tracheal resection, day 7

So, last Wednesday, I got a brand new airway.

Things were going great.

I was eating normal foods.

I had been taken off of voice rest.

I was walking laps daily, likely pushing over a mile each time--while never once losing my breath.

And then yesterday happened.

My mom started to hear my breathing. A common thing, for the last 13 years.

I chalked it up to excess mucous in my airway, I just needed to clear it up.

But then I spent my night literally trying to catch my breath. All I wanted was a deep, deep breath.

Instead, I got shortness of breath, stridor, and an inability to breathe deep.

When the resident doctors made their rounds at 6:30, all hell basically broke loose. They blew off my concerns, and refused to even use a stethoscope to just take a listen.

They said things like, "This is probably normal," and, "We will let your doctor know."

After a full night of being awake, I didn't have the energy to fight with them.

But my mom did.

And she laid into them, lol. Made it clear that we had been asking for a doctor to take a look at my ears for three days, to no avail (they had been bothering me a bit and I wanted to make sure I didn't catch anything viral from my daughter, since she had been ill), and it was completely ridiculous.

Made it clear that the fact that my surgeon had not visited me once after ripping my throat apart was totally unheard of, and shocking.

Made it clear that she was tired of them having one foot out the door during morning rounds, and she expected them to give me some of their time.

Within an hour, there was an X-Ray team in my room, taking images of my neck and lungs.

I was suddenly being dosed with steroids and nebulizer treatments.

I got my ears looked at.

And then, my surgeon walked into the room.

Thankfully, by then, mom had calmed down. Lol. And as soon as he was in the room, it felt very peaceful.

I explained to him what had happened that night and he asked me to take a deep breath. He could hear that I was constricted.

He made a face, and said he was concerned.

Ugh.

Not what I wanted to hear, before the day I was set to be discharged.

But he explained to me that this is a hard surgery. It's a tough one to get right the first time. There is a high chance for complications, but also a high chance for overall success. So we might just need to jump some hurdles.

At the very least, maybe it was a little inflammation. I had mentioned coughing hard that night, and really irritating my head and neck.

Or maybe it's some post-op swelling. I did, after all, require that half of my lower voice box be removed. Maybe it was finally angry.

Or.

Maybe it's something more serious that will require him to open me back up and do more surgery.

Maybe some pieces didn't grow together properly. Maybe there's an extra flap. Maybe there's a leak.

Clearly, we are praying against Option C. But we won't know until tomorrow.

I go in for another 7:30 bronchoscopy in the morning, they are planning to wheel me down to pre-op by 5:30am. He should know shortly after that exactly what he is dealing with.

Please pray.

Pray, pray, pray.

I don't think I can take another day of this chin stitch. And yet, if he finds any cause for concern, he will keep me here for another two or three days, chin stitch and all.

And I will say this--after the doctor left, I bawled. And then I fell asleep for a good four hours. When I woke up, I asked my mom to wash my hair. I took a psuedo-shower, even put on some mascara. And somewhere in that time, my breathing got really, really good.

Like, better than it has been.

So I am praying so hard it was just a little swelling that has subsided with a combination of the steroids, and me moving around. I am praying that he will go in there and he will find zero cause for concern, clip my stitch, and congratulate me while he kicks my ass out the door.

I told my mom that if that happens, we are going to see The Greatest Showman. Haha.

Won't you please pray for me? I am really struggling here, but I want to remain positive. I really want to go home. I miss my babies, and I am ready to move past this particular struggle.