2010 was shaping up to be a pretty good year for me. I felt like I was on a bit of a roll. Professionally, I was challenged, and there was a massive amount of work on my plate, but I like working at warp speed, so it wasn't an issue. I was taking good care of myself and was heading back towards my fighting shape (I wasn't actually a fighter, but I had been a recreational athlete, running regular 5 and 10K's, kayaking, mountain biking, skiing, and doing an occasional mini alternative triathlon-meaning mountain biking, trail running, and kayaking together).
I felt really confident heading in to the second half of the year. Perhaps I was a little too confident. I remember making some smug comment about not having been sick in a while, and at that moment I felt like I had cursed myself. I never should have been so bold as to make such a remark, but I did, and the die were cast, or is it the die was cast ? This was in July. I thought about it every day over the following two months, how fortunate I was to be healthy and how I never should have said anything out loud about not having been sick since March 2009. I remained healthy and thought maybe I would be okay. I was sorely mistaken. And, I am pretty sure I brought this all on myself. I never have considered myself a bragaholic, but, rest assured, I won't be spouting off about long runs of not being sick or not breaking bones ever again.
Friday, February 4, 2011
SEPTEMBER: THE BEGINNING
September 3rd, about 4pm. Most of the office had left around 1pm, off for an enjoyable Labor Day weekend holiday with family or friends. I was just wrapping up, trying to tie up loose ends before a few days of laying low and enjoying the late summer weather.
I started to notice my throat was a little sore, and I assumed it was because I had drank a couple glasses of red wine the night before and stayed up a little later than usual (guilty pleasure: The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. I am one of the few left who doesn't have TiVO).
By 4:15pm I was going down as fast as a passenger plane hit by a flock of geese, except I had no Sully Sullenberger to save me. It was definitely a sinus infection. Labor Day weekend was a total bust. I spent the weekend taking meds, drinking tea, and attempting every possible remedy that I had at my fingertips trying to shake it. When the Umcka Cold Care didn't work, I knew it was going to be at least a week before I got better. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a five month run of bizarre sinus and other ailments that would serve as a major mind f*#&k and derail me completely.
Being that it was, as I said, Labor Day weekend, my doctor was not available. Fortunately when I called his office, he promptly returned my call, asked about my symptoms, diagnosed me as having a sinus infection, and prescribed an antibiotic called Biaxin. Biaxin, as it turned out, didn't work very well on me. I needed to get better quickly, as a trip was rapidly approaching. I was scheduled to head to Asia on business on the 19th. I ended up back at the doctor's office on the 16th, moving on to Levaquin and a methapredizone pack. I delayed the trip one day and headed out on the 20th.
I flew the sixteen hours to Ho Chi Minh, worked for a few days, then headed to Thailand for three days at factories with another team from the office. Hard to resist having a glass of wine after a long day of work, so I didn't (resist that is). I realize that probably didn't help the situation. I justified it by thinking that since I was feeling well enough to work out everyday, I was well enough to drink at dinner. The final leg of the trip was a red eye to Japan with a long layover where I met with our Japan team at the airport. I flew home later that day. Goodbye September 2010 and another month of my life gone by quickly and full of snot.
I started to notice my throat was a little sore, and I assumed it was because I had drank a couple glasses of red wine the night before and stayed up a little later than usual (guilty pleasure: The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. I am one of the few left who doesn't have TiVO).
By 4:15pm I was going down as fast as a passenger plane hit by a flock of geese, except I had no Sully Sullenberger to save me. It was definitely a sinus infection. Labor Day weekend was a total bust. I spent the weekend taking meds, drinking tea, and attempting every possible remedy that I had at my fingertips trying to shake it. When the Umcka Cold Care didn't work, I knew it was going to be at least a week before I got better. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a five month run of bizarre sinus and other ailments that would serve as a major mind f*#&k and derail me completely.
Being that it was, as I said, Labor Day weekend, my doctor was not available. Fortunately when I called his office, he promptly returned my call, asked about my symptoms, diagnosed me as having a sinus infection, and prescribed an antibiotic called Biaxin. Biaxin, as it turned out, didn't work very well on me. I needed to get better quickly, as a trip was rapidly approaching. I was scheduled to head to Asia on business on the 19th. I ended up back at the doctor's office on the 16th, moving on to Levaquin and a methapredizone pack. I delayed the trip one day and headed out on the 20th.
I flew the sixteen hours to Ho Chi Minh, worked for a few days, then headed to Thailand for three days at factories with another team from the office. Hard to resist having a glass of wine after a long day of work, so I didn't (resist that is). I realize that probably didn't help the situation. I justified it by thinking that since I was feeling well enough to work out everyday, I was well enough to drink at dinner. The final leg of the trip was a red eye to Japan with a long layover where I met with our Japan team at the airport. I flew home later that day. Goodbye September 2010 and another month of my life gone by quickly and full of snot.
OCTOBER: ROUND TWO
October 1st I was home. , October 2nd I flew to NYC for a PR trip. My nose still wasn't great, but I was reasonably active, to the point that I was pretty good on my feet in presentations and was able play golf (in a perfect world I could blame my inability to consistently whack a golf club far or straight on my sinus issues, but, the world isn't perfect and I can't lie, my golf game sucks). I flew home on the 9th and was okay for two days, and then, it hit, again, worse than the last time. A major infiltration of sinus infection that was insistent on staying with me, rent free, for the remainder of 2010.
We had major product launch meetings the week of the 18th, and I was completely useless. As usual, the team did a fantastic job.
By this time, my eyesight was noticeably deteriorating, and my teeth hurt all the time. I went back to the PCP doctor on October 28th, and I had lost my voice. He essentially said that it was the same thing that I had in September, and prescribed Augmenten as well as another pack of steroids. Halloween weekend was on it's way to being yet another holiday (if you call Halloween a holiday, which I really don't, but maybe that is because I don't have kids), spent doing nothing. The only thing for me worse than not doing something is doing nothing. I think that was a circular sentence.
On Sunday the 31st, our tradition of hanging out at the big table, entrenched in a hyper competitive game of SNLTrivial Pursuit, pausing only to answer the door for costumed little kids, was completely ruined by my stinking sinuses. The game tradition may have been ruined, but I took care of the trick or treaters, due to my need to keep our home "egg free". I was perched near the door from 5-8:30pm with generous volumes of delicious treats specifically designed to promote tooth decay, high cholesterol, and diabetes. Seven years running and still no eggs on the house or toilet paper on the trees. We probably are the only house in Temecula that gives out miniature Lindt bars and Toblerones. Well worth the investment, because last time I checked, egged paint can only be corrected with an entirely new exterior paint job. Sinus infection or no sinus infection, I was keeping our house safe.
And that was October.
We had major product launch meetings the week of the 18th, and I was completely useless. As usual, the team did a fantastic job.
By this time, my eyesight was noticeably deteriorating, and my teeth hurt all the time. I went back to the PCP doctor on October 28th, and I had lost my voice. He essentially said that it was the same thing that I had in September, and prescribed Augmenten as well as another pack of steroids. Halloween weekend was on it's way to being yet another holiday (if you call Halloween a holiday, which I really don't, but maybe that is because I don't have kids), spent doing nothing. The only thing for me worse than not doing something is doing nothing. I think that was a circular sentence.
On Sunday the 31st, our tradition of hanging out at the big table, entrenched in a hyper competitive game of SNLTrivial Pursuit, pausing only to answer the door for costumed little kids, was completely ruined by my stinking sinuses. The game tradition may have been ruined, but I took care of the trick or treaters, due to my need to keep our home "egg free". I was perched near the door from 5-8:30pm with generous volumes of delicious treats specifically designed to promote tooth decay, high cholesterol, and diabetes. Seven years running and still no eggs on the house or toilet paper on the trees. We probably are the only house in Temecula that gives out miniature Lindt bars and Toblerones. Well worth the investment, because last time I checked, egged paint can only be corrected with an entirely new exterior paint job. Sinus infection or no sinus infection, I was keeping our house safe.
