Sometimes, after receiving disappointing news, it's nice to have life show you why something happened. It can be reassuring to know that despite the fact that you are crushed, the correct choice was made. Ya know, a friendly pat on the shoulder from life that says, "Sorry you were bummed, but this is why that happened."
Well. It appears that I may have wished just a smidgeon too hard for that friendly pat. Instead of a friendly pat, I received more of a giant smack that said, "um, hello? THIS is why you are not working."
Yes friends, mere hours after being denied a return to work, I landed myself in the hospital.
Now I know what you are thinking- overdose of frozen yogurt, no question.
But my friends, you are wrong. I landed myself in the hospital because my feeding tube (ya know, the one that was a whopping 14 days old) fell out.
I mean, I can't say as I blame it, I probably wouldn't want to be responsible for continually giving my stomach something it hates. That being said, I would have appreciated just a little more perseverance.
Little moment of feeding tube education- when a tube falls out, you should PANIC. Ok, maybe not panic persay, but you need to hightail yourself to the nearest hospital ASAP. That hole closes within an hour and the surgery to get a new stoma is one that I would love to avoid for the rest of my existence. It is with this knowledge of painful surgery and only with this knowledge of painful surgery that I grit my teeth and jammed the thing back in. I'm going to go ahead and assume that you understand that I would not rate that feeling as fantastic...
Luckily, I had just seen my GI on Tuesday and we had decided on our emergency plan if the tube fell out a few days before the 3 month change. (Ya know, few days, few months...what's the difference?!) My doctor called the hospital, booked me a procedure time, I used half a roll of tape ensuring that the tube wouldn't fall out, called a friend for a ride and set off for the hospital.
I should have picked up on the fact that it was going to be an exceptionally special day, when I was "offered" an IV for a procedure that needs no sedation. Or if I missed that moment, I really should have picked up on the specialness when I (yes, me, ya know, the patient) taught the doctor how to insert the new tube and why you use saline, and not air, to inflate the new balloon (it needs saline to weigh it down). But no, instead of running away at top speed like I should have done, I followed directions like a good little patient.
Bad move, reaaaaally bad move.
My doctor decided that he wanted to send me to radiology to ensure the tube was in place. Sounds reasonable enough, right? Well then he added that he also wanted to make sure there wasn't anything in my stomach that had caused the balloon on the first tube to explode and to look for balloon fragments in my stomach.
Oh. Right. I mean, I knew swallowing that pile of thumbtacks must have been a bad idea...?
Mind you, at this point, it has been a good 18 hours since I've eaten or drank anything and my blood pressure is heading south a little bit too early for the winter. I have learned never to leave home for the hospital without some quality reading material. I reach into my bag for my magazine to distract myself from the cotton mouth and fact that I can't necessarily see straight and what do I pull out? Genius that I am, I packed Cooking Light. Fabulous.
After about 4 hours of waiting for radiology, the nurses notice that they can't actually see a single vein anywhere on my body and they decide to take matters into their own hands (nurses = awesome). They corral 2 doctors with a break between procedures, sequester an open room, bribe a tech and wheel me in with 3 syringes full of dye. Allow me to share the highlights reel...
Me: "Oh excuse me sir, but you can't just put a syringe in my port, you need to attach the tube. Oh, you don't know how? Ok, I'll do it."
Doctor #1:"Ma'am, can you lie on your side? We can't find your stomach."
Doctor #2: "Oh that's it! Isn't it?"
Me: "No, that's my colon."
Doctor #3 (called in to track down my "lost" stomach): "Oh, she's right."
Needless to say, I had about 3 syringes worth of dye hanging out in my system, but my stomach was still considered MIA and I had to wait for radiology.
5 and a half hours after I arrived (and 1 issue of Cooking Light and 3 Law and Orders later) I was called to radiology. My nurse dropped me off, told the tech "you have to attach a little tube to the port, she'll show you how to do it" and wished me luck. The radiologist looked at the screen for approximately 5 seconds, told me the balloon was in place, there was nothing extraneous in my stomach and that I was free to go. Stupendous.
At this point, it has been about 23 hours since I've had food or water. After being driven home by a wonderful friend, I finally ingested some real, honest to goodness calories. Only after I had some calories and came back to reality did I notice that apparently I had deemed it more important to run the dishwasher and organize the top shelf of the pantry before I ate.
