On the flip side

I am supposed to spend 30 minutes twice per day on my stomach to counteract the effect of laying on my back for so long. Yesterday I flipped over with just a bit of trouble; it felt great to be off my back. I thought it would be impossible to flip back over, but it wasn't hard. I have repeated the flip today and almost fell asleep on my stomach, it felt so relaxing.

I got up early today and sat at the table to eat breakfast with Perry like a real human being. I then sat on the couch and spent 4 hours reading my e-mail from work. Several people told me to knock it off and quit working, so finally I did.

Healing-wise, everything is going really well. The only thing I dread each day is my Fragmin injection. Fragmin is a blood thinner I must inject daily for 2 weeks to prevent blood clots. It barely hurts, but I dread it each day because it's hard to push a needle into your own stomach. I'm really not afraid of needles, despite all of my negative posts on giving blood. It's just not the most pleasant part of my day.

Speaking of blood, in the hospital the professional vampires came to take blood from me daily. They were truly vampire-like because they always woke me up at 3 or 4 in the morning when it was still dark outside to take blood. That said, they were truly wonderful and able to get blood out of me with no pain. Sara, the phlebotomist with the mostest, told me on the first day that the reason I've suffered in the past was because there is a tendon right below my very tiny crooked rubbery rolling vein (this is true in both arms). Unless someone is careful, when my vein rolls they will probably poke me in the tendon. A needle in the tendon hurts like hell. She said with the large needle they use for autologous blood donations, it is likely that the needle was stuck in my tendon for the entire 45 minutes I was trying to donate. She said anyone would have been shaking and screaming in pain. I no longer feel like such a big weanie.

I'm still working on my long post regarding the details of my hospital stay. It may take a few days because there are many details to share. Meanwhile, let the healing continue.

A week and two days ...

My hip has been hurting. They have both been hurting, but my right has really been hurting. I cleaned the whole house, and did a lot of walking as Perry and I shopped for a recliner. The pain is good news since I am having surgery in 9 days. If I were feeling great, I might be reconsidering. I said several times over the weekend that I am now convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that I need this surgery.

Ah yes, a recliner. When we first moved in together Perry got rid of his ugly but comfy recliner. I promised him he could have another one, if we could find one that looked good. That was five years ago and we never bought him one. Now I'm the one who needs it, although it will be his long term, so off we went in search of. We found one at our favorite furniture store, and it's made locally so it will be delivered before I'm home from the hospital, unless by some miracle I'm out in 3 days. Which, we all know, is not likely. So we'll now have comfy seating for me and something Perry will enjoy for a long time.

Tomorrow is my last day at work. I scheduled the week before surgery off to take care of last minute details, but many are taken care of. I do want to use the week to get mentally prepared and to make sure I don't get sick. Oh yeah, and to paint my bathroom.

I thought that would be a good mindless activity to distract me this next week, and it needs to get done since we pulled out cabinets in early May. It is a small bathroom so shouldn't take a long time, and while the task involves standing, I can also sit for part of it. Probably not the best idea I've ever had, but if I can accomplish something in the next week I will feel pretty darn good. It qualifies as upper body exercise ("crutch prep") too.

I may skate this week; I may not. Before I leave for the hospital, I will definitely take my skates to the skate tech to send back to Harlick for some renovations. New tongues, cut down a notch, slightly higher heel, and removal of some stiffness since these are dance boots and not freestyle (I know that I'll never jump again because that's the worst thing I can do to my reconstructed hips). I've wanted to renovate the boots for a long time and it's much more affordable than new boots. Now's the time since I won't be needing them in the foreseeable future. And it does mean that I plan to use them again some day.

Thanks to all who offered to donate blood on my behalf. You all rock! My Mom donated this morning; I was there and it took about 7 minutes for them to get a pint of blood (whereas I was in there for an eternity and they barely got a unit). She was fine; I was grateful; and now the blood part is over until I get it back post-surgery (if needed).

I never thought I'd say this, but I am looking forward to getting this surgery thing over with now.

The Continuing Saga of Vampira

I love my parents. Doesn't everyone?

But no, I really do love my parents. Not only is my mom canceling most of her summer plans to take care of me when Perry's at work after my surgery, she has also volunteered to donate blood on my behalf. She, too, is O positive, and she has FABULOUS veins.

(By the way, I STILL have bruises on both arms (greenish yellow at this point), and still have trouble bending my left arm. The thought of of someone sticking a needle in it again on Monday makes me want to run screaming in the opposite direction. So yes, it really is a trauma for me to give blood -- I'm not making this up.)

Getting this Directed Donation to happen almost took an act of God. My parents, without me knowing, both went to have their blood tested several days ago. My Dad's blood type is still unknown (they "lost" the test results). My Mom is O+, and after a lot of begging her doctor faxed the information to her so I could fax it to the Red Cross. Then I had to ask the surgeon's office to re-fax the orders to the Red Cross. I called, but the only person who knew how to accomplish this seemingly simple task was on vacation. They were not sure when she would be back, but it sounded like it would be too late for me. They told me she was checking e-mail.