And that was October.
NOVEMBER: THE FREAK ZONE
I was focused on getting better in November, for a couple of reasons. One, I had to go to Asia again, and two, I really wanted to get better. I had stopped doing bootcamp, was working out less, and the steroids had turned me in to a hideous raging beast, in more ways than one. I was bitchy all the time, and I was starting to put on weight which I had worked pretty hard to move in a negative direction throughout 2010. It was like living with Lou Ferrigno. The green Lou Ferrigno from the 80's (or was it 70's?), except I wasn't using my large green roid raging power for good.
I was still on Augmenten and Steroids when I left for Vietnam on the 9th. It was a quick in and out trip. Flying to Ho Chi Minh is not exactly a good idea for someone who is sick. Leaving Ho Chi Minh36 hours later to go to Bangkok for three days of meetings is an even worse idea. I didn't get much sleep, I was running for about 30 minutes a day on the treadmill, taking a steam after my early morning workout, having a little wine with dinner, and was kidding myself in to thinking things were moving in the right direction.
I returned home on the night of the 13th, and returned to work on the 14th. I had brought back some treats for the folks in my office: soy sauce kit kats, wasabi kit kats, and sweet potato kit kats (I love Narita airport duty free!). On Tuesday the 15th, I had some vegetables for lunch that included grilled plantains, and I tasted a soy sauce kit kat. At about 4pm I noticed my ears starting to itch. It was odd, I had never experienced this before, it is as if I had been stung by a bee in both ears. I got home, ears still itched a bit but I felt okay. Had some wine, some asparagus and salmon, and decided to chill and watch a few episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Nothing like a little dose of Larry David to melt one's troubles away. I noticed a large lump growing in the back of my neck, as if my occipital lymph nodes were swelling. My head hurt a bit, and I went to bed.
What I woke up to in the wee hours of the morning was like something out of a low budget Peter Cushing horror film. Large red welts all over my back, thighs, and arms. My ears lobes were purple and massive in size. The welts were getting bigger, and spreading, fast. My face started to swell, and when my tongue started to get larger, I knew I was in trouble. I ran over to my PCP's office and waited for him to show up. Turns out Wednesday is his day off. His PA was nice enough, informing me that it must have been something I ate, probably the plantains. (Imagine the Hank Azaria character Agador Spartacus from the movie The Birdcage telling you that you have had an allergic reaction....."you silly girl, eating the plantains, you so crazy!....)....He gave me a shot of solumetrol, prescribed more steroids, and Allegra. He then told me to take two Benadryl, and go to bed. Spoken like a true almost doctor.
When I walked in to the house, my husband looked at me, paused for about thirty seconds, examining what potentially was a very unpleasant future, and when he finally spoke, he said: "I didn't sign up for being married to a woman who now looks like Mickey Rourke in the Wrestler. It's not going to be like this forever is it ? " I can't even express in words how much his comments meant to me at that very moment.
I have never taken Benadryl before. I have however, given it to my labrador Heidi when she has had allergies, at the recommendation of my vet. I will never do that to her again. It's like an oral version of general anesthesia (and I can say that now because I know what it's like). Talk about a trip. I went down, fast, and didn't wake up for six hours.
After a full day of nothing but Benadryl on Wednesday, I went back to work Thursday, then took a redeye to NY Thursday night for business. I was going to work retail on Friday and Saturday, getting closer to the consumer and the competition. Good stuff. Too bad I felt like crap, and, I could feel my sinuses starting to erupt, again. Stuffed in to the wedge seat on a Continental flight from Orange County to Newark, I was miserable.
Friday was bearable, a cold and gray November day. I worked until six, then met my dad and sister for dinner. I felt okay, went to sleep, and woke up the next morning with one eye and one lip beginning to swell again. Drove to East Hanover to work all day and attempt to make a great lasting impression at a brand new location of a major retailer. It wasn't my finest hour. I did the best I could, but I was nervous about my increasingly swelling face, and the emergence of some new red dots on my arms. By 3:30pm I had to politely excuse myself, and drove 45 minutes to the Hunterdon County Medical Center.
I walked in to the ER, where the receptionist glared at me and said "what's your problem". My inner voice advised me not to respond "YOU", and instead I told her I was having an allergic reaction and she said, "wait time is about an hour"...to which I replied "oh really, so when my throat swells up and I can't ask for help, will you please look for me on the ground?".....I swear at that moment I saw the words LIABILITY flashing in her eyes. She instantly softened, and politely sent me right to check in.
One of the most memorable moments of my five month ordeal was when I sat down and the very kind lady at the HMC, whom I think was named Nancy, asked "have you ever been in this hospital before". I was so proud to reply, "yes, as a matter of fact, I was born here, I had teeth surgically removed before I got braces, AND, I had a cycling accident when I was thirteen that caused me to spend five days here with a concussion"! Her reply to my enthusiastic recount of my time at HMC ? "That's impossible, we have no record you exist". Priceless.
Anyway, the people at the Hunterdon Medical Center, minus the risk averse battleax at reception, were actually pretty nice. They said I was suffering from a second round of the first reaction to whatever it was I allegedly ate but no one actually knew and and and......
They shot me up with more solumetrol, prescribed a much higher dose of steroids to feed an already hostile beast, and told me to add to my anti-sinus sauce some pepcid AC, more Allegra, and extra Benadryl. By this time, I was pretty clear that nothing was working. My confidence in modern medicine was beginning to wane, and it was only November 20th.
I flew home the following day. I was hoping nothing horrible would happen on what is typically just under a six hour flight home. On this particular day, we spent extra time on the runway in Newark, and the headwinds were unusually bad, so my flight took almost two hours longer than usual.
Cut to the following day, the Monday before Thanksgiving. First thing in the morning I went to my PCP and called BS on the antibiotics and steroids since there had been no noticable improvement over the course of seventy five days. He wanted to conduct allergy tests, and I suggested, for the second time, that he recommend a good ENT. He said no need to consider seeing an ENT until the allergy tests came back. It's as though I was speaking Chinese, but that would not make any sense, given that my PCP is Chinese. I pleaded with him to wean me off the steroids immediately, so he compromised by swapping the high dosage from the NJ hospital to another methaprednizone pack.
This was also the day I was scheduled to head up the coast, check out golf accounts, drive to Sonoma, enjoy Thanksgiving day, then do more golf stuff. Our 10am departure ended up being 1:30pm. I was pretty frustrated, so called my PCP's office and asked them to ask the doctor to give me a referral for an ENT, that I wasn't going to wait for the allergy tests to come back. They gave me a name, then told me I didn't need a referral due to the fact that I don't have an HMO. At that moment I decided to break up with my PCP ( although I never really told him we were breaking up, I just never called him again. Oh please, don't even think about judging me. It's not like it hasn't happened to me before).
Let me add that nothing, I mean nothing, is more painful than having a passion for California red, being up in wine country, and having your doctor tell you not to drink any wine at all. I still didn't feel great, but by this time it had become part of my being. And that's all I have to say about that.
November. Done.
I was still on Augmenten and Steroids when I left for Vietnam on the 9th. It was a quick in and out trip. Flying to Ho Chi Minh is not exactly a good idea for someone who is sick. Leaving Ho Chi Minh36 hours later to go to Bangkok for three days of meetings is an even worse idea. I didn't get much sleep, I was running for about 30 minutes a day on the treadmill, taking a steam after my early morning workout, having a little wine with dinner, and was kidding myself in to thinking things were moving in the right direction.
