So, because I have people all over the place, like most people, Facebook ties me to them. Most of my friends from my roller derby league were in Adelaide, or doing things with their families. It was a long weekend after all.
On Sunday, my sister posted a message, telling everyone what had happened, and needless to say there was a shocked reaction. No one really had any inkling that something like this might happen so when they saw the post, there was definitely a ripple effect. My sister was immediately bombarded with messages, either on the post or via messenger. Soon, everyone I knew online was aware of what had happened and were waiting for the subsequent messages to come through.
She also had the responsibility of letting both of my bosses know that I wouldn’t be in at work for some time. I was lucky enough to get bosses who were supportive and were offering my family support to get through what was possibly going to be a very difficult time ahead.
Of course, at this stage I still had no real idea of what was going on around me in the virtual world because my sister had my phone and even if I had have had my phone at this stage, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything with it because I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open.
Monday, Monday
The first thing that you should know about the first 24 hours post surgery was about my adjusting to temporary life on the ward. That meant that I was on two hourly observations where I had to answer the following questions:
• Who am I? – If I were capable of being a smart-ass at this point I probably would have listed all the names that I am called by – Patricia, Pat, Patty, Tish, Trish, Character Assassin, Character, Assassin, Trisha, Trishy, Trisho, but no, I decided to always answer with my full name. At least I was able to pronounce it, something that people who haven’t been in my situation sometimes have difficulty with
• Where am I? – That one was easy, I was in the hospital in Melbourne – Sometimes I remembered to say the name of it but other times the people completing observations were happy with either hospital or Melbourne. I didn’t actually get to see any of Melbourne outside of a window for about three or four days.
• Did I know what day it was and the date? This depended on the time, which I was able to make out sometimes as there was a wall clock directly across from my bed which displayed both the date and time. Albeit both were a bit blurry because I wasn’t wearing my glasses at this stage, but hey, at least I was able to make it out, so, silver lining I suppose.
Once they confirmed that my brain was working the way that they expected it to, given the fact that I had just come through surgery less than twenty-four hours before, they then turned their attention to the physical stuff. I was asked to push and pull against outstretched fingers and hands with my own hands and legs. I also had bright penlights shone into my eyes and asked to follow wherever they were pointed (which I admit did kind of hurt because I was still having trouble with the whole lighting thing as it was). I got a little worried when it was clear that my responses weren’t what they were hoping. They were clearly concerned that there was weakness on my right side, that there might be some ongoing issues as a result of the SAH, especially in my arms. They went on to explain what my recovery might look like, the ‘map’. He started with, what to me, was the thing I’d struggle with the most – if there wasn’t any improvement over the next couple of days, I’d require constant support in the home.
Now, I’m a solitary person. I like my own space, and more than that, I actually need it. If I’m around people for too long, I begin to crave it and will seek it out, whether other people like it or not. That being able to escape from what is happening around me is both valuable and a necessity. To be told that I might initially need to have someone around me 24/7 for up to six months, maybe more, was incredibly shocking. When did I become this person? Yeah, I get that I might need it for my cerebrovascular health, but I knew just hearing that, that my mental health was going to suffer. While my sister began to make contingency plans, I went to sleep again, stressing about everything that they had said. Looking at six months for recovery, if a ‘full’ recovery, where I would get back to where I was before all of this happened, was achievable at all.
Monday morphed into Tuesday. My dad and his partner had headed home at some stage on Monday, promising that my father would return at the end of the week, to relieve my sister for the weekend role.
At some stage our mother had arrived in Melbourne with her husband. My mother came to visit with my sister early on, both attempting to catch the doctors on their morning rounds. Despite being woken up every two hours for observations by the nurses and the medical team, I was a little more alert.
The leads connecting mt to monitors would have to remain attached for some time yet. I think when the nurses did eventually disconnect them, it was because I tossed and turned so much that I kept on disconnecting them accidentally.
I remained on IV fluids until Wednesday morning. Each day, I was told to try and drink three litres of water, juice or tea. It was a lot easier when I was on the IV fluids. At some point, my sister or mother had brought me a 300ml bottle of Sprite, which I didn’t drink until I got to Ballarat. I didn’t want anything bubbly until that stage, where all I wanted was that long denied sugar hit. Every time that someone completed observations with me, they’d ask me to drink from a bottle or cup of water to add to that intake. When I took medication, I was encouraged to finish the cup of water instead of simply sipping from it. I didn’t always reach that elusive three litres, but I made a decent effort each day, or it felt like I did.
