay positive, and focused on getting through the surgery, and the recovery. Anywhere between 6 to 8 weeks.

So please, no one make me laugh after surgery, will you, I have no desire to pop my titanium staples, thank you very much.

Now, I wonder if I’ll be setting off all those security machines at the airport the next time I fly? Now won’t that be a hoot!

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