I returned home on the night of the 13th, and returned to work on the 14th. I had brought back some treats for the folks in my office: soy sauce kit kats, wasabi kit kats, and sweet potato kit kats (I love Narita airport duty free!). On Tuesday the 15th, I had some vegetables for lunch that included grilled plantains, and I tasted a soy sauce kit kat. At about 4pm I noticed my ears starting to itch. It was odd, I had never experienced this before, it is as if I had been stung by a bee in both ears. I got home, ears still itched a bit but I felt okay. Had some wine, some asparagus and salmon, and decided to chill and watch a few episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Nothing like a little dose of Larry David to melt one's troubles away. I noticed a large lump growing in the back of my neck, as if my occipital lymph nodes were swelling. My head hurt a bit, and I went to bed.
What I woke up to in the wee hours of the morning was like something out of a low budget Peter Cushing horror film. Large red welts all over my back, thighs, and arms. My ears lobes were purple and massive in size. The welts were getting bigger, and spreading, fast. My face started to swell, and when my tongue started to get larger, I knew I was in trouble. I ran over to my PCP's office and waited for him to show up. Turns out Wednesday is his day off. His PA was nice enough, informing me that it must have been something I ate, probably the plantains. (Imagine the Hank Azaria character Agador Spartacus from the movie The Birdcage telling you that you have had an allergic reaction....."you silly girl, eating the plantains, you so crazy!....)....He gave me a shot of solumetrol, prescribed more steroids, and Allegra. He then told me to take two Benadryl, and go to bed. Spoken like a true almost doctor.
When I walked in to the house, my husband looked at me, paused for about thirty seconds, examining what potentially was a very unpleasant future, and when he finally spoke, he said: "I didn't sign up for being married to a woman who now looks like Mickey Rourke in the Wrestler. It's not going to be like this forever is it ? " I can't even express in words how much his comments meant to me at that very moment.
I have never taken Benadryl before. I have however, given it to my labrador Heidi when she has had allergies, at the recommendation of my vet. I will never do that to her again. It's like an oral version of general anesthesia (and I can say that now because I know what it's like). Talk about a trip. I went down, fast, and didn't wake up for six hours.
After a full day of nothing but Benadryl on Wednesday, I went back to work Thursday, then took a redeye to NY Thursday night for business. I was going to work retail on Friday and Saturday, getting closer to the consumer and the competition. Good stuff. Too bad I felt like crap, and, I could feel my sinuses starting to erupt, again. Stuffed in to the wedge seat on a Continental flight from Orange County to Newark, I was miserable.
Friday was bearable, a cold and gray November day. I worked until six, then met my dad and sister for dinner. I felt okay, went to sleep, and woke up the next morning with one eye and one lip beginning to swell again. Drove to East Hanover to work all day and attempt to make a great lasting impression at a brand new location of a major retailer. It wasn't my finest hour. I did the best I could, but I was nervous about my increasingly swelling face, and the emergence of some new red dots on my arms. By 3:30pm I had to politely excuse myself, and drove 45 minutes to the Hunterdon County Medical Center.
I walked in to the ER, where the receptionist glared at me and said "what's your problem". My inner voice advised me not to respond "YOU", and instead I told her I was having an allergic reaction and she said, "wait time is about an hour"...to which I replied "oh really, so when my throat swells up and I can't ask for help, will you please look for me on the ground?".....I swear at that moment I saw the words LIABILITY flashing in her eyes. She instantly softened, and politely sent me right to check in.
One of the most memorable moments of my five month ordeal was when I sat down and the very kind lady at the HMC, whom I think was named Nancy, asked "have you ever been in this hospital before". I was so proud to reply, "yes, as a matter of fact, I was born here, I had teeth surgically removed before I got braces, AND, I had a cycling accident when I was thirteen that caused me to spend five days here with a concussion"! Her reply to my enthusiastic recount of my time at HMC ? "That's impossible, we have no record you exist". Priceless.
Anyway, the people at the Hunterdon Medical Center, minus the risk averse battleax at reception, were actually pretty nice. They said I was suffering from a second round of the first reaction to whatever it was I allegedly ate but no one actually knew and and and......
They shot me up with more solumetrol, prescribed a much higher dose of steroids to feed an already hostile beast, and told me to add to my anti-sinus sauce some pepcid AC, more Allegra, and extra Benadryl. By this time, I was pretty clear that nothing was working. My confidence in modern medicine was beginning to wane, and it was only November 20th.
I flew home the following day. I was hoping nothing horrible would happen on what is typically just under a six hour flight home. On this particular day, we spent extra time on the runway in Newark, and the headwinds were unusually bad, so my flight took almost two hours longer than usual.
Cut to the following day, the Monday before Thanksgiving. First thing in the morning I went to my PCP and called BS on the antibiotics and steroids since there had been no noticable improvement over the course of seventy five days. He wanted to conduct allergy tests, and I suggested, for the second time, that he recommend a good ENT. He said no need to consider seeing an ENT until the allergy tests came back. It's as though I was speaking Chinese, but that would not make any sense, given that my PCP is Chinese. I pleaded with him to wean me off the steroids immediately, so he compromised by swapping the high dosage from the NJ hospital to another methaprednizone pack.
This was also the day I was scheduled to head up the coast, check out golf accounts, drive to Sonoma, enjoy Thanksgiving day, then do more golf stuff. Our 10am departure ended up being 1:30pm. I was pretty frustrated, so called my PCP's office and asked them to ask the doctor to give me a referral for an ENT, that I wasn't going to wait for the allergy tests to come back. They gave me a name, then told me I didn't need a referral due to the fact that I don't have an HMO. At that moment I decided to break up with my PCP ( although I never really told him we were breaking up, I just never called him again. Oh please, don't even think about judging me. It's not like it hasn't happened to me before).
Let me add that nothing, I mean nothing, is more painful than having a passion for California red, being up in wine country, and having your doctor tell you not to drink any wine at all. I still didn't feel great, but by this time it had become part of my being. And that's all I have to say about that.
November. Done.
DECEMBER: ADMITTING I HAVE A PROBLEM
I was able to book an appointment with the ENT for three weeks later. I was hoping I would go in and he would tell me I had some viral infection, or something that would be easy to fix. I figured, since the doctor had a last name that was the same as the maiden name of my wonderful Irish/Canadian mother, that I was in good hands. Let me start by saying that just because your doctor has a last name that is the same as the maiden name of your wonderful Irish/Canadian mother, and just because he is about your age and ridiculously good looking (not in a Derek Zoolander ridiculously good looking kind of way), does not mean he is necessarily going to be a really nice man who will solve your medical problem immediately. Don't get me wrong, I checked him out professionally, and based on the fact he had a top notch education, was well published, and had very high recommendations, I remain confident he is a top notch physician, or more correctly, surgeon.
So I walk in, sit down, pay my co-pay, wait about four minutes, walk in to an exam room, wait about 120 seconds, and he comes flying in, dressed in scrubs, looks at my nose a couple of times, then says "well, from what I see here, you have chronic rhinusitus and would be an excellent candidate for surgery". SURGERY. SURGERY ? For F*#@k's sake! I haven't had surgery ever, except when I was eleven and a Dr. Shapiro (at the Hunterdon Medical Center where they claim I don't exist), extracted a couple of molars to prepare me for braces. I actually said "you are kidding right ? It's just a sinus infection". He was neither kidding nor did he find any humor in my asking if this was a joke. He went on to inform me that I am "anatomically disadvantaged", and the hourglass shape of my sinuses is small.
Now comes the part in the story where we experience irony in it's purest form. Hourglass. Hourglass is how one would generally describe the shape of my figure, which has in no way, shape or form, ever been described as small. Ever. Athletic, yes, but small, never. Hilarious God, I get the joke.
The ENT then said I should have been put on topical steroids in the first place and we could try it to see if it would work. He also ordered a CT-Scan, which was conveniently located downstairs from his office. I did that immediately. The technician asked me why I was there, and when I told him the ENT thought I might need sinus surgery, he said "Of course he said that, he's a surgeon". Comforting.
