Sometimes it's best to forget

Irish's recent post (April 2) got me thinking. And remembering. And the PSTD came flooding back for a bit and triggered memories of what I thought I had forgotten (or thought I wasn't aware enough to register in my brain).

Excerpt:
But this past week? I'm a crotchedly old bitch. And so I related this much to the social worker who promptly figured out that my lack of memory was likely directly linked to my pissed-offedness. And who suggested that by piecing together what had happened to me, I would feel some semblance of control again and perhaps wouldn't feel so ornery. So we set up a date with my OB's NP who stayed with me in the NICU yesterday, reading over my medical record for me while I held and cooed with my beautiful boys.

A lot came back to me. Most didn't. In summary, I had 2.5 surgeries. I clotted and hemorrhaged again. I needed 10 units of blood. This time I developed full-blown preeclampsia for which I remained on mag sulfate between surgeries. I went into renal failure - platelets dove, hematocrit dove - all went to hell for a while. I blew up all puffy and big and as a preventative measure, was intubated to be sure that we could get me back into surgery more easily again if necessary. I had many CT scans. I was in ICU for 3 days.

I know I said I wouldn't talk about it again, but it's my blog, damnit. And though I am quite happy when I'm not forced to address my lovely disease, I've had moments when the darkness of the post delivery experience comes back and I remember this or that. Irish's post took me right back and I remember now. I remember ICU. I do. The fetanyl didn't make me completely unconscious...I was sort of awake the whole time. I was in this "coma" for three days.

Though I have no idea what transpired previous to it, I am in a room which my hazed mind believes is a living room in a hospital. I know that my hands are tied down, and this makes me believe I am being held hostage somewhere. I don't hear the respirator nor do I realize I'm on one. I know that I am being drugged but have no idea how much or why. I have a vague idea that I just had babies but don't know if they are alive or where they are. I do not feel the tube in my throat but regularly test the restraints to see if I can break free. I am convinced that this part of the hospital must be being managed by a third party entity because no one here is nice. They are condescending and scold me constantly for being "naughty." It's hard to talk and I don't know why. I am scared and trust no one around me. I know something is wrong but my main concern is working on getting the hell out of there.

Now and then S' face comes close enough where I can see him. He's fuzzy and mottled but I can see he's there. ARE YOU IN PAIN? He asks this often. I shake my head no because that's the truth. But then he kisses me, tells me he loves me and goes away. And all I want is for him to stay with me - stay and talk with me, because I am aware and it's so lonely here...no one talks to me and I'm scared and need to know why I'm being tied down and when they plan on letting me go. I have no idea how bad off I am. When S leaves my range of vision I am unaware that he hasn't gone far (he'd moved into my ICU room and took showers in my reserved room back on the postpartum ward). I don't realize that when I can't see him he's actually in a bed next to me. When I don't see him I'm plotting my escape, willing myself to become clear-headed enough to figure this all out and get myself back in the hands of people who know how to take care of me. All I needed was to get someone to stay close enough long enough to get them to understand that I needed help.

The nurses talk to me in really loud voices and this annoys me. They don't tell me where I am or what's happening to me and seem impatient when I try to communicate. They talk to each other as if I'm not there. I remember them shooing S away from me - evidently my BP would go up everytime I'd hear a familiar voice and being that an insanely high BP is what put me there, I guess they figured I'd be better off alone. Now I know my BP went up because I was trying desperately to tell S to get me out of there - to let him know they were mean and to please stay close to me and tell me what's going on. I don't know if I slept or not, but was told later that though you are "out," you don't actually sleep while on fetanyl and the lack of brain rest can cause severe paranoia.

I remember my mom caressing my hand assuring me yes, that nurse was a bitch and she didn't like her either. But Mom too wouldn't stay near long - once I'd get happy to see her, her face would slip away from me.

Three days later they decided to ease up on the drug and take me off the respirator. My mom says as soon as they did that I started talking as much as I could, though in a raspy, frightening voice (the tubes did a number on my vocal chords). I told S that the hospital was plotting against me, and if he paid attention, he'd see it. I asked him to be observant and if he watched closely, he'd notice they did things in threes. I told my mother the whole hospital was a scam...they make the place look like a living room with all these curtains and they tie you up and won't talk to you. He and my mom still laugh about that (nervously). My mother said I told off an intern and gave hell to the head ICU nurse. And when I realized that I had just had babies I remember having to wait an eternity (a few days?) to go see them. This only fueled what Dr. Cutting Edge would later call my "grumpiness."

At some point I was brought back to the postpartum ward. And slowly, my head cleared. And that is when I realized I had no short term memory. I could barely remember being admitted to the hospital, barely remember the day before the C section or anything afterward. To this day, I remember resisting a CT scan at some point and do recall a sense of doom when Heather, Dr. Cutting Edge's fellow, told me they had to go in again. Beyond that, these snippets of ICU are the best I've been able to muster.

My initial point in writing about all this was to let all of you know - to let you know that if you are in the unfortunate position of visiting someone in the ICU and they are on a respirator, when the staff informs you the patient cannot hear or see you, consider otherwise. And if your loved one seems agitated, consider it may be because they want you closer, or want you to talk, or at least try to allow them to communicate. Closer is better. You don't have to yell. Reassure, and tell them why they're there and how long they may have to stay. Keep talking. Stay close. Because being a patient in ICU is lonely and scary and at times, very freaky. Tell them how they're doing, and how you're doing. And tell them you love them.

I know this post is a downer, but it's what's been on my mind.

Comments

[Janice]

I knew you had been through a lot, but I never dreamed it was that bad. You must be one tough lady to have survived it and had some awesome Doctors as well.
Your not realizing S was there reminded me of a time I was in and out of a morphine fog after an intense surgery and bawled my husband out for leaving me there alone. Poor guy had been there 72 hours straight, was worried sick about me.
Take care, and enjoy your little blessings.

[Irish Girl]

I have been trying to come up with a way to write a follow up post that sends this message but there is no way I could do it the way you did. Thank you for writing this. You just taught me a very valuable lesson that can not be learned in class or from a book.

[cat, galloping]

It sounds like a really, really bad dream, except it was real. I'm so sorry you went through this.

[tree town gal]

day - such a beautifully written and intense post. i have always believed what you noted about those in ICU or on life support - they need to know someone is there, even if it's at the end of life. thank you for sharing this. i'm not surprised you endured this but i have to say, given that it wasn't your first horrific situation after childbirth, i admire your willingness to have even tried again after Smacky. but indeed, you have been most deservedly blessed for your courage.

[Toffee]

I am glad you posted about this. I think hand holding and normal voice talking is important. The machines and tubes and medications are so artificial and abnormal (to both patient and visitor) that touch and sound are the only outlets to the human world.

[Toffee]

I am glad you posted about this. I think hand holding and normal voice talking is important. The machines and tubes and medications are so artificial and abnormal (to both patient and visitor) that touch and sound are the only outlets to the human world.

[Michelle D.]

Day:

A very honest and moving post. It must have been very difficult for you to relive this as you wrote it. You are an amazing woman, a fighter, and a true survivor. You have been through quite a journey with your illness, infertility, and having your children. Please know that there are a lot of people out there who care for you and are thinking good thoughts for you and your family.

Take care,

Michelle D.