Being on the IV fluids was like being kept on a lead. If I wanted to go to the bathroom, the nurses would assist me to walk while pushing along that pole. I was more than grateful when I came off of them, more so that I could take potassium in pill form rather than through the IV, because that burned like hell going in, making my hand feel like it was on fire from within. I got to the point where I became used to it, or maybe I just accepted it, knowing that it was a necessary part of the process to getting better.
Every morning I had to undergo the usual process of having blood taken for testing. This happened anywhere from six in the morning till much later, depending on how long it took to actually get blood from me. On a good morning, they could get it straight from my arms. On a bad day, it could take several attempts by both doctors and nurses, inserting needles into veins in my arms, hands and feet. Unfortunately, my veins were constantly collapsing and so it made it quite difficult for me to give up the red stuff. By the time I left Melbourne, I was the epitome of black and blue with bruises covering me that any derby player would be pleased to display. Meanwhile, I just wanted the needles to end.
My hands didn’t work right, especially my right hand, which was now significantly weaker than it had been in the years before. I am right side dominant, so I was a little scared at this new development. It made it difficult for me to handle a fork or knife, or to even get these utensils to my mouth. I didn’t eat a lot because I couldn’t feed myself and I was too fatigued to be worried or concerned about it. I also write a lot by hand, and I was concerned that I didn’t have the strength to use my hands in the same way. My sister picked up some stress balls while out shopping for me, as well as a colouring book and markers. The stress balls ended up bouncing on the floor around the bed, mostly because they wouldn’t stay on the table. In the end, when I wasn’t using them, I put them in the spare paper cups that the catering people had been providing to me to fill with water to get to my three litres. By Thursday, I was able to use a knife and fork to feed myself and I was using the markers to colour in. Getting my hands moving made me feel as if I were actually accomplishing something, that I was progressing.
Initially, the doctors monitoring my condition were concerned about my inability to move around without limping, and that I was babbling occasionally. I was quick to assure them that I have been fluent in babble since I was a kid, I have to constantly remind myself to slow my words down because otherwise no one will be able to understand what I’m saying. That seemed to reassure them. I also made sure to point out that the weakness in my right knee and left ankle were from pre-existing injuries that I’ve gained through either roller derby or life in general, and they just went a bit slower when I hadn’t been moving around a lot.
Enter the Physiotherapist, who started taking me out on supported and supervised walks out of the ward and into different public areas on the floor. On Thursday, I got my first look at outside when she took me to the Physio room, which had a large window to look out onto the city. I hadn’t seen outside since the ambulance brought me in
On Sunday, my sister posted a message, telling everyone what had happened, and needless to say there was a shocked reaction. No one really had any inkling that something like this might happen so when they saw the post, there was definitely a ripple effect. My sister was immediately bombarded with messages, either on the post or via messenger. Soon, everyone I knew online was aware of what had happened and were waiting for the subsequent messages to come through.
She also had the responsibility of letting both of my bosses know that I wouldn’t be in at work for some time. I was lucky enough to get bosses who were supportive and were offering my family support to get through what was possibly going to be a very difficult time ahead.
Of course, at this stage I still had no real idea of what was going on around me in the virtual world because my sister had my phone and even if I had have had my phone at this stage, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything with it because I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open.
Monday, Monday
The first thing that you should know about the first 24 hours post surgery was about my adjusting to temporary life on the ward. That meant that I was on two hourly observations where I had to answer the following questions:
• Who am I? – If I were capable of being a smart-ass at this point I probably would have listed all the names that I am called by – Patricia, Pat, Patty, Tish, Trish, Character Assassin, Character, Assassin, Trisha, Trishy, Trisho, but no, I decided to always answer with my full name. At least I was able to pronounce it, something that people who haven’t been in my situation sometimes have difficulty with
• Where am I? – That one was easy, I was in the hospital in Melbourne – Sometimes I remembered to say the name of it but other times the people completing observations were happy with either hospital or Melbourne. I didn’t actually get to see any of Melbourne outside of a window for about three or four days.
• Did I know what day it was and the date? This depended on the time, which I was able to make out sometimes as there was a wall clock directly across from my bed which displayed both the date and time. Albeit both were a bit blurry because I wasn’t wearing my glasses at this stage, but hey, at least I was able to make it out, so, silver lining I suppose.
Once they confirmed that my brain was working the way that they expected it to, given the fact that I had just come through surgery less than twenty-four hours before, they then turned their attention to the physical stuff. I was asked to push and pull against outstretched fingers and hands with my own hands and legs. I also had bright penlights shone into my eyes and asked to follow wherever they were pointed (which I admit did kind of hurt because I was still having trouble with the whole lighting thing as it was). I got a little worried when it was clear that my responses weren’t what they were hoping. They were clearly concerned that there was weakness on my right side, that there might be some ongoing issues as a result of the SAH, especially in my arms. They went on to explain what my recovery might look like, the ‘map’. He started with, what to me, was the thing I’d struggle with the most – if there wasn’t any improvement over the next couple of days, I’d require constant support in the home.