I received a voicemail message almost two weeks later from the ENT, in which he said, I think, that I had a "maxifacial sinus fissure" and that I should have minimally invasive sinus surgery. He also said I should call him back and let him know what I wanted to do. I called him back, and didn't hear from him again. He clearly wasn't from the same lineage of the last name of my amazing Irish/Canadian mother. They definitely would have called me back.
By this time I was getting unbearable headaches, to the point that I was starting to think that I had something far worse wrong with me, like maybe a brain tumor or an aneurysm. There were even a few nights that I didn't go to sleep because I was afraid I would not wake up. My eyesight was still getting worse, and when I would try to go for a run, my nasal passages would start burning.
All throughout the autumn months, friends had kept advising me to try a "neti-pot". I didn't do it, because the idea of sticking the spout of a teapot up your nose with the goal of the liquid coming out the other side just wasn't appealing to me. Honestly, it sounded pretty disgusting. But I was desperate, so I did it, and it was awesome ! Neti-pot temporarily changed my life, At least enough to help me get through Christmas with two pots per day. I tried the topical steroids also, but they didn't really help and they made my throat hurt. I was basically coming home and making myself a cocktail of neti-pot, Ibuprofen, and Ambien (for sleep). I had stopped working out completely and was pretty unhappy. I no longer want to be around me, which I'm pretty sure meant no one else wanted to be around me either. All of this and work was more stressful than it had ever been. Good times.
The dogs were even over my bad attitude and constant misery, and then it was New Year's Eve.
So I walk in, sit down, pay my co-pay, wait about four minutes, walk in to an exam room, wait about 120 seconds, and he comes flying in, dressed in scrubs, looks at my nose a couple of times, then says "well, from what I see here, you have chronic rhinusitus and would be an excellent candidate for surgery". SURGERY. SURGERY ? For F*#@k's sake! I haven't had surgery ever, except when I was eleven and a Dr. Shapiro (at the Hunterdon Medical Center where they claim I don't exist), extracted a couple of molars to prepare me for braces. I actually said "you are kidding right ? It's just a sinus infection". He was neither kidding nor did he find any humor in my asking if this was a joke. He went on to inform me that I am "anatomically disadvantaged", and the hourglass shape of my sinuses is small.
Now comes the part in the story where we experience irony in it's purest form. Hourglass. Hourglass is how one would generally describe the shape of my figure, which has in no way, shape or form, ever been described as small. Ever. Athletic, yes, but small, never. Hilarious God, I get the joke.
The ENT then said I should have been put on topical steroids in the first place and we could try it to see if it would work. He also ordered a CT-Scan, which was conveniently located downstairs from his office. I did that immediately. The technician asked me why I was there, and when I told him the ENT thought I might need sinus surgery, he said "Of course he said that, he's a surgeon". Comforting.
I received a voicemail message almost two weeks later from the ENT, in which he said, I think, that I had a "maxifacial sinus fissure" and that I should have minimally invasive sinus surgery. He also said I should call him back and let him know what I wanted to do. I called him back, and didn't hear from him again. He clearly wasn't from the same lineage of the last name of my amazing Irish/Canadian mother. They definitely would have called me back.
By this time I was getting unbearable headaches, to the point that I was starting to think that I had something far worse wrong with me, like maybe a brain tumor or an aneurysm. There were even a few nights that I didn't go to sleep because I was afraid I would not wake up. My eyesight was still getting worse, and when I would try to go for a run, my nasal passages would start burning.
All throughout the autumn months, friends had kept advising me to try a "neti-pot". I didn't do it, because the idea of sticking the spout of a teapot up your nose with the goal of the liquid coming out the other side just wasn't appealing to me. Honestly, it sounded pretty disgusting. But I was desperate, so I did it, and it was awesome ! Neti-pot temporarily changed my life, At least enough to help me get through Christmas with two pots per day. I tried the topical steroids also, but they didn't really help and they made my throat hurt. I was basically coming home and making myself a cocktail of neti-pot, Ibuprofen, and Ambien (for sleep). I had stopped working out completely and was pretty unhappy. I no longer want to be around me, which I'm pretty sure meant no one else wanted to be around me either. All of this and work was more stressful than it had ever been. Good times.
The dogs were even over my bad attitude and constant misery, and then it was New Year's Eve.
2011. JANUARY: DECIDING TO TREAT THE PROBLEM
A New Year!!! Yay!!! Normally I begin the New Year by writing, reflecting, and setting my personal and professional goals for the entire year. I love doing this exercise. I post my lists (body/mind/soul/environment) on the bathroom mirror and take stock at the end of the year as to what items I integrated in to my life and which got left behind. Not this time. I just didn't have it in me to even write the list. I had a single focus, get healthy. I was doing okay until about January 7th, and then another volcanic eruption occurred.
I embarked on a journey to explore alternative methods to cure my sinus plague. I was even going to call a healer. I know a healer, I even put his number in my phone. Of course, I never actually got around to making the call.
Instead, I turned to Dr. Patricia Bragg and the seemingly magical powers of apple cider vinegar. I swear the instructions said add 4 tbsp raw unfiltered apple cider vinegar to a cup of warm water with a little raw honey. I spent a few days drinking this concoction, which was brutal in both taste and aroma. I actually thought it helped a little, even though the massive acidity was tough on my body. As it turned out it was only supposed to be 2 tsp of the vinegar, which maybe would have been a little easier on the stomach and the teeth. I may actually have a hole in my stomach now, but, maybe that is not so bad.
In addition to my "vinegar tea", I came up with the brilliant idea of making a soup chock full of all roasted power foods: kale, sweet potatoes, fennel, garlic, spinach, beets, cabbage, parsnips, peppers, onions, carrots, broccoli, and brussel sprouts. I thought between these two natural remedies, and eliminating anything that could feed the infection (like refined sugar and all gluten), I would have this thing beat. It didn't work. Although I will say that the soup, while it looked hideous after a few cycles in the blender, tasted great, and is going on my food blog (tdfoodacity.blogspot.com OR www.arugulainc.com. Yes people, I am taking this opportunity to self promote, is that so wrong ?)
I tried crazy holistic bathsalts in the tub. I did a facial steam of aromatic oils: tea tree, peppermint, and rosemary (and almost blinded Herbie by doing so). I was even considering ear candling, but then I remembered they candled the infant version of Robert DeNiro in Godfather II, and suddenly I realized that I was potentially turning myself in to a freak.
By Tuesday of that week, I was in so much pain I went to the dentist. I thought maybe all these issues were caused by an abscessed tooth or maybe a root issue. My dentist was skeptical, but kind enough to take an x-ray to see if perhaps there was something wrong. Nothing, except, he noted emphatically, "you have really badly occluded sinuses". Sh*&! Another expert opinion confirming sinus problems.
And then, two days later, things got worse. I was at work, feeling almost like myself (relative to the fact that my "self" is now someone who is constantly stuffed up and has headaches all the time), when all of a sudden at about 5:00pm I had this crazy coughing fit. Came out of nowhere. Suddenly I had blood in my throat, and it felt like a tonsil had erupted. I had to bail on a dinner with my boss and headed straight for urgent care. Sure enough, I had burst a blood vessel in a tonsil. I'm not sure why this happened, but I knew it was all related and I had to deal with it, I was out of options.
I had to go back to the ridiculously good looking yet extremely dismissive ENT. I even went and got a second opinion from another well known, not so good looking, less dismissive, well respected ENT. His opinion: " Your sinuses are small. You need surgery. And your ENT is really good".
The following week things got worse, and, as usual, my timing is amazing. Remember that meeting I mentioned in October ? This was the follow up to that meeting, where we make major decisions which impact all of 2012. I made it through the first hour to do an overview for the group, and then I had to leave. I didn't even know if I could make the forty minute drive to the doctor. The ENT's office was kind enough to make room for me that morning. Actually, the ENT was a little nicer this time, well, if the following can be considered nicer:
ME: Doctor, this thing doesn't seem to be getting any better, and now I am getting crazy headaches as well.
ENT: Well, are you going to keep talking about it or are we going to do something about it this time.