I e-mailed. She replied and asked why the ladies in the office couldn't do it. Well, they claim they don't know how, I said. Fine, she said, she'd call and explaiitn to them. I got the feeling she really wasn't going to call, so I called the Red Cross (since they have been SOOOOOO very nice through all of this) to find out what they needed. The woman at the Red Cross was very clear that all the doctor's office had to do was re-fax the original fax (which should be in my chart) after checking the "Directed Donation" box. I called the doctor's office back and explained how to do this. (Wait, am I joking? I had to explain to THEM how to do this??? And I am trusting the doctor who hired these people to cut apart my pelvis and put it back together??????? Am I crazy???? Oh, nevermind.)

I also had to fax the Red Cross proof of my mother's blood type, which I did, and they called her and asked a bunch of questions, which she answered successfully. Monday we are going together to the Red Cross so she can donate blood on my behalf and I can write a check for it, and afterwards I am taking her out to a nice breakfast.

Yeah ... when my parents asked if "there was anything they could do" for me, I'm sure this was not what they had in mind. But it turns out it was the BEST thing they could have done for me. It has decreased my anxiety level substantially. I am almost coming to terms with the fact that I am going to be having major surgery in a week and a half. And miraculously, I am in a much better mood.

I love you Mom and Dad!

uh O

Called the blood bank about my second donation, scheduled for a week from today. My husband and various friends have offered to donate on my behalf since I am still bruised and can’t bend or fully straighten my arm. Add to that the fact that my thumb is immobilized and I can’t squeeze my left hand (and there are no useable veins on my right arm), I’m kind of in a bind.

Turns out they barely got enough extra blood from me to do the tests they normally do. However, they DID get enough to tell me that I’m O positive. That’s the rarest blood type (OF COURSE!) so that none of my friends can donate. Perry is AB positive, for example; no go. I need someone who is either O positive or O negative and who can prove that, meaning they have a donor card. Nobody I know fits those parameters.

So I am going to bite the bullet and continue hydrating at this point … if I can get through the blood donation the surgery should be cake.

Stickin' it to me

"Hard Stick" = Someone who has bad veins, making it difficult to draw blood.

According to Evonne at the Portland Red Cross, I am the hardest stick she has ever met, and she has been taking blood for a looooong time. She was extremely nice, patient, and cognizant of how painful this was for me. PAO will be a piece of cake compared to my two autologous blood donations.

I spent the past week hydrating and peeing, hydrating and peeing. This morning, before my 8:30 appointment, I had a quart of water and a big breakfast, peed 4 times, and arrived with my check in hand to pay approximately $500 (not reimbursable by insurance, BTW) for the privilege of giving two units of blood to myself.

First the good news. My iron was at 14.2, which according to Evonne is “like the men.” Yeehaw. I figured after that good news, this blood donation would go well. Not so fast!

I know I’m a hard stick because I’ve had this problem ever since I can remember. The phlebotomists always kind of look at me sideways when I describe the issues others have had drawing blood from me, and say “well, I’ve been doing this for xx years and I’m sure we won't have any problems." After a 40-minute encounter with my tiny, rubbery, rolling veins, they tend to agree with me.

I tried to relax, but it’s hard to do so when you expect the worst, even in the comfy reclining chair they have. I explained that my left arm has better veins than my right, but because my left hand is in a splint because of thumb tendonitis, it would be hard for me to squeeze anything with that hand. So we tried the right first.

Evonne found a vein, she thought, until she realized no blood was coming out. She said the vein was right next to a “structure” (I assume that might be a bone?) so it was tricky. She tried again, but again the vein moved. No blood. (By the way, for all of you with good veins, you probably don’t know how much it actually hurts when they don’t get the needle into your vein. People think I’m a whining needle-phobe because I have this aversion to getting blood drawn – they have no idea that there is actual PAIN involved. No, not just a pin prick or a sting. It’s real pain.) By now I was sweating and tense.

She got a vein on the left, but barely any blood came out. I had taken off the splint and was pumping as much as I could, but it was hard with a sore hand. The blood trickled out, then stopped, then trickled again. She almost stopped entirely because she said it had been too long since blood had flown and the blood was starting to clot; at that moment a bit more dripped out so she continued. She almost stopped again after repositioning the needle for the tenth time, when I grimaced. “You have a pretty bad hematoma,” she said, “I don’t know if we can get any more.”

I found out while sitting there that if they don’t get a full unit, they throw the blood away because they can’t use a partial unit. At that point I was dripping with sweat, tense, starting to get dizzy and quite sore, but I was not going to let her throw that bag of blood away. I kept pumping and enough blood eventually came out to make a useable unit. I had to pump for 45 minutes almost nonstop. It seemed like an eternity.