Hey, at least my kitchen is clean.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Honorable Mention
On Monday, my husband and all my teacher friends will drag themselves out of bed at a rather un-summer-like hour, blearily put on their semi-professional pre-student-arrival clothes and head back to school. They will sit through long, arduous, tuckus-numbing meetings. They will laminate until they can laminate no more, and then they will collapse to the carpet to cut out the giant mound of glossy posters. They will make to-do lists for their to-do lists and undoubtedly, at one point in the week, they will cry their anxious and exhausted sorrows into a glass of wine/cold beer/giant bowl of ice cream. Their paper cuts will have paper cuts and they will think there is no possible way that they will be ever be ready for the students to arrive on the following Tuesday. Oddly enough, it always gets done. No matter what, they are always ready.
I thought I was ready and I thought I would be there, but I won't.
As miserable as the previous paragraph sounds, I wanted every part of it, but I came up short. My doctors cleared me to return for 2 half days a week, but it was denied by the county. To be honest, I completely agree with them. I adamantly refuse to let my obstacles negatively impact my students and having the main teacher at school for significantly less than the substitute just isn't conducive to good and consistent teaching. So I understand the decision and deep down I know my body really isn't ready, but I can't fight the disappointment.
I feel a little bit like I've been handed an honorable mention ribbon. Ya know, one of those light blue participation ribbons that basically says "Hey, you worked really hard and did a great job...but it just wasn't quite good enough to make the cut. Better luck next time!"
So yes, I came up short in this race. I didn't make the team.
Today I let myself be sad. I let myself be disappointed. As hard as I tried, I couldn't shake the feelings of failure.
In case you weren't sure, it is, in fact, very possible to convince yourself that nearly any romantic break-up song on the radio is actually written about a teacher who worked really hard, but didn't get cleared to return to work. Ya know, just in case you were curious. Oh and it works better if you are simultaneously drowning your sorrows in a bowl of frozen yogurt. Just sayin'.
When I look at myself in the mirror, at first glance I see the scars. The surgeries. The PICC lines. The IV attempts gone wrong and of course, the tubes. I could look at these scars and remember pain or the lonely nights in the hospital or the long, agonizing months of uncertainty.
But I've decided to embrace them. My scars tell a story and, mark my words, it will be a story of survival. Today a scar was added that you can't see, a deep imprint on my pride and yes, I am ashamed to admit that today I wallowed.
Every great athlete has an off race, moments of doubt and uncertainty and most importantly, every great athlete has moments of failure. Perhaps it is those painful and frustrating moments that fuel the desire to work even harder, to shape who they are and what they want to accomplish. Today I let myself be sad, but now it's time to move on.
After all, no one ever made the podium by wallowing.
I thought I was ready and I thought I would be there, but I won't.
As miserable as the previous paragraph sounds, I wanted every part of it, but I came up short. My doctors cleared me to return for 2 half days a week, but it was denied by the county. To be honest, I completely agree with them. I adamantly refuse to let my obstacles negatively impact my students and having the main teacher at school for significantly less than the substitute just isn't conducive to good and consistent teaching. So I understand the decision and deep down I know my body really isn't ready, but I can't fight the disappointment.
I feel a little bit like I've been handed an honorable mention ribbon. Ya know, one of those light blue participation ribbons that basically says "Hey, you worked really hard and did a great job...but it just wasn't quite good enough to make the cut. Better luck next time!"
So yes, I came up short in this race. I didn't make the team.
Today I let myself be sad. I let myself be disappointed. As hard as I tried, I couldn't shake the feelings of failure.
In case you weren't sure, it is, in fact, very possible to convince yourself that nearly any romantic break-up song on the radio is actually written about a teacher who worked really hard, but didn't get cleared to return to work. Ya know, just in case you were curious. Oh and it works better if you are simultaneously drowning your sorrows in a bowl of frozen yogurt. Just sayin'.
When I look at myself in the mirror, at first glance I see the scars. The surgeries. The PICC lines. The IV attempts gone wrong and of course, the tubes. I could look at these scars and remember pain or the lonely nights in the hospital or the long, agonizing months of uncertainty.
But I've decided to embrace them. My scars tell a story and, mark my words, it will be a story of survival. Today a scar was added that you can't see, a deep imprint on my pride and yes, I am ashamed to admit that today I wallowed.
Every great athlete has an off race, moments of doubt and uncertainty and most importantly, every great athlete has moments of failure. Perhaps it is those painful and frustrating moments that fuel the desire to work even harder, to shape who they are and what they want to accomplish. Today I let myself be sad, but now it's time to move on.
After all, no one ever made the podium by wallowing.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Moment of silence for the black backpack...!
Ladies and gentlemen, big news.
I am no longer donning the little black backpack and I will no longer get escorted out of Target for my overly sensitive pump alarm. Alert the paparazzi, fashion trends are about to change.
