In the Hospital : Part 3 the operation
The rest of this story will be in the past tense, I didn't write in the hospital anymore after my operation so I am writing this after the fact.
Day 5
I told the doctors Sunday that I wanted to do the operation as soon as possible and they had sent in an anesthesiologist so I had a feeling it would be Monday. I woke up and didn't eat anything, knowing the rules of surgery. The bad part was that no one told the food ladies about the rule and they kept bringing in food for me. One of the ladies who served food at the hospital is the most beautiful Kazakh woman I think I've seen. She had a regal face with light freckles across her nose with small bright eyes and she always wore red lipstick and delicate Kazakh jewelry. Seeing her was always a pleasure because she was just so lovely.
The first thing I was told was that the operation would be at ten. I called Scott, since it was already nine and told him to hurry up and get over here. I told him I wanted to wake up holding his hand. He left class and rushed over only for us to discover that the operation had been moved to the afternoon, around two o'clock. Scott stayed with me and we read books as I got weaker and weaker from not eating or drinking and more and more worried. At one point the surgeon came in and held her hands loosely over my body like she was holding gloves and said, "my hands are gold." She was pretty hilarious, later in the week telling me I could only have pain medication if I walked to the nurses room to get it. Two came and went, three, four, five, six... We started to wonder if it would even happen that day and I cried to Scott that if it wasn't even going to happen I wouldn't survive another day without eating after not eating all day today. We called Aigerim who assured us that the surgery would happen, but that they had several emergency surgeries that had put them off schedule. Finally close to nine they came in for me and told me to get into my robe and follow them. I was so frustrated with waiting that I wasn't really feeling nervous any more. Although walking naked into the surgical room and being strapped to the table brought those feelings right back to the surface. My anesthesiologist spoke a little English and I kept telling him I didn't want to remember anything, I wanted to go to sleep. He kept asking me if they could do more things to me before I fell asleep, like putting in the catheter, I begged him to do it after I was asleep, I was so weak and weepy I feared too much pain and discomfort would make me pass out, and generally doctors don't seem to like it when you pass out.
They started giving me injections, I tried to breath without crying. Lots of people telling me to calm down and not cry. When they put the gas mask on my face I breathed deeply the air of freedom from the Kazakh operation room, wanting more than anything to make it all go away.
I woke up with a strong pain in my throat, the breathing tube stuck deeply down there. I could not, at first, stay awake or move at all. I recognized Aigerim who came up to me as I was opening my eyes and held my hand. I tried with all my might to squeeze back so maybe they would take the tube out. That is all I wanted. They didn't because I wasn't actually able to squeeze her hand, all I could manage was a small shoulder shrug. Then I threw up, a very painful experience, even before the anesthesia had worn off. I fought to regain movement so they would take out the tube. I moved my foot, I moved my finger, I think I made a noise, I moved my toes, I threw up again.
Finally they took out the tube after throwing up a third time, and immediately I started trying to ask for Scott. I didn't know where I was, but I was not in my room and Scott was not holding my hand. I couldn't turn my head yet but every time the nurse came over to me I tried to say, "муж" (moozh), husband. At first they didn't understand and just wiped my mouth and walked away. Then I could turn my head and I looked at them at their desk trying to say it over and over again until finally they understood and laughed a little, breaking tender heart. I think I must have said it so much that they finally called Aigerim who sent them Scott's number and they called him and put the phone up to my ear. I can't remember what he said but all I could do was moan in response. I just wanted to go to him, I was so alone.
After what seemed like an eternity but must have been more like an hour, they wheeled me back to my room, me feeling every bump onto and off of elevators and across the uneven tiled floors you find everywhere in Kazakhstan. Finally I got to hold Scott's hand. I asked for water but they said not yet. I asked Scott to wet a napkin and wipe down my lips and tongue which were so unbearably dry and sticky and acidic. Finally they let me drink. It was very late by now and Scott, who had planned to leave, decided to sleep there and wake up with me every hour for a check up. I wasn't sleeping and eventually they gave me another pain shot in the leg and I slept.
Day 6,7,8
I woke up the next morning feeling pretty bad. Scott had to go to work, poor thing, on virtually no sleep and leaving me pathetic in my bed. We had arranged for a woman from church to come and sit with me for a few hours until Scott could come back. I think we kept her there longer than she had planned on but, oh, what a comfort she was to me. I was rather frightened after Scott left, not having anyone to speak for me, alone in my room and no one to grab water for me or tell me it would be okay. She was an angel, playing nurse, communicator, distraction and mom to me that morning. I didn't look at my cut yet, but I asked her to and she said it looked good and told me how big it was.
I had a good friend from work come and visit me that day, too, before Scott got back to me, but they must have drugged me pretty good because I don't really remember what we talked about or how much we talked or how I felt even.