Now, I’m a solitary person. I like my own space, and more than that, I actually need it. If I’m around people for too long, I begin to crave it and will seek it out, whether other people like it or not. That being able to escape from what is happening around me is both valuable and a necessity. To be told that I might initially need to have someone around me 24/7 for up to six months, maybe more, was incredibly shocking. When did I become this person? Yeah, I get that I might need it for my cerebrovascular health, but I knew just hearing that, that my mental health was going to suffer. While my sister began to make contingency plans, I went to sleep again, stressing about everything that they had said. Looking at six months for recovery, if a ‘full’ recovery, where I would get back to where I was before all of this happened, was achievable at all.
Monday morphed into Tuesday. My dad and his partner had headed home at some stage on Monday, promising that my father would return at the end of the week, to relieve my sister for the weekend role.
At some stage our mother had arrived in Melbourne with her husband. My mother came to visit with my sister early on, both attempting to catch the doctors on their morning rounds. Despite being woken up every two hours for observations by the nurses and the medical team, I was a little more alert.
The leads connecting mt to monitors would have to remain attached for some time yet. I think when the nurses did eventually disconnect them, it was because I tossed and turned so much that I kept on disconnecting them accidentally.
I remained on IV fluids until Wednesday morning. Each day, I was told to try and drink three litres of water, juice or tea. It was a lot easier when I was on the IV fluids. At some point, my sister or mother had brought me a 300ml bottle of Sprite, which I didn’t drink until I got to Ballarat. I didn’t want anything bubbly until that stage, where all I wanted was that long denied sugar hit. Every time that someone completed observations with me, they’d ask me to drink from a bottle or cup of water to add to that intake. When I took medication, I was encouraged to finish the cup of water instead of simply sipping from it. I didn’t always reach that elusive three litres, but I made a decent effort each day, or it felt like I did.
Being on the IV fluids was like being kept on a lead. If I wanted to go to the bathroom, the nurses would assist me to walk while pushing along that pole. I was more than grateful when I came off of them, more so that I could take potassium in pill form rather than through the IV, because that burned like hell going in, making my hand feel like it was on fire from within. I got to the point where I became used to it, or maybe I just accepted it, knowing that it was a necessary part of the process to getting better.
Every morning I had to undergo the usual process of having blood taken for testing. This happened anywhere from six in the morning till much later, depending on how long it took to actually get blood from me. On a good morning, they could get it straight from my arms. On a bad day, it could take several attempts by both doctors and nurses, inserting needles into veins in my arms, hands and feet. Unfortunately, my veins were constantly collapsing and so it made it quite difficult for me to give up the red stuff. By the time I left Melbourne, I was the epitome of black and blue with bruises covering me that any derby player would be pleased to display. Meanwhile, I just wanted the needles to end.
My hands didn’t work right, especially my right hand, which was now significantly weaker than it had been in the years before. I am right side dominant, so I was a little scared at this new development. It made it difficult for me to handle a fork or knife, or to even get these utensils to my mouth. I didn’t eat a lot because I couldn’t feed myself and I was too fatigued to be worried or concerned about it. I also write a lot by hand, and I was concerned that I didn’t have the strength to use my hands in the same way. My sister picked up some stress balls while out shopping for me, as well as a colouring book and markers. The stress balls ended up bouncing on the floor around the bed, mostly because they wouldn’t stay on the table. In the end, when I wasn’t using them, I put them in the spare paper cups that the catering people had been providing to me to fill with water to get to my three litres. By Thursday, I was able to use a knife and fork to feed myself and I was using the markers to colour in. Getting my hands moving made me feel as if I were actually accomplishing something, that I was progressing.
Initially, the doctors monitoring my condition were concerned about my inability to move around without limping, and that I was babbling occasionally. I was quick to assure them that I have been fluent in babble since I was a kid, I have to constantly remind myself to slow my words down because otherwise no one will be able to understand what I’m saying. That seemed to reassure them. I also made sure to point out that the weakness in my right knee and left ankle were from pre-existing injuries that I’ve gained through either roller derby or life in general, and they just went a bit slower when I hadn’t been moving around a lot.
Enter the Physiotherapist, who started taking me out on supported and supervised walks out of the ward and into different public areas on the floor. On Thursday, I got my first look at outside when she took me to the Physio room, which had a large window to look out onto the city. I hadn’t seen outside since the ambulance brought me in