Sunday, January 6, 2013

The Story of 7 continued...

Dec 27th - left chest tube clamped. 

The tube is clamped for 24 hours and then an x-ray is done to ensure my lung hasn't decided to escape my body through my belly button sometime during the night. It's also done to make sure that enough fluid has drained from my chest and that my lung has expanded enough.

Let me assure you that I've had enough radiation to own that as a superhero name if I so desire.

Sorry if that was your dream.

December 28th - left chest tube pulled.

Breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...hold it....10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5....done.

Brad held my hand. I may be 33 years old, but when some kind of twisted medical procedure is being conducted on my body, and I believe it is scary and possibly painful, I want my hand held. When someone isn't here to do that, I turn to Lola.



Mom and dad spent their last hours with Brad and I at the hospital, before saying their goodbyes and heading off to the condo for one last night. It was with mixed emotions that I watched them leave, knowing that this phase was over and that the next time I saw them would most likely be back in NS, with a few miles on the new blowers.

For the second night in a row, Brad spent the night with me at the hospital. The first night was pure accident. We simply fell asleep talking about our breathing easy future. We were woken when the nurse came in at 5am, but he simply said, "no worries, go back to sleep". The next night we just did the same. Imagine the two of us sprawled out on the hospital bed: girl with injuries all over the place and a gigantic chest tube hanging out the side and a 6'5" tall dark and handsome...but at least there were no crusty lungs.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

January 2, 2013 - Bronchoscopy & Brad leaves

Brad came to the hospital early with his luggage. A bronch (a tube goes down your throat, doctor gawks around and then cut a piece of lung off to examine for abnormalities, ie. rejection) was scheduled for 10. It was moved to 9:30. We said our sad goodbyes and I was whisked off for yet another invasive procedure.

My squat buddy Mark was next in line for a bronch. I guess we had an invitation to the same party. Nothing but good times in TransplantLand. The freezing involves gargling with this crap liquid. You are supposed to do it in thirds. I managed the first, but completely threw up the second. The nurse took pity on me and gave me the remainder in an aerosol form.

I had a bit of anxiety about the bronch; turned out to be unwarranted. Between the freezing and the sedation, Squeegee had no idea what was going on. I do remember seeing pieces of my lung on a screen. 

Smoking hawt lungs indeed. 

I came back to find Brad still in my room; his flight was delayed an hour. More time! More goodbyes. Eventually the time came; he had to go. I kept my eye on the prize. We had an end date now. I would be home to him and the boys soon.

The surgeon came in. The verdict: right chest tube okay to come out!!!!!!!!!!!

Breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...hold it....10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5....done.

There weren't any hands to hold this time. Thanks again Lola.

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