I do, however, remember when the nurses came and started pulling me out of bed. It was pretty jarring and horrible since there was no explanation before hand, just, "you get up, you walk." They made me walk around my room once and then let me get back in bed.
The next few days were basically boring and sort of painful as they mainly involved sitting, a sore throat and the terror of coughing, asking for pain shots, going for increasingly long walks around the gynecology ward, not being able to go to the bathroom number two despite my efforts. Apparently your digestive system needs to "wake up" after surgery and mine was feeling very sleepy. I read a book, I listened to half of another book, I slept, I watch the breaking news about Oscar Pistorius on CNN, the only English channel on the TV, I played stupid games on my iPad.
On the last day I took a shower, put on clothes other than the nasty robe I had lived in a for a few days. I tried a lot to go number two, causing myself more pain, but I knew they wanted me to go before I could go home. A few hours before they were to let me go home two nurses came in with cell phone dictionaries and told me, "You shit. You go toilet go shit." They held up the phone to me to show me the word because at first I couldn't understand what they were saying. I was crying already when they came in, sore and worried what they would do to me if I couldn't but that little exchange, hilarious as it is now, was just another example of how horrible communication was in this place.
They decided to give me an enema to solve the situation, and slowly, so slowly my body woke up with a lot of pain. I have never been so proud and relieved after a poo in my life. I know those of you who have had surgery know how that feels.
The surgeon came in to see me off. Aigerim was there also to translate. I asked her if there was anything I should or should not do. She said no, I could do anything, swimming, sana, anything. I asked her if there was anything I should or should not eat. She said no. I asked her if there was any pain medication I should take, she said no. I asked her when I should go back to work. She said, "вчера," yesterday. These words brought me no comfort and, more disturbingly, left me with no expectation of my recovery process, how long it would be, how to take care of myself, how to know that things were alright.
Exhausted from the drama and energy spent that day, we left the hospital, paying the bill since our insurance company refused, claiming my condition was "chronical." I wanted to go home. Not home to my apartment in Astana, home to the States, home to my mom and step-mom to make me soup and wait on me and make everything okay. But Scott took me home to the apartment, laid in bed with me for a while as I cried a little and fell asleep. He was so happy to have me home, I could see that, but I was a little sad to still be in Kazakhstan after finally escaping the Kazakh hospital.
Day 5
I told the doctors Sunday that I wanted to do the operation as soon as possible and they had sent in an anesthesiologist so I had a feeling it would be Monday. I woke up and didn't eat anything, knowing the rules of surgery. The bad part was that no one told the food ladies about the rule and they kept bringing in food for me. One of the ladies who served food at the hospital is the most beautiful Kazakh woman I think I've seen. She had a regal face with light freckles across her nose with small bright eyes and she always wore red lipstick and delicate Kazakh jewelry. Seeing her was always a pleasure because she was just so lovely.
The first thing I was told was that the operation would be at ten. I called Scott, since it was already nine and told him to hurry up and get over here. I told him I wanted to wake up holding his hand. He left class and rushed over only for us to discover that the operation had been moved to the afternoon, around two o'clock. Scott stayed with me and we read books as I got weaker and weaker from not eating or drinking and more and more worried. At one point the surgeon came in and held her hands loosely over my body like she was holding gloves and said, "my hands are gold." She was pretty hilarious, later in the week telling me I could only have pain medication if I walked to the nurses room to get it. Two came and went, three, four, five, six... We started to wonder if it would even happen that day and I cried to Scott that if it wasn't even going to happen I wouldn't survive another day without eating after not eating all day today. We called Aigerim who assured us that the surgery would happen, but that they had several emergency surgeries that had put them off schedule. Finally close to nine they came in for me and told me to get into my robe and follow them. I was so frustrated with waiting that I wasn't really feeling nervous any more. Although walking naked into the surgical room and being strapped to the table brought those feelings right back to the surface. My anesthesiologist spoke a little English and I kept telling him I didn't want to remember anything, I wanted to go to sleep. He kept asking me if they could do more things to me before I fell asleep, like putting in the catheter, I begged him to do it after I was asleep, I was so weak and weepy I feared too much pain and discomfort would make me pass out, and generally doctors don't seem to like it when you pass out.
They started giving me injections, I tried to breath without crying. Lots of people telling me to calm down and not cry. When they put the gas mask on my face I breathed deeply the air of freedom from the Kazakh operation room, wanting more than anything to make it all go away.
I woke up with a strong pain in my throat, the breathing tube stuck deeply down there. I could not, at first, stay awake or move at all. I recognized Aigerim who came up to me as I was opening my eyes and held my hand. I tried with all my might to squeeze back so maybe they would take the tube out. That is all I wanted. They didn't because I wasn't actually able to squeeze her hand, all I could manage was a small shoulder shrug. Then I threw up, a very painful experience, even before the anesthesia had worn off. I fought to regain movement so they would take out the tube. I moved my foot, I moved my finger, I think I made a noise, I moved my toes, I threw up again.
