I was baffled when the man behind the counter said “two hundred”. And yet, as I was shuffled from one waiting room full of people to the next waiting room full of people, it dawned on me that they have this surgery business down to the same way as a farmer herding his cattle. It didn’t feel real until I made it to the final room and Willy was asked to wait for me somewhere else. At that point, I followed a young man who quickly led me to a gurney and encouraged me to transform from street walker to patient as he reminded me, like us medical personal always do, “gown opens to the back”. And just like that, I looked just like the person next to me, who wore the same hospital gown and sat anxiously awaiting her fate on a different gurney.
The doctor came over to talk to her and pulled the curtain to give a false sense of privacy. I overheard that she was about to undergo a crainiotomy for some sort of leison pressing on an optical nerve. I used her crainiotomy to lessen the fears I had about my own spinal surgery. I mean, she was having brain surgery. All I could imagine were those eggs sizzling on a frying pan from those commercials in the 90’s that reminded us what our brains were like on drugs. Not that there was any correlation. But then I heard her doctor say, “Not to worry, crainiotomys are actually quite simple procedures and the pain post operatively is minimal… nothing compared to what the spinal patients have to go through”.
Just the words I needed to hear.
And then it was my turn.
Suddenly my little guerny was surrounded with people. A pre-op nurse struggled to chime in and collect my medical history, of which there was none. The anesthesiologist had a student with him. I let her try to place my IV. She missed twice before the anesthesiologist stepped in and insisted on doing it himself. I saw my surgeon at the end of the gurney talking to Willy. He asked if I was ready, I gave him a nod, not really knowing if I was ready or not; “As ready as I imagine I’ll ever be” would have been a more honest response.
Someone asked if I’d like something put through my IV line to “calm down”. I wasn’t noticeably anxious, but I gladly accepted. They pushed some versed through my IV line and as they started moving the gurney down the hall, my mind became a bit cloudy and I surrendered. I glanced around the operating room and then the lights went out; not literally, but figuratively.
My surgery was supposed to take 4 to 6 hours. Willy waited, fighting his own anxieties, with my dad in a waiting room. It took 8 hours.
When I came to, I was in pain. A lot of pain. There were a lot of people around me again and I quickly realized I was back to where I started only with a lot of pain and surrounded by people who were no longer strangers to my body. My blood pressure was low and I was given some extra fluid through my IV line, which had been switched to a central line in the jugular vein in my neck. I also had an arterial line in my left wrist, two drains coming out from my back, a foley catheter to drain my bladder, and pumps on my legs to prevent blood clots.
I spent two days in the ICU. I was told I lost a total of 2L of blood (the average woman has about 4L of blood) and I was given 4 units of blood as a result. My blood pressure remained in the 70-80’s (120 is normal) and I was given several bags of added fluid.
I looked like a balloon. My eyes were so swollen I couldn’t open them. I couldn’t even tell you what that ICU room looked like. In fact, my ICU nurse came to visit me days later and I recognized him only by his voice. My stomach was incredibly distended and painful and I had horrible pitting edema on both of my lower extremities.
It felt like forever before they were able to give me something for my pain (pain medication causes your blood pressure to lower, so they couldn’t give me anything until my blood pressure was under control). When they did, I got a button and was told to press it whenever I needed something for pain. Then I was nauseous.
Two days later I was transferred to the less-acute spine unit.
Before my surgery, I had anticipated bringing my lap top to the hospital to write and surf the web and pass the time. I remember thinking immediately how silly that was. I was in no condition to even sit up in bed, let alone put coherent thoughts together. It’s been nearly two months and only now am I able to sit down for any length of time to put write my thoughts down and it has taken several sessions to finish this post.
I stayed on the spine unit for another 5 days before being transferred to another hospital for an inpatient rehab program. I stayed there for an additional 5 days before finally coming home.
It’s been a long, trying, road. Recovery is not easy. A few people have called me brave, which makes me laugh. I’ve cried and cursed a lot. I’ve felt weak and frail and defeated. I’ve had episodes of depression and, even worse, episodes of withdrawal when I tried to stop taking my pain medication.
I’m not even close to the end of the road. Technically speaking, it takes the spine an entire year to fuse. But I do rest easier knowing the worst is behind me. There are plateaus that are sure to come that bring with them frustration and doubt, but the worst is behind me. The worst is behind me, the worst is behind me, the worst is behind me. Like a ruthless teenager writing standards on the chalkboard in high school, I need to say it repeatedly to bang it into my darn head. Really though, the worst IS behind me. Right?
The details: On October 10th I had 13 levels of my spine fused due to curvature from scoliosis (thoracic 62 degrees, lumbar 48 degrees). Because my curve was progressive in nature, surgery was required. My curvature did not cause me pain or limitations. I was told that they had to fracture each vertebrae on both sides for a total of 26 fractures so that the 27 screws and 2 rods could be placed. I gained an inch and a half in height and lost a chunk of weight due to the pain medication I was on. I have to wear my back brace for a few more weeks. Recovery takes about 6 months. Feel free to ask any questions you may have in the comment section below.