I really wanted to hate this guy, then it would be much easier for me to justify not having surgery. However, it was impossible because he clearly was an expert in his field. I gave in. I decided to schedule the surgery. I did however, have a lot of questions, which, over the course of the next month would be met with all sorts of different answers.
He told me what he was going to do was called Balloon Sinuplasty. It was minimally invasive, quick, no cutting, and I would be out of the hospital the same day. Recovery would be fast. No nosepacking. I could get on a plane after a week, work out after a week, and probably be feeling well in two days, but should give my self some time in the event it took longer. He said it would not change the shape of my nose or face at all, which was important to me, because I happen to like my nose, and my face. He said it was a simple procedure and I should not be worried.
I spent a lot of time researching this procedure. I am not sure if the amount of information available on the internet is a blessing or a curse. For the most part, people who had this procedure made it sound like it wasn't that horrible. Certainly better than for those who had undergone standard sinus surgery. I was able to read bits and pieces, then would stop. I don't have much of a stomach for reading about surgical procedures, all I was looking for was some sort of reassurance that I was going to be okay and not enduring massive amounts of pain. The post about it being dangerously close to the brain scared me a bit, although, there are some who might say that a version of me with a lobotomy might be pretty awesome. Either way, I had made the decision to move forward, and now I had to schedule the procedure.
Since I was going to be traveling until the end of January, I was going to have to schedule the procedure for early February. I had a very small window in which I could have it completed and recover, as I would be traveling again mid month.
In the meantime, I still felt horrible and my sinuses were killing me. I had to call the ENT's office the very next day after my last visit and ask for some sort of additional medicinal help. He had told me the prior day to take Mucinex and Ibuprofen, but I was badly infected, so I needed something else to get me through the month.
The people at the ENT's office seemed generally inconvenienced by me and my desire for a little attention. I don't know why the lack of compassion or interest in this particular patient (me). I can't say I have ever experienced anything like it before from the medical community. Maybe I was being oversensitive, or maybe I actually was an unbearable bitch because of all the steroids, and they just didn't want to deal with me.
Anyway, it was on to round four of antibiotics, and maybe more steroids. I can't even remember now. This time it was Cipro. It helped to the degree that I was able to function like a relatively normal person. I was still stuffed, but that had become standard, so I suppose the fact that I was not hacking up giant green chunks of phlem should have been sufficient enough to make me happy.
My next step was to make the call to the "surgery coordinator" to schedule the procedure. Definitely the most difficult phone call I have ever made. February 3rd would be the day. It seemed simple enough, she said would send a surgery packet, and that I would need to contact the hospital to get a pre-op done. She advised quote me what the cost for the surgeon would be, based on my insurance, but not for the hospital, I would need to do that myself. I was a little annoyed with this part. You would think that they could coordinate the whole event, but, not working in the field of medicine, I suppose I have no business judging their processes.
When I receive the surgery packet, it didn't say "balloon sinuplasty". It says "bilateral sinus surgery", and the box "nasal polyps" is checked. So I, concerned citizen, called the office, and said "I have some questions for the doctor because there seems to be some inconsistency". The surgery coordinator told me she could answer all the questions. She did. But apparently not correctly. By the time the call was over I thought I was going to have a fully packed nose after surgery and that I had to go in for pre-op no later than January 21st.
From about January 10th-January 20th was pretty much a blur. Honestly, I don't even remember it. I know I was really busy at work, and I know I felt crappy all the time.
I then headed to Florida for a sales meeting and the PGA show. For some reason, and maybe because I knew I could possibly be dead, or worse, horribly disfigured by this surgery, I was bad all week. I ate too much, I drank a lot of wine, and I didn't work out. I couldn't wait to get home.
And then January came to a close, almost.
I embarked on a journey to explore alternative methods to cure my sinus plague. I was even going to call a healer. I know a healer, I even put his number in my phone. Of course, I never actually got around to making the call.
Instead, I turned to Dr. Patricia Bragg and the seemingly magical powers of apple cider vinegar. I swear the instructions said add 4 tbsp raw unfiltered apple cider vinegar to a cup of warm water with a little raw honey. I spent a few days drinking this concoction, which was brutal in both taste and aroma. I actually thought it helped a little, even though the massive acidity was tough on my body. As it turned out it was only supposed to be 2 tsp of the vinegar, which maybe would have been a little easier on the stomach and the teeth. I may actually have a hole in my stomach now, but, maybe that is not so bad.
In addition to my "vinegar tea", I came up with the brilliant idea of making a soup chock full of all roasted power foods: kale, sweet potatoes, fennel, garlic, spinach, beets, cabbage, parsnips, peppers, onions, carrots, broccoli, and brussel sprouts. I thought between these two natural remedies, and eliminating anything that could feed the infection (like refined sugar and all gluten), I would have this thing beat. It didn't work. Although I will say that the soup, while it looked hideous after a few cycles in the blender, tasted great, and is going on my food blog (tdfoodacity.blogspot.com OR www.arugulainc.com. Yes people, I am taking this opportunity to self promote, is that so wrong ?)
I tried crazy holistic bathsalts in the tub. I did a facial steam of aromatic oils: tea tree, peppermint, and rosemary (and almost blinded Herbie by doing so). I was even considering ear candling, but then I remembered they candled the infant version of Robert DeNiro in Godfather II, and suddenly I realized that I was potentially turning myself in to a freak.
By Tuesday of that week, I was in so much pain I went to the dentist. I thought maybe all these issues were caused by an abscessed tooth or maybe a root issue. My dentist was skeptical, but kind enough to take an x-ray to see if perhaps there was something wrong. Nothing, except, he noted emphatically, "you have really badly occluded sinuses". Sh*&! Another expert opinion confirming sinus problems.
And then, two days later, things got worse. I was at work, feeling almost like myself (relative to the fact that my "self" is now someone who is constantly stuffed up and has headaches all the time), when all of a sudden at about 5:00pm I had this crazy coughing fit. Came out of nowhere. Suddenly I had blood in my throat, and it felt like a tonsil had erupted. I had to bail on a dinner with my boss and headed straight for urgent care. Sure enough, I had burst a blood vessel in a tonsil. I'm not sure why this happened, but I knew it was all related and I had to deal with it, I was out of options.
I had to go back to the ridiculously good looking yet extremely dismissive ENT. I even went and got a second opinion from another well known, not so good looking, less dismissive, well respected ENT. His opinion: " Your sinuses are small. You need surgery. And your ENT is really good".
The following week things got worse, and, as usual, my timing is amazing. Remember that meeting I mentioned in October ? This was the follow up to that meeting, where we make major decisions which impact all of 2012. I made it through the first hour to do an overview for the group, and then I had to leave. I didn't even know if I could make the forty minute drive to the doctor. The ENT's office was kind enough to make room for me that morning. Actually, the ENT was a little nicer this time, well, if the following can be considered nicer:
ME: Doctor, this thing doesn't seem to be getting any better, and now I am getting crazy headaches as well.
ENT: Well, are you going to keep talking about it or are we going to do something about it this time.
I really wanted to hate this guy, then it would be much easier for me to justify not having surgery. However, it was impossible because he clearly was an expert in his field. I gave in. I decided to schedule the surgery. I did however, have a lot of questions, which, over the course of the next month would be met with all sorts of different answers.
He told me what he was going to do was called Balloon Sinuplasty. It was minimally invasive, quick, no cutting, and I would be out of the hospital the same day. Recovery would be fast. No nosepacking. I could get on a plane after a week, work out after a week, and probably be feeling well in two days, but should give my self some time in the event it took longer. He said it would not change the shape of my nose or face at all, which was important to me, because I happen to like my nose, and my face. He said it was a simple procedure and I should not be worried.