Finally they took out the tube after throwing up a third time, and immediately I started trying to ask for Scott. I didn't know where I was, but I was not in my room and Scott was not holding my hand. I couldn't turn my head yet but every time the nurse came over to me I tried to say, "муж" (moozh), husband. At first they didn't understand and just wiped my mouth and walked away. Then I could turn my head and I looked at them at their desk trying to say it over and over again until finally they understood and laughed a little, breaking tender heart. I think I must have said it so much that they finally called Aigerim who sent them Scott's number and they called him and put the phone up to my ear. I can't remember what he said but all I could do was moan in response. I just wanted to go to him, I was so alone.
After what seemed like an eternity but must have been more like an hour, they wheeled me back to my room, me feeling every bump onto and off of elevators and across the uneven tiled floors you find everywhere in Kazakhstan. Finally I got to hold Scott's hand. I asked for water but they said not yet. I asked Scott to wet a napkin and wipe down my lips and tongue which were so unbearably dry and sticky and acidic. Finally they let me drink. It was very late by now and Scott, who had planned to leave, decided to sleep there and wake up with me every hour for a check up. I wasn't sleeping and eventually they gave me another pain shot in the leg and I slept.
Day 6,7,8
I woke up the next morning feeling pretty bad. Scott had to go to work, poor thing, on virtually no sleep and leaving me pathetic in my bed. We had arranged for a woman from church to come and sit with me for a few hours until Scott could come back. I think we kept her there longer than she had planned on but, oh, what a comfort she was to me. I was rather frightened after Scott left, not having anyone to speak for me, alone in my room and no one to grab water for me or tell me it would be okay. She was an angel, playing nurse, communicator, distraction and mom to me that morning. I didn't look at my cut yet, but I asked her to and she said it looked good and told me how big it was.
I had a good friend from work come and visit me that day, too, before Scott got back to me, but they must have drugged me pretty good because I don't really remember what we talked about or how much we talked or how I felt even.
I do, however, remember when the nurses came and started pulling me out of bed. It was pretty jarring and horrible since there was no explanation before hand, just, "you get up, you walk." They made me walk around my room once and then let me get back in bed.
The next few days were basically boring and sort of painful as they mainly involved sitting, a sore throat and the terror of coughing, asking for pain shots, going for increasingly long walks around the gynecology ward, not being able to go to the bathroom number two despite my efforts. Apparently your digestive system needs to "wake up" after surgery and mine was feeling very sleepy. I read a book, I listened to half of another book, I slept, I watch the breaking news about Oscar Pistorius on CNN, the only English channel on the TV, I played stupid games on my iPad.
On the last day I took a shower, put on clothes other than the nasty robe I had lived in a for a few days. I tried a lot to go number two, causing myself more pain, but I knew they wanted me to go before I could go home. A few hours before they were to let me go home two nurses came in with cell phone dictionaries and told me, "You shit. You go toilet go shit." They held up the phone to me to show me the word because at first I couldn't understand what they were saying. I was crying already when they came in, sore and worried what they would do to me if I couldn't but that little exchange, hilarious as it is now, was just another example of how horrible communication was in this place.
They decided to give me an enema to solve the situation, and slowly, so slowly my body woke up with a lot of pain. I have never been so proud and relieved after a poo in my life. I know those of you who have had surgery know how that feels.
The surgeon came in to see me off. Aigerim was there also to translate. I asked her if there was anything I should or should not do. She said no, I could do anything, swimming, sana, anything. I asked her if there was anything I should or should not eat. She said no. I asked her if there was any pain medication I should take, she said no. I asked her when I should go back to work. She said, "вчера," yesterday. These words brought me no comfort and, more disturbingly, left me with no expectation of my recovery process, how long it would be, how to take care of myself, how to know that things were alright.
Exhausted from the drama and energy spent that day, we left the hospital, paying the bill since our insurance company refused, claiming my condition was "chronical." I wanted to go home. Not home to my apartment in Astana, home to the States, home to my mom and step-mom to make me soup and wait on me and make everything okay. But Scott took me home to the apartment, laid in bed with me for a while as I cried a little and fell asleep. He was so happy to have me home, I could see that, but I was a little sad to still be in Kazakhstan after finally escaping the Kazakh hospital.
Comments
Our prayers are with you & Scott daily. - Love Dad Morris
Phoebe says I love you and I mith you and I hope you feel better!
Nina says I love you Aunt Kirsty and hope you have a great day!
Ella says I miss you and hopefully we can Skype again.
J.J. says" Thank You"
Love, Karen