tracheal resection, day 8
It's been an usually calm day for me. Like, very relaxing.
Yesterday, I was terrified for the outcome of my bronchoscopy. I slept maybe a couple of hours, as I tossed and turned, just thinking of all the possibilities.
Would they tear me open again?
Would they find so much swelling, that they'd trach me?
Would I be here for another week?
As a girl who suffers from very little anxiety--I was definitely very anxious.
I got up at 4:45am, having had enough of the tossing and turning.
I brushed my teeth. Curled my hair. Got dressed in my adorably sexy hospital gown and non-slip booties. And I waited for them to come.
They were supposed to wheel me down at 5:30.
They showed up at 6:25.
I was wheeled right into pre-op.
I met with the anesthesiologist (whom I absolutely loved).
I met with the thoracic fellows.
I signed my life away on all the consent forms.
I kissed my mom, and off I went, at 7:30am, on the dot.
My surgeon was actually 15 minutes late for the procedure, so I spent 15 minutes in the OR with an oxygen mask on my face, laughing at the team of doctors bitching about his timeliness.
"I wonder if he'd be mad if I showed up 15 minutes late tomorrow, to deliver the anethesia?"
"Try to relax Ms. Jeter. We are just waiting on one person...the boss."
Lol. They had me cracking up. And then they all applauded when he walked through the door. It was awesome.
He spoke to me for a minute--I told him my breathing had drastically improved since we had spoken the day before, and he told me that it sounded like I was about to really make his day pretty darn good.
I told him I hoped he would return the favor.
And then off I went...to sleep.
I woke up about an hour later, and I could hear him speaking with my mom on the phone.
Chin stitch. Gone.
Drain. Gone.
Possible tracheitis in soft tissue of trachea. Want to hold for at least 48 hours and deliver antibiotics.
Damn.
But yet. The chin stitch was gone, and so was the drain.
And I trust my surgeon with my life. If he tells me to stick around for another 48 hours, I'll do it with bells on. Because he truly has my best interest at heart.
I was back in my room by 9:30am. My mom and I ordered breakfast, and just talked.
We've talked so much these days, it's been a great way to really spend time together. (As odd as that sounds.)
She has spent the night with me and hasn't left my side once since I entered this hospital last Tuesday, January 16.
She's been amazing.
We took a long walk today, and ended up on the 11th floor where my dad had been during his 11-day stay before he passed away. I kissed my hand and placed it on his hospital room door.
We wandered down to the solarium, where we spent time looking at his incredible view of downtown Denver and the mountains.
What I thought might feel terrible, actually felt therapeutic.
When we were done, we headed back to my room. We've been here ever since--talking, reminiscing, planning for the future, ordering room service, and laughing.
I actually enjoyed my time in the hospital today. Not really sure why.
I am so desperate to be back home with my children. I miss them something fierce. And yet, today was ok, even though I was 100 miles away from them.
I missed Thad's basketball game. He scored four points.
I am going to miss Charlotte's talent show performance on Friday, which kills me.
But I am doing all of this to get better. To be healthier. Because I have a new lease on life.
If you're reading this blog, you fall into one of two categories: (1) You suffer from this dreadful condition, and you know the pain in every word I write. You've either had the surgery, or you are scared to death to take the leap. Or, (2) You take every breath for granted. And that's ok. We shouldn't ever have to stop and say, "Wow, I am so thankful that I was able to breathe today," because it's a natural occurrence. An involuntary function.
But let me tell you. Appreciate what you have. Because there are a lot of things we can live without. There are a lot of things we can live with, on a restricted basis.
Breathing has got to be one of the hardest ones to suffer through, halfway. You have no idea how negatively it impacts your everyday life, when you can't take a normal breath.
And yet there are thousands of us.
We are warriors.
We struggle through it every day.
We live this hell on a regular basis.
Chase kids. Raise families. Work jobs.
And suffer. And aside from the heavy breathing, we suffer silently.
Because it's what we have to do.
I am so thankful for advancements in technology over even the last few years, that have made this surgery so possible.
It has made the impossible...possible.
And I am so grateful for such an incredible surgeon.
Thank you, Dr. John Mitchell, for this new lease on life. I owe you one. Haha.