I spent a lot of time researching this procedure. I am not sure if the amount of information available on the internet is a blessing or a curse. For the most part, people who had this procedure made it sound like it wasn't that horrible. Certainly better than for those who had undergone standard sinus surgery. I was able to read bits and pieces, then would stop. I don't have much of a stomach for reading about surgical procedures, all I was looking for was some sort of reassurance that I was going to be okay and not enduring massive amounts of pain. The post about it being dangerously close to the brain scared me a bit, although, there are some who might say that a version of me with a lobotomy might be pretty awesome. Either way, I had made the decision to move forward, and now I had to schedule the procedure.
Since I was going to be traveling until the end of January, I was going to have to schedule the procedure for early February. I had a very small window in which I could have it completed and recover, as I would be traveling again mid month.
In the meantime, I still felt horrible and my sinuses were killing me. I had to call the ENT's office the very next day after my last visit and ask for some sort of additional medicinal help. He had told me the prior day to take Mucinex and Ibuprofen, but I was badly infected, so I needed something else to get me through the month.
The people at the ENT's office seemed generally inconvenienced by me and my desire for a little attention. I don't know why the lack of compassion or interest in this particular patient (me). I can't say I have ever experienced anything like it before from the medical community. Maybe I was being oversensitive, or maybe I actually was an unbearable bitch because of all the steroids, and they just didn't want to deal with me.
Anyway, it was on to round four of antibiotics, and maybe more steroids. I can't even remember now. This time it was Cipro. It helped to the degree that I was able to function like a relatively normal person. I was still stuffed, but that had become standard, so I suppose the fact that I was not hacking up giant green chunks of phlem should have been sufficient enough to make me happy.
My next step was to make the call to the "surgery coordinator" to schedule the procedure. Definitely the most difficult phone call I have ever made. February 3rd would be the day. It seemed simple enough, she said would send a surgery packet, and that I would need to contact the hospital to get a pre-op done. She advised quote me what the cost for the surgeon would be, based on my insurance, but not for the hospital, I would need to do that myself. I was a little annoyed with this part. You would think that they could coordinate the whole event, but, not working in the field of medicine, I suppose I have no business judging their processes.
When I receive the surgery packet, it didn't say "balloon sinuplasty". It says "bilateral sinus surgery", and the box "nasal polyps" is checked. So I, concerned citizen, called the office, and said "I have some questions for the doctor because there seems to be some inconsistency". The surgery coordinator told me she could answer all the questions. She did. But apparently not correctly. By the time the call was over I thought I was going to have a fully packed nose after surgery and that I had to go in for pre-op no later than January 21st.
From about January 10th-January 20th was pretty much a blur. Honestly, I don't even remember it. I know I was really busy at work, and I know I felt crappy all the time.
I then headed to Florida for a sales meeting and the PGA show. For some reason, and maybe because I knew I could possibly be dead, or worse, horribly disfigured by this surgery, I was bad all week. I ate too much, I drank a lot of wine, and I didn't work out. I couldn't wait to get home.
And then January came to a close, almost.
2011. FEBRUARY: FINALLY ADDRESSING THE PROBLEM
Technically, I should have started this post in January, since it was January 31st, but, I didn't. I was able to head out of the office at about 2:45pm and up to the hospital for the pre-op work. I was told I should get there by 4pm and it would take about an hour. When I got there, they told me I was too early, and that I had to be there within 72 hours of surgery (it was 72 hours, but they were struggling with the math).
They finally saw me some time after 6pm, and I got home at about 8:30pm. The hospital is, as I was warned, an older facility. The lady who checked me in was very sweet, even when I had to explain that we were within the 72 hour window. Once I was admitted, the first stop was the blood lab, where I basically kept my eyes closed the entire time. The technician, whose doppleganger was wwf wrestling legend "Captain" Lou Albano, tried his best to keep me calm with bad jokes. Well, mostly bad jokes. One of them was funny, but I don't remember it so it must not have been that funny. Didn't matter, when you stick a needle in my arm I block out all thoughts. He also took a urine sample, apparently to check for pregnancy. I explained that there was absolutely NO chance I was knocked up, unless of course the toilet seat theory has any sort of validity, but he wasn't buying it, he needed to check to be sure. He escorted me down to the EKG room, which, and I am not kidding, was lifted from the set of M.A.S.H.. I wiped the dirt off the sheets, which the technician saw me do and said "yeah, it's kind of a mess, there just isn't budget for anything", and laid down for the next phase. Comforting. Anyway, the good news is that the EKG came out perfectly fine. Final stop was x-ray. I won't make any wiseass comments about x-ray because I am still concerned about radiation.
I missed Jeopardy on Monday night.
That was Monday. I was told I would hear from the hospital two days before the surgery (Tuesday) to know what time to come in. I didn't. I called them, and they said someone would call me, but still they didn't. I finally heard from the nurse on Tuesday who couldn't give me an arrival time but had a number of questions, mostly about drugs, prior surgeries, piercings, the usual.
NURSE: Did you have any ibuprofen in the past week ?
ME: NO, I mean YES.
NURSE: How much alcohol ?
ME: I don't remember.
She advised me to shower with antibacterial soap before coming in the morning of surgery , wear comfortable clothing, and absolutely no jewelry or makeup. No makeup ? In the event that I had shaken off the mortal coil on the operating table I wouldn't even look good.
I am not going to lie, I was scared. Really scared. So I decided to do what any normal person would do two days before surgery. I decided to make a great meal, and then find the best bottle of wine in the cellar, and drink at least half of it by myself. Well, maybe a little more than half. Okay, three quarters. Needless to say, Tuesday evening was a good evening. Tuesday night, on the other hand, was a full fledged nightmare about the impending surgery. I mean, some seriously messed up stuff. So messed up I am hesitant to even write it down. Highlights: my doctor didn't show up. then he punked me and did. First he was John C. Reilly, then later he was his original self, but dressed as a Hasidic Jew doing some crazy routine with another doctor, who happened to be a very small person. Then I was sitting in a room full of people, all in line for surgery with this guy. He made fun of me in front of the rest of the crowd, something about me taking myself too seriously (like that has ever happened). Finally he took off his costume and was back to normal in scrubs. Later in the dream my husband was buzzing around on a razor scooter outside the hospital, then the doctor returned, and tried to run me over in the woods, but I got away, on a tractor. Like I said, "nightmare".
Of course, Wednesday morning sucked because I couldn't have any Ibuprofen on Tuesday night.
Wednesday was all around a bad day, and it was in no way related to the ban on Ibuprofen. I was becoming increasingly more frightened, which made me increasingly more irritable. The hospital called and told me to be there at 6am. Then they called a couple hours later and told me to be there at 9am. Then they called me a few hours after that and told me to be there at 6am. And I said no, because I wanted to prove a point that my time was valuable too.
Then I reconsidered and called them back, because I was told you always want to be the first one in to surgery. And they couldn't work it out, so I was stuck being last. What an idiot.
I had just started to calm down, and was pulling in to my garage from work at about 8:30pm when my phone rang. It was the woman who had scheduled my surgery at the ENT's office.
HER: Hi.
ME: Hi.
HER: This is the woman from the ENT'S office. Do you by any chance have your CT Scan ?
ME: No. Why ?
HER: Oh, we just don't have it and thought you did.
ME: I've never actually seen it. In fact, I don't even really know what you guys are doing tomorrow.
HER: You mean the Dr. never called you ?.......
So the night before surgery, about an hour before I was about to try to sleep, I received the final telephone call just to reassure me that I made the right decision (that was meant to be sarcastic). My first surgery, and I was going to allow this Doctor, who had given me less of his time than the Soup Nazi gave George Costanza in his quest for crab bisque, to stick a balloon up my nose and break it (my nose, not the balloon). This man was holding the future of 50% of my breathing ability, and, the shape of my face, in his hands.
I arrived at 9:15 am to the ambulatory surgery area. I walked in, there was a long, dark hallway, and at the end there was a very small closet, which was actually a tiny little office. It was weird actually, like some sort of strange film. Inside the closet there was a woman was checking a man in to the hospital, or maybe it was out.
