A few have courteously inquired as to what has happened to cause such a lag in time between recent postings, the suspicion always being that something catastrophic has occurred. Well, something has occurred, perhaps more “semi” than catastrophic on the scale… but, here’s the whole story as best as my drugged and sedated memory can recall.
On July 27, I was admitted to Kaiser Permanente with intense, life-threatening abdominal pain. To some, turning to Kaiser would be considered to be a death sentence in and of its self! The initial exam suspected possible appendicitis but, because of my history with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, leaned toward a developing condition of diverticulitis or intestinal blockage, which is usually treatable with simple antibiotics. In extreme cases, surgery is required to remove the part of the intestine that is affected, which is not a pretty experience. An incision is made and the intestine is cut from the colon and the colon is stapled shut. The intestine is shortened to remove the infected area then a “new one” is cut and installed somewhere in the abdomen and a bag is installed to collect and manage all the waste until such a time as the GI track is healed and functional again whereupon the abdomen is re-opened and the intestine is re-attached to the colon in a traditional fashion and life goes on as ever before... assuming the psychological trauma of it all is kept in check! The very thought of the procedure makes me break into a cold sweat and when the doctor explained all of this and said that the only way to know for sure was to go in and see, well… I’m getting ahead of myself.
After a series of 2 CAT scans, each of which necessitated drinking a totally intolerable radiated sport drink that my body absolutely refused to hold down, the doctor decided that there appeared to be an abscess on my appendix, which appeared to be infected suggesting that it had ruptured and that it needed to come out. He installed a drain into the abscess and began pumping antibiotics hoping to clear up the infection, make the appendix healthy again, and then remove it orthoscopically in about 3 months. To do it this way is much less invasive.
Regretfully, he didn’t see the progress he had hoped for and began to suspect the possibility of 2 ailments occurring simultaneously; appendicitis and diverticulitis. He ordered a third intolerable CAT scan to better see what was going on and that’s when he said that the only way to know for sure was to go in and have a look. When I went under, I had the worst case scenario on my mind and I remember coming to after the surgery and asking the first person closest to me if there was a bag on my abdomen! She replied with a cheerful smile that all had gone well. It was only the appendix, which had been removed and that my intestine was in pretty good shape for such an old guy! With a sigh of relief I promptly fell asleep through the post-surgery recovery process. Had I known what lay ahead, I wouldn’t have sighed so prematurely.
In this type of appendectomy, it is possible to only close the muscle of the wound and leave the skin open, which allows a drain to remain inserted for several days to insure that all the infection is removed. When the drainage stops and the concern for infection passes, the drain is removed and the skin is then sewn closed and allowed to heal. Those several days were hell but when it came time to remove the dressing and close the wound… This was truly HELL! (Scuze my language!) Writing this makes my eyes tear up again as I recall the terror and pain of the doctor pulling timidly at the gauze that was by now dried and stuck down to raw skin and muscle tissue. I don’t know why they couldn’t have used a non-stick gauze, but they didn’t. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt of knowing what they’re doing and assume that it isn’t possible to do it that way. If it was oversight, somebody’s neck deserves a mighty wringing! I remember helplessly laying there screaming profanities at the top of my lungs and then hearing him finally say, “There, it’s all off. That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” He’s fortunate that there were no bats or clubs within my reach!
My next recollection is coming to again and a pretty nurse saying, “There you go Mr. Gibb! You’re all sewed up and put back together again!” I should point out at this point that there is some discrepancy in the story here. Kathy claims that it wasn’t until the next day after the gauze incident that I was sewn up. I remember it happening immediately after the gauze incident, which would deserve double bats or clubs. If he was going to put me under to sew me up, why didn’t he put me under before he began to remove the gauze?
And thus began (because of the invasiveness of this style of appendectomy) my tedious and lengthy recovery process. I remember the pain drug of choice was morphine and that it included a self-medication button. It limited the frequency of doses but otherwise allowed me to choose when I needed more. That button became my best friend. I never lost it over the side of the bed or misplaced it in the covers. I was constantly aware of its where-abouts at all times and centered my entire life on its availability. Usually, I kept it gently coddled in my hand… cradling it to protect it from being lost or damaged lest it not be there when I needed it. It must have worked well because I don’t really remember suffering much pain but I do remember waking up and pushing that button over and over again. I remember the soothing sound of the intra-venous pump running 2 or 3 cycles in response to my push then, with a smile on my face, drifting back to sleep almost like going into a self-induced drug coma. It was bliss! I would make a good addict!