Yesterday, I was terrified for the outcome of my bronchoscopy. I slept maybe a couple of hours, as I tossed and turned, just thinking of all the possibilities.
Would they tear me open again?
Would they find so much swelling, that they'd trach me?
Would I be here for another week?
As a girl who suffers from very little anxiety--I was definitely very anxious.
I got up at 4:45am, having had enough of the tossing and turning.
I brushed my teeth. Curled my hair. Got dressed in my adorably sexy hospital gown and non-slip booties. And I waited for them to come.
They were supposed to wheel me down at 5:30.
They showed up at 6:25.
I was wheeled right into pre-op.
I met with the anesthesiologist (whom I absolutely loved).
I met with the thoracic fellows.
I signed my life away on all the consent forms.
I kissed my mom, and off I went, at 7:30am, on the dot.
My surgeon was actually 15 minutes late for the procedure, so I spent 15 minutes in the OR with an oxygen mask on my face, laughing at the team of doctors bitching about his timeliness.
"I wonder if he'd be mad if I showed up 15 minutes late tomorrow, to deliver the anethesia?"
"Try to relax Ms. Jeter. We are just waiting on one person...the boss."
Lol. They had me cracking up. And then they all applauded when he walked through the door. It was awesome.
He spoke to me for a minute--I told him my breathing had drastically improved since we had spoken the day before, and he told me that it sounded like I was about to really make his day pretty darn good.
I told him I hoped he would return the favor.
And then off I went...to sleep.
I woke up about an hour later, and I could hear him speaking with my mom on the phone.
Chin stitch. Gone.
Drain. Gone.
Possible tracheitis in soft tissue of trachea. Want to hold for at least 48 hours and deliver antibiotics.
Damn.
But yet. The chin stitch was gone, and so was the drain.
And I trust my surgeon with my life. If he tells me to stick around for another 48 hours, I'll do it with bells on. Because he truly has my best interest at heart.
I was back in my room by 9:30am. My mom and I ordered breakfast, and just talked.
We've talked so much these days, it's been a great way to really spend time together. (As odd as that sounds.)
She has spent the night with me and hasn't left my side once since I entered this hospital last Tuesday, January 16.
She's been amazing.
We took a long walk today, and ended up on the 11th floor where my dad had been during his 11-day stay before he passed away. I kissed my hand and placed it on his hospital room door.
We wandered down to the solarium, where we spent time looking at his incredible view of downtown Denver and the mountains.
What I thought might feel terrible, actually felt therapeutic.
When we were done, we headed back to my room. We've been here ever since--talking, reminiscing, planning for the future, ordering room service, and laughing.
I actually enjoyed my time in the hospital today. Not really sure why.
I am so desperate to be back home with my children. I miss them something fierce. And yet, today was ok, even though I was 100 miles away from them.
I missed Thad's basketball game. He scored four points.
I am going to miss Charlotte's talent show performance on Friday, which kills me.
But I am doing all of this to get better. To be healthier. Because I have a new lease on life.
If you're reading this blog, you fall into one of two categories: (1) You suffer from this dreadful condition, and you know the pain in every word I write. You've either had the surgery, or you are scared to death to take the leap. Or, (2) You take every breath for granted. And that's ok. We shouldn't ever have to stop and say, "Wow, I am so thankful that I was able to breathe today," because it's a natural occurrence. An involuntary function.
But let me tell you. Appreciate what you have. Because there are a lot of things we can live without. There are a lot of things we can live with, on a restricted basis.
Breathing has got to be one of the hardest ones to suffer through, halfway. You have no idea how negatively it impacts your everyday life, when you can't take a normal breath.
And yet there are thousands of us.
We are warriors.
We struggle through it every day.
We live this hell on a regular basis.
Chase kids. Raise families. Work jobs.
And suffer. And aside from the heavy breathing, we suffer silently.
Because it's what we have to do.
I am so thankful for advancements in technology over even the last few years, that have made this surgery so possible.
It has made the impossible...possible.
And I am so grateful for such an incredible surgeon.
Thank you, Dr. John Mitchell, for this new lease on life. I owe you one. Haha.
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