I went to work with two colorful (purple and green) bandages, one on each arm. They don't match and of course, neither matches my outfit. Geez.

Next week I am going back to donate the second unit, after the hematoma heals and my blood has time to re-build. I think I’ll need to take valium beforehand because just walking into the place is going to make me start shaking. And, as Evonne told me, I have to relax or the blood won’t flow. I’ve never taken valium in my life and have no idea how it will impact me, although I do have one emergency backup pill someone once gave me in case of dire need. I think I’ve found the right time to use it.

My Countdown

I am getting close to the "three months until surgery" countdown. Up until now my surgery was a thing of the future; nothing to worry about because it was so far away.

As I updated my calendar today, I realized that if my surgery is scheduled for the first week in July (exact date can’t be finalized until May), I have about 3 and a half months left until the day of. And prior to that, a lot of scary things are going to happen in rapid succession such that I really can’t ignore them any more:

~Three autologous blood donations: For someone with tiny rubbery veins, giving any blood is a major trauma. When people say, “it’s just a simple blood donation,” I want to slap them. The thought of giving a pint on three different occasions sounds like 30 minutes of brutal digging around in my inner arms for a reluctant vessel followed by 90 minutes of slow-trickling horror for each donation.

~Physical by my GP: And guess what, they are going to take more blood at this appointment too to make sure I’m healthy. My veins are already retreating deeper into my body in rebellion.

~Pre-certification with insurance: Almost as horrifying as giving blood. I already know the answer is going to be "no" but we're going to ask again just for kicks.

~Pre-operative appointment with hospital/surgeon: They go over what to expect in surgery, I sign a bunch of papers, they take final x-rays, etc. I don’t think they take any more blood, but perhaps the joke will be on me. As I see it, this is my last chance to chicken out.

~Packing for hospital: Packing is not my forte as I’ve never mastered the concept of “traveling light.” Based on the advice of other hipchicks, I don’t think I need much. Ipod, hygiene items and something to wear home that is a size “large,” since I’ll be all swollen, should do it. I think underwear is optional in the hospital so I'm going al fresco. That should keep the mean physical therapists away.

~Checking in for surgery: The first thing they will do is insert an IV to sedate me. Enough with the veins already! Good luck finding one! HAHAHAHAHA!

(As you can see, my attitude needs a bit of adjusting over the next several months.)

I have been staring at my right upper leg a lot while in the shower or otherwise undressed. Taking a good gander at what it looks like now, before the big scar that I’ll wear forever after July. Not that my leg is so great looking now, but I have this nostalgic urge to take a picture for posterity. I’m not sure why it’s so important for me to document my pre-surgery body; I never wanted documentation of it before. It's not something I'll post on the blog since it feels too personal. However, once it's all cut open and gross, it's fair game for posting. So you can all look forward to gory scar photos galore - that's a promise.

Fear

I haven’t really felt afraid yet, and that’s because my surgery is 7 or 8 months away (exact date still TBD). It seems so distant that I can’t be afraid of it yet. I’ve read many blog accounts of PAO surgery and I think I know what to expect. Some people would rather go into a surgery without knowing the details; for me, it’s better to know and get used to the idea of it than to be surprised. I’m such a control freak and I’ll be handing over total control of my body and all its functions to the anesthesiologist and surgeon for 5 to 7 hours, followed by weeks of dependence on others to take care of my most basic needs. But this is not my biggest fear.

I also fear doctors and needles. Even drawing blood from me is a major event. I have bad veins and a “simple” blood draw really hurts me. I have to get past this fear since there will be needles and tubes and drains and catheters and I don’t even know what other things attached to all parts of my body before and during surgery. But this is not my biggest fear.

I’m afraid of losing my abilities. Walking, skating, stretching, working in the garden. I stuck the skating in there casually as if it’s not too important, but who am I kidding. I have worked so hard on it the past many years that, to lose it all and never get it back would be a shame, a waste, something to cry about. Because of my hip issues, skating has been twice as hard for me as it would be for a “normal” person. Ice dancing is all about turnout. Those of you with turnout don’t know this … because you just think what you can do is the norm, and among skaters that is generally true. For those of us without it, everything is a struggle, even simple inside to inside Mohawks, about which I’ve said for years, “I can feel my hip grinding when I do this.” Doing the “simple” swing dance mohawk hurts like hell for me and it takes all my power of concentration to do that turn. That’s my version of “normal.” I stopped asking coaches about why it hurt and what I was doing wrong a long time ago and just did it, feeling and hearing the grinding at the same time as I forced my ankle to fake turning out my leg on the exit. A big smile usually hid the fact that my knee and hip were really turned in even though my toe was pointing out.

Tim and I are still skating and improving as a team. We’ve had a couple of great practices recently. I don’t even want to imagine him having to find another partner if I can’t get back to my current level of skating. I am terrified of that.