I remember one evening being agitated or upset about something. Most likely, I had been pushing my button but because it limited the frequency, it wasn’t allowing the fix I thought I needed. The nurses were just changing shifts and the new nurse mis-read my symptoms. I think she thought I was in pain and took it upon herself to give me more morphine. I, of course, was eternally grateful but it turned out to be a bit of an overdose. Kathy happened to have been there when this was going on and had an uneasy feeling about it all and decided to spend the night so as to keep an eye on the situation. I’m glad she did. It’s hard to tell how much damage I would have done to myself had she not been there to stop me. Because of their remoteness and busy schedules, the nurses would have never caught it or stopped me in time. She said that on at least 2 occasions she became awakened by my rustling about in bed. One time I was trying to undress myself. The other time I was diligently pulling off all of the heart monitor leads and anything else that was connected to me.
Kathy, “Leon, stop that!”
Leon, “Huh? Stop what?”
Kathy, “You shouldn’t be doing that!”
Leon, with child like innocence, “Oh! OK!”
I was way off the deep end that night, which brings up the next important point of this story; my eternal gratitude for Kathy’s diligence. With tearful acknowledgement I realize how difficult this whole experience would have been without her and her sane, un-hazed, and clear mind there keeping track of decisions on medications, schedules, and procedures. Knowing me like she does and her intuitiveness in which direction to take that would best benefit my improved health was verifiably invaluable beyond description. I’m a very blessed man to have somebody like her… willing to sacrifice so much sleep, time, and attention in my behalf in my times of need... when I was so undeserving. How can I possibly repay this debt or even begin to say an adequate thank-you? If the tables were turned, I know that I would come up miserably short when using her example as a comparative measuring stick of my devotions in her behalf. I don’t have a clue how she managed to sleep on that chair during the nights she chose to spend at the hospital. I don’t know where she found the ambition to wake up in the morning, make sure I was taken care of, and then spend the day at work only to return in the evening to do it all over again. And it’s not like this was the only time she has ever done this. There was the heart attack, followed by an allergic reaction to medication that attacked my lungs. That lasted 2 weeks in 1994 over the Christmas holidays. Then there was a suspected but unconfirmed second heart attack, a stroke, hernia surgery, and now appendicitis. I’m on pins and needles wondering what could possibly be next. Whatever it is, for sure I know where she’ll be throughout the “adventure.” Thank you, Kathy, for loving me.
So, after a 19 day stay, they finally released me to go home. Bear in mind that throughout my stay, until the last couple of days, I had been fed intravenously. I struggled to find my appetite again but it just wouldn’t come. I managed to eat by forcing myself and with the help of anti-nausea medications. Even the thought of food made me gag but I was determined to get the jump on my recovery. I diligently walked each day, which helped to wear me down so I could at least get a partial night’s sleep.
Then the worst of all circumstances struck. Somehow, I caught a stomach flu bug. Though there is no way to prove it, I most likely caught it from the grandkids that happened to be visiting when I came home from the hospital. The fact that my resistances were already quite low didn’t help much. I had diarrhea for 2 days then began to vomit uncontrollably. After 3 days of that Kathy decided that I wasn’t going to be able to fight this off on my own and set up with Kaiser for me to come back in.
At this point, acknowledgments and praise are due to Kaylen (our youngest son) who had also been suffering a more mild bout of the flu. (Before all was said and done, even Kathy eventually came down with it.) Kathy had been working out the arrangements with Kaiser while at work and when things fell into place, it was Kaylen who got himself up out of his sick-bed and hauled me back to the hospital. He, without complaining, spent the day there with me until Kathy got off work and finally relieved him.
They examined me and determined that I was grossly dehydrated and dangerously Potassium deficient. I spent 12 hours between my doctor’s office and the ER while they pumped 4 liters of fluids back in and replaced the missing Potassium. That was last Thursday, the 20TH. We got home about midnight and I have been feeling pretty good since. I still struggle feeling no “want” to eat and drink but manage to do OK. I can feel my systems slowly beginning to normalize. My wound itches and I count that to be a good sign as well.
I’m grateful to be healing and I try not to become disappointed when I think about all the time lost from working on the boat. There is already a month gone and I expect to probably spend another month recovering until I’ll be healthy and strong enough to manhandle the sander again. I had dearly hoped to have the boat painted by this fall and I now see the probability of that not happening. This puts me behind yet another season. The irony is that this is so “par for the course.” This whole boating dream has been nothing but a comedy of failures… one step forward two steps backward. One more failure and I’ll probably give up. I wish my boating brother would take compassion and show up one day willing to lend a helping hand. Knowing that somebody who loves you really cares brings such strength. I truly do not understand why he prefers to be left alone. I need him… I miss him. But he probably has his own burdens to deal with. As do I! First burden; get better!