Did I get rid of the feeding tube????
No.
Puhlease, you'd read about THAT kind of news in the Post.
I did, however, get an upgrade.
Instead of a transgastric jejunostomy tube, I now have a low profile gastric tube.
In other words, instead of having a frontal tail, I now look like an inflatable beach ball.
Totally. Normal.
In an effort to force the nervous system in my stomach into submission, my medical team decided to do as much as we can to mimic "normal eating." So instead of carrying around a backpack full of formula that feeds me continuously throughout the day (wait, you don't do that?), I now have scheduled "snacks" that I syringe into my little port a few times a day. These "snacks" go directly into my stomach, whereas my old tube bypassed the stomach and went to the intestine.
The idea is that eventually my stomach will accept the feedings and then someday grow to expect them...at which point I will begin gradually replacing the "snacks" with actual food. Always the one to look for the checklist and/or timeline, I was told "about a year or so" which is both a painfully long and overwhelmingly short amount of time all at the same moment.
Pro? No backpack, no pump and no frontal tail. Duh.
Con? You think my stomach doesn't want food? Try a few inches of plastic and processed, pre-digested formula that came from a can...doesn't go so well.
So, as you can see, it's a work in verrrryyyyy sloooowwww progress.
I am working on 2 teaspoons right now kind of slow progress.
Time to bust out the patient pants.
In other news, it has been exactly one week since the formal eviction of my thyroid and I'm told that everything is moving along swimmingly.
Ya know, the "a doctor cut out the decision maker in your body so it has absolutely no clue what is going on and is doing its absolute best to make educated guesses about the rate and efficiency of most processes in your body" kind of swimmingly. Again, totally. normal.
I am able to move my neck a bit more every day and although it feels like someone is strangling me when I swallow, I'm told that will go away in a few months. My ninja scar is healing nicely into the shape of a smile, which I find rather fitting, seeing as I am big fan of a smile and all.
In a few weeks I will have some additional tests done to see if there is still cancer present in my body. If it comes back negative, then I will just have to repeat the test every couple of months and, along with my doctor, be extremely vigilant about checking for any unusual lumps or bumps.
Obviously if the test comes back positive, then I will have to do treatment, most likely only radiation.
Fingers very much crossed.
I am also happy to report that this is the first time in almost 2 years that I don't have any scheduled surgeries looming on the horizon. My new tube will just involve a lengthy office visit every three months and, more importantly, no anesthesia. Even if my doctor does find more cancer in my body, it likely would not involve surgery and (please don't let this jinx it) all other organs seem to be working efficiently enough for the time being. Whew.
It's a bizarrely liberating feeling and I honestly can't remember the last time that I didn't have to make a disclaimer of "I just had surgery" before engaging in a normal task or trying a new activity. It has been a long time since I have been able to just get up and go and even the fleeting idea of a time with no post-surgical restrictions makes me want to jump up and run a marathon, or bike across the country or something equally as crazy, ya know, jump in a lake or something!
But...let's not get ahead of ourselves.
After all, I just had surgery.
I am no longer donning the little black backpack and I will no longer get escorted out of Target for my overly sensitive pump alarm. Alert the paparazzi, fashion trends are about to change.
Did I get rid of the feeding tube????
No.
Puhlease, you'd read about THAT kind of news in the Post.
I did, however, get an upgrade.
Instead of a transgastric jejunostomy tube, I now have a low profile gastric tube.
In other words, instead of having a frontal tail, I now look like an inflatable beach ball.
Totally. Normal.
In an effort to force the nervous system in my stomach into submission, my medical team decided to do as much as we can to mimic "normal eating." So instead of carrying around a backpack full of formula that feeds me continuously throughout the day (wait, you don't do that?), I now have scheduled "snacks" that I syringe into my little port a few times a day. These "snacks" go directly into my stomach, whereas my old tube bypassed the stomach and went to the intestine.
The idea is that eventually my stomach will accept the feedings and then someday grow to expect them...at which point I will begin gradually replacing the "snacks" with actual food. Always the one to look for the checklist and/or timeline, I was told "about a year or so" which is both a painfully long and overwhelmingly short amount of time all at the same moment.
Pro? No backpack, no pump and no frontal tail. Duh.
Con? You think my stomach doesn't want food? Try a few inches of plastic and processed, pre-digested formula that came from a can...doesn't go so well.
So, as you can see, it's a work in verrrryyyyy sloooowwww progress.
I am working on 2 teaspoons right now kind of slow progress.
Time to bust out the patient pants.