She looked at me and then, the a dialogue ensued.
HER: what are you doing here ?
ME: I am having surgery here today.
HER: well, look on the door for the instructions.
I looked at the door. The instructions said "Ring silver buzzer for service". Really ? Really ?She couldn't just tell me that ? She had to tell me to actually read the instructions ? It took her longer to tell me to read the instructions than it would have for her to tell me to ring the silver buzzer. I leaned over to tie my shoe, and, as timing would have it, at that moment a woman popped open the door just in time to get a look at my giant sweat pant clad ass, and said... "oooohhhhhh PINK SHOES".... and here starts my big day. (I was wearing pink and grey Reebok Zigtech's).
This woman asked my name, to which I replied, and for some reason she really wanted to call me Diane. So I went with it. Which was fine until they were verifying my information and asked me my first name, which I told them, and they then replied:
"But you said your name was Diane".
"No. YOU said my name was Diane".
"Yes, but you didn't correct us".
"That's because that lady over there really wanted me to be named Diane and I didn't want to disappoint her".
After we got that resolved, another lady came in and said "we need to collect $250.00 from you now". Yup, that's how I began my surgical experience. And I wasn't even undressed yet.
So, they made me undress, put on an ugly backless blue paper dress, and sent me to the bathroom to give them more urine. I would have preferred to walk through the recovery/entry room without my ginourmous, non-running-for-multiple-weeks-ass hanging out as I went to the bathroom, but I suppose at this point they had taken my money and were in complete control. I gave them the container, and about ten minutes later they came back and said "urine test reveals no pregnancy". I bet that will show up as a $200 test on my insurance. All they needed to do was ask.
Next came the issue with my stuff. I had brought my purse, which apparently I was not supposed to do. Maybe they could have told me this in advance. A nurse showed up with a small envelope, about the size one would use use to mail a letter, and said "everything you want locked up needs to fit in here". If you have ever seen my purse, you would realize this created a bit of a problem. All of my belongings made the journey to surgery with me. If only they could talk.
I had been sitting in whatever room they call it for an hour, in my backless blue paper dress, when they announced it was time for an IV. I think I may have mentioned on more than one occasion my issue with needles, I cannot even see them without becoming weak. And as she was beating on my right arm looking for a vein, I realized at that moment I was about to be exposed as a coward. I looked away as I began weeping like a baby, not wanting to reveal that I was in reality a weakling, and that all the sarcastic remarks and phrases filled with disdain were merely a facade carefully crafted to hide my secret. It was true. When it came right down to it, I was paralyzed with fear.
Two hours later, I was still in the same room. I managed to get quite a bit of work done, and really shouldn't have taken the day off. It was nearly 1pm, I hadn't eaten since the night before, I was getting hungry, and at minimum could have used some water. I was just about to get up and leave when the nurse said "they are ready for you". They wheeled me down the hall to another area, not exactly sure what it was. It was time for a consultation and then on to the drugs. As I saw Dr. ENT approach, I debated whether to tell him what I was really thinking, and, while it was against my better judgement, I did it anyway. Inner voice did not win this round. Here's how it went:
ENT: Hey, what's up.
ME: Nothing. I'm flipping out.
ENT: Why ?
ME: Seriously ?
ENT: This is not a big deal, it is a minor procedure, you have nothing to worry about.
ME: Actually Doctor, this has been kind of a cluster. I have gotten all sorts of conflicting information, and I need some clarification.
ENT: Like what ?
ME: Well, what exactly is being done. Are you just doing balloon or are you cutting me ?
ENT: Well....we say bilateral sinus surgery because I need options.
ME: Options ?
ENT: Yeah, I mean, like, I can say balloon, and then do the balloon, and then you just get balloon results, you know ?
ME: No, I don't know.
ENT: You just have to trust me.
ME: (silent. looks like deer caught in headlights)
ME: Whatever, do what you have to do.
ME: Please try not to kill me.
ENT: Ha Ha.
Then came the anesthesiologist.
HER: Do you have any teeth you are concerned about ?
ME: Yes, all of them. Please don't break them.
HER: Okay, we will try.
ME: I really like my teeth, and I don't want them broken, please.
HER: Okay, we will try. Now I am going to give you some drugs.
ME: I don't feel anyth..........
They wheeled me in to the surgery room. I guess that's why they give you the drugs first, because once in the surgery room you realize you are entering a room that is butt cold, the lighting is creepy, and, to top it all off, the sounds of Matchbox 20 are wafting from the speakers. Three things that make me want to throw up. Especially the Matchbox 20 part. I remember moving from the gurney (I think that is what they call it) to the operating table, but that's about it.
Next thing I knew I was in another room. A different room. Oh, and apparently I had pee'd while I was asleep,which was awesome and mature of me. My doctor had apparently left for the day, so I had no idea what he had actually done. What he didn't do was call my husband and tell him I was okay, which caused a whole bunch of aggravation for me later on (more on that later, turns out that the doctor did call, but was given the wrong number, and whomever he spoke with forgot they didn't have a wife named Tiss having balloon sinuplasty in Fallbrook that day). They were constantly checking my blood pressure, which was apparently off the charts (I'm regularly about 118/76, but at one point it shot up to 209/106), then giving me more drugs. I was in and out at that point. They wheeled me back to the original room, and offered me an ounce of water with some ice in a sippy cup. I still was floating around myself, but I was conscious enough to eventually hear my husband call and they told him I was okay.
I finally was able to leave. I tried to be the tough girl and I rejected the wheel chair. Fortunately, for the sake of my friend AJ's car, I didn't barf on the way home.
They finally saw me some time after 6pm, and I got home at about 8:30pm. The hospital is, as I was warned, an older facility. The lady who checked me in was very sweet, even when I had to explain that we were within the 72 hour window. Once I was admitted, the first stop was the blood lab, where I basically kept my eyes closed the entire time. The technician, whose doppleganger was wwf wrestling legend "Captain" Lou Albano, tried his best to keep me calm with bad jokes. Well, mostly bad jokes. One of them was funny, but I don't remember it so it must not have been that funny. Didn't matter, when you stick a needle in my arm I block out all thoughts. He also took a urine sample, apparently to check for pregnancy. I explained that there was absolutely NO chance I was knocked up, unless of course the toilet seat theory has any sort of validity, but he wasn't buying it, he needed to check to be sure. He escorted me down to the EKG room, which, and I am not kidding, was lifted from the set of M.A.S.H.. I wiped the dirt off the sheets, which the technician saw me do and said "yeah, it's kind of a mess, there just isn't budget for anything", and laid down for the next phase. Comforting. Anyway, the good news is that the EKG came out perfectly fine. Final stop was x-ray. I won't make any wiseass comments about x-ray because I am still concerned about radiation.
I missed Jeopardy on Monday night.
That was Monday. I was told I would hear from the hospital two days before the surgery (Tuesday) to know what time to come in. I didn't. I called them, and they said someone would call me, but still they didn't. I finally heard from the nurse on Tuesday who couldn't give me an arrival time but had a number of questions, mostly about drugs, prior surgeries, piercings, the usual.
NURSE: Did you have any ibuprofen in the past week ?
ME: NO, I mean YES.
NURSE: How much alcohol ?
ME: I don't remember.
She advised me to shower with antibacterial soap before coming in the morning of surgery , wear comfortable clothing, and absolutely no jewelry or makeup. No makeup ? In the event that I had shaken off the mortal coil on the operating table I wouldn't even look good.
