Second
Week Post Transplant
Feb
13 – 17 (in hospital)
My mind was clearer this week, which meant the pain and discomfort of the chest tubes was more obvious. The surgeons’ regular attention gave me relief I was not being ignored. They would x-ray my chest to see how well the tears in my lungs had healed. If they saw progress, they would let the tubes “water drain” several hours, then clamp them for several more hours, then take another x-ray. If they were not satisfied with the healing progress, the clamps would come off and the vacuum pump would go back on. I knew then what my next twelve or so hours would be like. I’d be in bed, unable to move or eat, wishing they’d do a better job at pain management. The only thing that helped significantly was an I.V. of a certain medication. This would knock me out, thankfully. But most of the time they would just give me the pill form, which only eased the pain. Later I learned they hesitated giving me the more powerful drug because of all the anesthesia I’d already had. My organs had yet to recover from that, and giving me more painkillers would depress their recovery.
Looking back on these circumstances, I simply coped with them. I didn’t get upset or angry or frustrated. I didn’t feel emotional at all. I just met the situation and coped. To do this I relied heavily on singing HU, as a song of love to God. I would usually sing this word to myself as I didn’t have enough strength to sing aloud.
Another thing I did was to imagine that the lung tissue surrounding the tears was like butter and that a golden butter knife was gently smoothing the cells back into place.
Meanwhile, the physical therapists would come once a day and we would do a series of exercises and then go for a walk. It was so ungodly awkward to walk with chest tubes hanging out of you, and sometimes having to hold two very heavy scissor-like clamps over your belly. Meanwhile, the therapists would each carry one of the fluid holding tanks attached to each tube. What a circus.
Finally the surgeons took out the two tubes on the left, and a few days later, on Wednesday the 16th, they removed the two that remained on the right. The removal procedure doesn’t hurt, but is high on the queasy scale if you know how long the tubes are that will be coming out of your body. They come out fast, though, and the breathing pattern they give you while they pull them out takes your attention off it just fine.
As soon as the tubes came out I felt relief and freedom. Finally I could reclaim the boundaries of my own body and immediately I started to feel better and regain strength.
Thursday I was feeling so much better, I was getting seriously bored. This was the first time I’d felt bored the entire time I’d been in the hospital. Dr. Cooper, the transplant surgeon, came to visit and said that from the surgical team’s viewpoint I was ready to go home, I just needed permission from the transplant team. So I called Linda, one of the transplant nurses and she said “Why not tomorrow? Can Bob be here at noon ?” Music to my ears.
After 81 days in the hospital, I had developed many routines that helped me cope and keep a positive attitude. For example, I would wash my body every night in a certain methodical way, I’d massage my feet and legs and thank every part of my body for being healthy and happy, and I’d go into the bathroom and bless the silence there. It was the only place where I couldn’t be disturbed and it was so very quiet. There were several spiritual exercises I did to help me relax and sleep and I revisited each one of them. There were certain ways I’d arrange the covers, pillow, and the jacket somebody gave me, to be as comfortable as I could be, and a favorite Yanni CD that I would listen to. Every little experience or visit by doctor, nurse, patient care assistant or phlebotomist, I was counting down as the last, and blessing it as the last, and thanking God it was the last.
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