In other news, it has been exactly one week since the formal eviction of my thyroid and I'm told that everything is moving along swimmingly.
Ya know, the "a doctor cut out the decision maker in your body so it has absolutely no clue what is going on and is doing its absolute best to make educated guesses about the rate and efficiency of most processes in your body" kind of swimmingly. Again, totally. normal.
I am able to move my neck a bit more every day and although it feels like someone is strangling me when I swallow, I'm told that will go away in a few months. My ninja scar is healing nicely into the shape of a smile, which I find rather fitting, seeing as I am big fan of a smile and all.
In a few weeks I will have some additional tests done to see if there is still cancer present in my body. If it comes back negative, then I will just have to repeat the test every couple of months and, along with my doctor, be extremely vigilant about checking for any unusual lumps or bumps.
Obviously if the test comes back positive, then I will have to do treatment, most likely only radiation.
Fingers very much crossed.
I am also happy to report that this is the first time in almost 2 years that I don't have any scheduled surgeries looming on the horizon. My new tube will just involve a lengthy office visit every three months and, more importantly, no anesthesia. Even if my doctor does find more cancer in my body, it likely would not involve surgery and (please don't let this jinx it) all other organs seem to be working efficiently enough for the time being. Whew.
It's a bizarrely liberating feeling and I honestly can't remember the last time that I didn't have to make a disclaimer of "I just had surgery" before engaging in a normal task or trying a new activity. It has been a long time since I have been able to just get up and go and even the fleeting idea of a time with no post-surgical restrictions makes me want to jump up and run a marathon, or bike across the country or something equally as crazy, ya know, jump in a lake or something!
But...let's not get ahead of ourselves.
After all, I just had surgery.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
A Fortuitous Surgery
Well friends, I have a brand spanking new 4 inch scar across my neck to add to my ninja appeal, but it turns out I didn't need to make up a story to go with the scar.
Remember my little surprise tumor who showed up a few weeks ago and caused all sorts of panic? Well, that tumor was benign...but as it turns out, it had a friend who wasn't.
On the bright side, finding out you had cancer after it has been cut out works out rather well.
My surgeon is very confident that he got all traces of cancer along with my thyroid, so barring any surprises, my battle with cancer started and finished on the same day. Not too shabby.
Admittedly, I'm feeling rather rough, but I know that will get better with each passing day and I am incredibly grateful for the gift I have been given. I'll have repeat feeding tube surgery tomorrow and something tells me that I'll start to feel better once I have a working tube. Ya know, because I'm told that nutrients are kinda vital to overall health. Just a hunch.
I couldn't be more thankful for all of your thoughts, prayers and good wishes.
I am one lucky ninja.
Monday, August 6, 2012
So...now what?
Well friends, tomorrow I head back to Mayo (ya know, just in case I missed it during the WEEK since we last parted) and I have to tell you...instead of being nervous, I just have a giant case of deja vu.
Sidenote: Can I still call it deja vu if I'm repeating for the 5th or 6th time? Hmmm.
This routine of prepping for surgery, flying out to Mayo, going through surgery, dealing with the recovery and heading home has just become so second nature to me, and that in and of itself, is a bit unsettling. It's a running joke with my husband that every time I'm finally able to lift the groceries, I have another surgery and have to go back on lifting restrictions.
On the other hand, I don't necessarily consider it a bad thing that I haven't lifted a grocery bag since November. So ya know, sunny side to every situation!
In any event, this thyroid surgery in particular, has been coming for such a long time and more than anything else, I just want it behind me. Yet at the same time, I am absolutely terrified of what is on the other side of this surgery. There is so much hope riding on one little butterfly-shaped organ and I fear that I am setting myself up for disappointment. My fingers and toes have been crossed for weeks that this is the surgery that is going to make the difference. This surgery will finally show me what to do with my life.
And yes, I'm aware that the chance of an eviction of my thyroid directing me in how to lead my life is pretty slim...hence I think I'm setting myself up for disappointment. Hey, at least I'll be prepared.
Throughout this entire journey, there have been plenty of gifts, one of which is that I've learned so much about myself and how I handle obstacles. I have learned how I best process new information and I've learned how to assimilate to the ever changing chaos in my life. I've learned how to channel my emotions...and when it's time to throw in the towel and head out for fro yo.
I have also learned that I like to follow directions. To a T.
Give me a list? I'm all over it.
Highlight the important information? Consider it done.
But ask me to recover with absolutely no "to-do" list? Struggles.
If someone could definitively tell me that the obstacles I face now will be life long, I would accept it and make the necessary changes to take my life off of the pause button. Or, in contrast, if someone could hand me a list and tell me that when all items are checked off, I will be well enough to return to work, then I would plunk that list center stage on the fridge and get cracking.