I am not going to lie, I was scared. Really scared. So I decided to do what any normal person would do two days before surgery. I decided to make a great meal, and then find the best bottle of wine in the cellar, and drink at least half of it by myself. Well, maybe a little more than half. Okay, three quarters. Needless to say, Tuesday evening was a good evening. Tuesday night, on the other hand, was a full fledged nightmare about the impending surgery. I mean, some seriously messed up stuff. So messed up I am hesitant to even write it down. Highlights: my doctor didn't show up. then he punked me and did. First he was John C. Reilly, then later he was his original self, but dressed as a Hasidic Jew doing some crazy routine with another doctor, who happened to be a very small person. Then I was sitting in a room full of people, all in line for surgery with this guy. He made fun of me in front of the rest of the crowd, something about me taking myself too seriously (like that has ever happened). Finally he took off his costume and was back to normal in scrubs. Later in the dream my husband was buzzing around on a razor scooter outside the hospital, then the doctor returned, and tried to run me over in the woods, but I got away, on a tractor. Like I said, "nightmare".
Of course, Wednesday morning sucked because I couldn't have any Ibuprofen on Tuesday night.
Wednesday was all around a bad day, and it was in no way related to the ban on Ibuprofen. I was becoming increasingly more frightened, which made me increasingly more irritable. The hospital called and told me to be there at 6am. Then they called a couple hours later and told me to be there at 9am. Then they called me a few hours after that and told me to be there at 6am. And I said no, because I wanted to prove a point that my time was valuable too.
Then I reconsidered and called them back, because I was told you always want to be the first one in to surgery. And they couldn't work it out, so I was stuck being last. What an idiot.
I had just started to calm down, and was pulling in to my garage from work at about 8:30pm when my phone rang. It was the woman who had scheduled my surgery at the ENT's office.
HER: Hi.
ME: Hi.
HER: This is the woman from the ENT'S office. Do you by any chance have your CT Scan ?
ME: No. Why ?
HER: Oh, we just don't have it and thought you did.
ME: I've never actually seen it. In fact, I don't even really know what you guys are doing tomorrow.
HER: You mean the Dr. never called you ?.......
So the night before surgery, about an hour before I was about to try to sleep, I received the final telephone call just to reassure me that I made the right decision (that was meant to be sarcastic). My first surgery, and I was going to allow this Doctor, who had given me less of his time than the Soup Nazi gave George Costanza in his quest for crab bisque, to stick a balloon up my nose and break it (my nose, not the balloon). This man was holding the future of 50% of my breathing ability, and, the shape of my face, in his hands.
I arrived at 9:15 am to the ambulatory surgery area. I walked in, there was a long, dark hallway, and at the end there was a very small closet, which was actually a tiny little office. It was weird actually, like some sort of strange film. Inside the closet there was a woman was checking a man in to the hospital, or maybe it was out.
She looked at me and then, the a dialogue ensued.
HER: what are you doing here ?
ME: I am having surgery here today.
HER: well, look on the door for the instructions.
I looked at the door. The instructions said "Ring silver buzzer for service". Really ? Really ?She couldn't just tell me that ? She had to tell me to actually read the instructions ? It took her longer to tell me to read the instructions than it would have for her to tell me to ring the silver buzzer. I leaned over to tie my shoe, and, as timing would have it, at that moment a woman popped open the door just in time to get a look at my giant sweat pant clad ass, and said... "oooohhhhhh PINK SHOES".... and here starts my big day. (I was wearing pink and grey Reebok Zigtech's).
This woman asked my name, to which I replied, and for some reason she really wanted to call me Diane. So I went with it. Which was fine until they were verifying my information and asked me my first name, which I told them, and they then replied:
"But you said your name was Diane".
"No. YOU said my name was Diane".
"Yes, but you didn't correct us".
"That's because that lady over there really wanted me to be named Diane and I didn't want to disappoint her".
After we got that resolved, another lady came in and said "we need to collect $250.00 from you now". Yup, that's how I began my surgical experience. And I wasn't even undressed yet.
So, they made me undress, put on an ugly backless blue paper dress, and sent me to the bathroom to give them more urine. I would have preferred to walk through the recovery/entry room without my ginourmous, non-running-for-multiple-weeks-ass hanging out as I went to the bathroom, but I suppose at this point they had taken my money and were in complete control. I gave them the container, and about ten minutes later they came back and said "urine test reveals no pregnancy". I bet that will show up as a $200 test on my insurance. All they needed to do was ask.
Next came the issue with my stuff. I had brought my purse, which apparently I was not supposed to do. Maybe they could have told me this in advance. A nurse showed up with a small envelope, about the size one would use use to mail a letter, and said "everything you want locked up needs to fit in here". If you have ever seen my purse, you would realize this created a bit of a problem. All of my belongings made the journey to surgery with me. If only they could talk.
I had been sitting in whatever room they call it for an hour, in my backless blue paper dress, when they announced it was time for an IV. I think I may have mentioned on more than one occasion my issue with needles, I cannot even see them without becoming weak. And as she was beating on my right arm looking for a vein, I realized at that moment I was about to be exposed as a coward. I looked away as I began weeping like a baby, not wanting to reveal that I was in reality a weakling, and that all the sarcastic remarks and phrases filled with disdain were merely a facade carefully crafted to hide my secret. It was true. When it came right down to it, I was paralyzed with fear.
Two hours later, I was still in the same room. I managed to get quite a bit of work done, and really shouldn't have taken the day off. It was nearly 1pm, I hadn't eaten since the night before, I was getting hungry, and at minimum could have used some water. I was just about to get up and leave when the nurse said "they are ready for you". They wheeled me down the hall to another area, not exactly sure what it was. It was time for a consultation and then on to the drugs. As I saw Dr. ENT approach, I debated whether to tell him what I was really thinking, and, while it was against my better judgement, I did it anyway. Inner voice did not win this round. Here's how it went:
ENT: Hey, what's up.
ME: Nothing. I'm flipping out.
ENT: Why ?
ME: Seriously ?
ENT: This is not a big deal, it is a minor procedure, you have nothing to worry about.
ME: Actually Doctor, this has been kind of a cluster. I have gotten all sorts of conflicting information, and I need some clarification.
ENT: Like what ?
ME: Well, what exactly is being done. Are you just doing balloon or are you cutting me ?
ENT: Well....we say bilateral sinus surgery because I need options.
ME: Options ?
ENT: Yeah, I mean, like, I can say balloon, and then do the balloon, and then you just get balloon results, you know ?
ME: No, I don't know.
ENT: You just have to trust me.
ME: (silent. looks like deer caught in headlights)
ME: Whatever, do what you have to do.
ME: Please try not to kill me.
ENT: Ha Ha.
Then came the anesthesiologist.
HER: Do you have any teeth you are concerned about ?
ME: Yes, all of them. Please don't break them.
HER: Okay, we will try.
ME: I really like my teeth, and I don't want them broken, please.
HER: Okay, we will try. Now I am going to give you some drugs.
ME: I don't feel anyth..........
They wheeled me in to the surgery room. I guess that's why they give you the drugs first, because once in the surgery room you realize you are entering a room that is butt cold, the lighting is creepy, and, to top it all off, the sounds of Matchbox 20 are wafting from the speakers. Three things that make me want to throw up. Especially the Matchbox 20 part. I remember moving from the gurney (I think that is what they call it) to the operating table, but that's about it.
Next thing I knew I was in another room. A different room. Oh, and apparently I had pee'd while I was asleep,which was awesome and mature of me. My doctor had apparently left for the day, so I had no idea what he had actually done. What he didn't do was call my husband and tell him I was okay, which caused a whole bunch of aggravation for me later on (more on that later, turns out that the doctor did call, but was given the wrong number, and whomever he spoke with forgot they didn't have a wife named Tiss having balloon sinuplasty in Fallbrook that day). They were constantly checking my blood pressure, which was apparently off the charts (I'm regularly about 118/76, but at one point it shot up to 209/106), then giving me more drugs. I was in and out at that point. They wheeled me back to the original room, and offered me an ounce of water with some ice in a sippy cup. I still was floating around myself, but I was conscious enough to eventually hear my husband call and they told him I was okay.
I finally was able to leave. I tried to be the tough girl and I rejected the wheel chair. Fortunately, for the sake of my friend AJ's car, I didn't barf on the way home.
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