Hey Ashley, We traded some emails a couple months ago when you initially posted about your upcoming surgery. Just wanted to send a supportive note and let you know I’m sending healing thoughts from afar. I relate to a lot of what you’re going through. Coming off general anasthesia recovery is no joke, let alone the pain and recovery from surgery. And yes, this will past. And you’ve made it through the worst of it. Cheers and Happy Holidays, Stephanie
This post made me squirm and my body ache. I’m glad you are finally home and at least on your way to feeling better!
This must be so hard on everyone- I can’t imagine. Good luck, and the worst is over.
I am so glad you are on the way to recovery. I will be thinking about you and hoping for a smooth recovery.
i have been wondering about this. my good friend went through this a year ago and it really did change her life, the whole experience. very GENTLE hugs to you! how are you doing keeping up with the kids??
We had to hire a nanny, which has been an adjustment for me. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great; it’s just hard having someone in your house doing things with your kids you wish you would be doing. Thanks for checkin my my dear.
Wow…how did I have no idea you went through this. Those before and after x rays are amazing to see. So glad the worst is over for you. Hugs and love!
Wow, even though I knew all these details (well, most of them), I was still holding my breath as I read this post. You are such a good writer. You captured the scene so perfectly. I can’t even imagine lying, waiting for surgery, and I can’t imagine the pain after. I wish I could be there every day to help you with things and make you smile. Can’t wait for Friday!
Ash, it’s funny that you mention the depression. When I had my jaw surgery in 2006 it also took 8 hours and although I thought I was prepared for the surgery I wasn’t prepared for the depression I felt. Around the 3rd week post op is when I started to feel better, although I looked like a Mack truck had hit me when I came out of surgery and was swollen for weeks after. Kyle was just telling me yesterday how scary I looked! Rick Hooper saw me about day 2 or 3 when I was leaving the Santa Barbara area where I had the surgery, and at your mom’s house for Gma Helen’s funeral he reminded me about how bad I looked back then, but how I’ve healed so well and you can’t even tell. It’s a long road to recovery, but hang in there as it will be a distant memory (or nightmare) before you know it! XOXO
Holy shit Ashley. I figured this whole process had been intense, but Jesus. Surgery scares the shit out of me, I remember my mother constantly worrying about anesthesia(not that she’s ever had any) and I think she passed it on to me. Getting my tonsils out is the extent of my experience, but being a mother to a child with health issues I’ve had to try and retrain my thought process in regards to medicine. I appreciate your honestly and sharing through this process. Sending thoughts for smooth sailing through the remainder of your recovery!
I really feel for you. I have some experience with chronic pain (migraines) and I know how down I get. It is usually a very reliable indicator of ongoing pain. When the pain stops (and sometimes you don’t even realise it is still there until it is gone because it is not as bad as it has been) all of a sudden, your ability to cope, to be resilient, to be able to feel positive comes flooding back. I hope your pain continues to lessen and have a quick recovery. xx
Wow. Those images really put it into perspective on how tough you are! I can’t imagine the pain you endured before AND after surgery. Praying for a speedy recovery. Glad you are ok and that you can now look forward 🙂
Not questions, just in complete awe of you and your strength. Heal well, Ash, sending much love your way.
No questions. Just stumbled onto your blog and saw this post. I am praying for a speedy and solid and fully restorative healing. That’s all. God bless and happy holidays!
You have been through such an ordeal. I hope the pain is behind you and you are feeling closer to normal. I can’t even imagine what you have been through. Hugs through the internet to you!
So I guess it wouldn’t be kosher for me to whine about this nose piercing I just got, right? 😉
WOW! My friend Carolyn told me about your blog when I was describing to her why I could not bend my back… and here I am reliving my exact life (pretty much down to the curvature degrees, but only one child at the time and 16 vertebraes) 7 years ago. As I read this, I am reminded at how tough of a time it was in my life, but also at how strong our bodies can be. I commend you for writing this on your sweet blog. I always thought I would write about it, but every time I sat down to do it, I got nervous bringing up all those painful (to put it mildly) memories. Congratulations for being a few months out! It gets better day after day and year after year! I have since had another child and live life very normally (but with an added 1.5″ and a very good posture I might add). I wish you continued recovery and the best of luck! Please shoot me an email if you have any questions from someone who has been living with these lovely rods and screws in her back for close to 7 years now!
Wishing you. Speedy recovery. I had spinal surgery for scoliosis at 14 after a failed attempt at correcting it solely by a back brace. My incision runs down the length of my torso on the side. It’s been almost 16yrs and I look at your pictures and feel your pain. Take it slow. Wishing you a speedy recovery.
Thank you so much. I love when the feeling gets a little bit smaller. The connectiveness of it all feels so warm. Thanks for sharing.