But unfortunately, there is no to-do list and there is absolutely no sense of time.
So...now what? How do I know what to do next? I could be "better" tomorrow or in ten years or never.
I've made it no secret that I desperately want to return to teaching. However, I am also fully aware that teaching is an all or nothing job and I adamantly refuse to be in a position where I can't give my students my absolute best. That's just not fair for anyone involved.
Hence you can see my heartfelt desire for a Harry Potter moment where Hedwig the owl brings me a letter that details the direction of my life henceforth.
On the other hand, I'm going to be on a lot of drugs post-surgery, so it could still happen!
Short of my own personal owl appearing with a bundle of letters, I think for now that I continue to wait. I have learned that life is best digested one bite at a time(ok yes, I couldn't resist a metaphor involving gastric function), so this week I will bite off surgery and then go from there. Tomorrow I'll fly to Mayo, I'll have surgery on Wednesday, will be in the hospital for 2 days and then fly home on Friday. Oh, and somewhere in there I will have repeat feeding tube surgery because my brand spanking new one decided to kink...ya know, just to spice it up.
At least this time, it didn't involve an airport bathroom explosion, so I've got that going for me.
In other news, I'm accepting applications for the most fabulous story that I can tell with not 1, but 2 scars on my neck. 4th grade teacher turned ninja?
Sidenote: Can I still call it deja vu if I'm repeating for the 5th or 6th time? Hmmm.
This routine of prepping for surgery, flying out to Mayo, going through surgery, dealing with the recovery and heading home has just become so second nature to me, and that in and of itself, is a bit unsettling. It's a running joke with my husband that every time I'm finally able to lift the groceries, I have another surgery and have to go back on lifting restrictions.
On the other hand, I don't necessarily consider it a bad thing that I haven't lifted a grocery bag since November. So ya know, sunny side to every situation!
In any event, this thyroid surgery in particular, has been coming for such a long time and more than anything else, I just want it behind me. Yet at the same time, I am absolutely terrified of what is on the other side of this surgery. There is so much hope riding on one little butterfly-shaped organ and I fear that I am setting myself up for disappointment. My fingers and toes have been crossed for weeks that this is the surgery that is going to make the difference. This surgery will finally show me what to do with my life.
And yes, I'm aware that the chance of an eviction of my thyroid directing me in how to lead my life is pretty slim...hence I think I'm setting myself up for disappointment. Hey, at least I'll be prepared.
Throughout this entire journey, there have been plenty of gifts, one of which is that I've learned so much about myself and how I handle obstacles. I have learned how I best process new information and I've learned how to assimilate to the ever changing chaos in my life. I've learned how to channel my emotions...and when it's time to throw in the towel and head out for fro yo.
I have also learned that I like to follow directions. To a T.
Give me a list? I'm all over it.
Highlight the important information? Consider it done.
But ask me to recover with absolutely no "to-do" list? Struggles.
If someone could definitively tell me that the obstacles I face now will be life long, I would accept it and make the necessary changes to take my life off of the pause button. Or, in contrast, if someone could hand me a list and tell me that when all items are checked off, I will be well enough to return to work, then I would plunk that list center stage on the fridge and get cracking.
But unfortunately, there is no to-do list and there is absolutely no sense of time.
So...now what? How do I know what to do next? I could be "better" tomorrow or in ten years or never.
I've made it no secret that I desperately want to return to teaching. However, I am also fully aware that teaching is an all or nothing job and I adamantly refuse to be in a position where I can't give my students my absolute best. That's just not fair for anyone involved.
Hence you can see my heartfelt desire for a Harry Potter moment where Hedwig the owl brings me a letter that details the direction of my life henceforth.
On the other hand, I'm going to be on a lot of drugs post-surgery, so it could still happen!
Short of my own personal owl appearing with a bundle of letters, I think for now that I continue to wait. I have learned that life is best digested one bite at a time(ok yes, I couldn't resist a metaphor involving gastric function), so this week I will bite off surgery and then go from there. Tomorrow I'll fly to Mayo, I'll have surgery on Wednesday, will be in the hospital for 2 days and then fly home on Friday. Oh, and somewhere in there I will have repeat feeding tube surgery because my brand spanking new one decided to kink...ya know, just to spice it up.
At least this time, it didn't involve an airport bathroom explosion, so I've got that going for me.
In other news, I'm accepting applications for the most fabulous story that I can tell with not 1, but 2 scars on my neck. 4th grade teacher turned ninja?
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