Why Pancreatitis SUCKS!

Diagnosis: Sphincter of Oddi dysfunction type II, which means I have all the "classic"symptoms (severe recurrent pain, nausea, and vomiting), they've eliminated more obvious diagnoses, ie cancer, hepatitis, etc, and I've had at least two cases of elevated liver functions.

Solution: A procedure called an ERCP. I don't want to explain, so here's a link.

So, basically they go in and cut the sphincter that is causing the problem, and double check to make sure there are no stones in the bile duct. I had that done Friday morning.

The Upshot - This ERCP might be the solution to all of my problems.

The Downside - A small possibility that I might develop pancreatitis and end up spending a couple of days in the hospital.

Just my luck...

I went in, had the procedure done, they got my pain under control and sent me home. I'm home for a couple of hours feeling fine, then some pain starts creeping in. So, I do what any sensible person would do and take some pain and nausea meds with some water - first and only thing I've had to "eat" since Thursday night.

A couple minutes later, I'm getting pretty uncomfortable, so I decide to hop in a warm bath to see if that makes the pain manageable until the medicine kicks in.

15 minutes since the first little nudge of pain, I'm curled up in a ball on my bathroom floor contemplating the death I feel is immanent. I crawl to my phone, speed dial my husband who let's it ring just enough to let me think my final words to him are going to be immortalized in a voicemail message, but he picks up and I scream at him to come home now because I'm dying and he needs to take me to the hospital!!

Longest car ride of my life, followed by a wait of what felt like hours. I think (and I'm not exaggerating) there were 8 kids under the age of 10 in that waiting room, and their various parents were letting them run hog wild and SCREAMING! I told Eric to take me home because I wanted to die somewhere QUIET!

Luckily, they took me back then. My doctor came in, I don't remember his name but he looked like he was fresh out of Jr High. Regardless, he was a very nice, competent doctor. They drew labs, and eventually after I had been writhing for almost two hours, they gave me pain meds and fluids.

Then, my nice doctor walked back in and said, "Your pancreas is very angry!" He informed me that a normal amylase is in the 200 range. Mine was in the 1600 range. So, yeah, angry pancreas!

They can't give me medicine to treat it. The solution is to be admitted to the hospital for a couple of days, nothing to eat or drink, massive amounts of IV fluids, and control my pain and nausea until my pancreas calms down.

I'm just thinking of my pancreas as a teenage girl, and we pissed her of by messing around in her "room" and now she is pitching a "BF" and she is grounded with no "friends" (food) or "TV" (water) until she can calm down and learn her lesson. That turned it to be a fantastic analogy.

Anyway, that is why pancreatitis SUCKS!!

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

Today is Pregnany and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I don't suppose I can let the day pass without commenting on my experience with pregnancy loss.

I've always pictured myself having kids, although I was never the girl who loved children and loved to babysit. In fact, for the most part other people's children drive me crazy. My nightmare job would be running a preschool or being a Jr. High School counsellor (which, I maintain, is THE WORST job in the world. Seriously, those people should get hazard pay!) I maintain profound respect for people who work in those positions because somebody has to do it and it ain't gonna be me!!

Regardless, I have always felt that my life would be incomplete without children of my own. Finding my soul mate just brought those feelings closer to the surface. I not only want to have children, I want to have HIS children. And then, I found out I was pregnant.

My whole outlook on life changed in an instant. All of a sudden, I had life inside of me. I was looking at milestones that would be different from now on. We would have a baby for Thanksgiving, for Christmas. We would be celebrating our one year anniversary with me being "great with child" and just a few weeks from meeting our son or daughter. My parents would be grandparents, my grandparents would be great grandparents, and my great grandparents would be great-great grandparents. I could finally have the five generation photo that I had always dreamed of having, to display next to the four generation photo that was taken when I was a small child. I was going to be a mom, Eric was going to be a dad. I thought about the baby names we had picked out, I thought about decorating a nursery, I thought about who I was going to see for the prenatal care, diapers, and car seats, and just everything that welcoming a new little life into the world would bring us.

And then, as soon as it began it ended. There would not be a little one joining us this Thanksgiving or Christmas. My five generation photo would have to be put on hold, and I had to deal with the possiblity that it may never happen. Those names we picked would go back to the shelf, unused. There was no longer life inside of me. Even though the flame of motherhood had been lit, there was no baby for us to bring home. Then, to top off the emotional heartache, was the physical pain.

Mere days after discovering our loss, I faced another blow in the unexpected loss of a friend. A young woman who was only a couple of months older than me, struck down in the prime of her life. Then, just weeks later, I found myself holding my scared little sister's hand as she heard her baby's heartbeat for the first time, and a couple of days later found out that she was 24 weeks pregnant with what would be my dearly loved little niece, Ivory. I found myself sitting on the floor of my closet, crying, mourning my loss all over again. The realization that my sister was going to have a happy, healthy, full term baby was bittersweet. I would never, ever wish a loss on anybody. On the other hand, I found myself questioning what was wrong with me that I couldn't have what she had, what billions of women have had, the joy of motherhood. Everytime my parents speak about becoming grandparents, about their grandchild, it sends a sharp sliver of hurt through me. Every time I see another friend discover she is expecting, it hurts my soul. Not because I'm not happy for those things, but because it brings into sharp relief what I lost, and what I will not be a part of.

Although my loss has caused me heartache, it has also had it's positives. I've met women who have had similar experiences, and shared their pain. I've grown closer to my husband, closer than I could've imagined. I've had a chance to reevaluate my priorities, and as important and meaningful as my education and career are to me, I have recognized my higher calling, and I will continue to work towards it.

If I can point to one thing that has helped me the most in this situation, it has been being verbal about it. I'm not changing the world, I'm not changing people's lives, but I am discovering that speaking about our trials, sharing our imperfections, our hurt and our struggles makes us stronger. Shared experiences unite us. I am not alone. And, if you, like millions of women, have experienced this loss, you are not alone.

Miracles

I was reading an article on ksl today. It was discussing a little girl in West Jordan, Sierra Newbold, and the capture of the man who raped and brutally murdered her. It was really quite a spectacular piece of police work, with not a small amount of luck, and, as the police chief so elegantly said, "I myself believe it is divine intervention."

To which, of course, people on the message boards responded without fail, "If it was divine intervention, than why didn't God intervene and prevent that stuff from happening to that girl in the first place?" Like the mindless drone of insects, it was repeated practically verbatim in every other post. If there is a God, he would never let bad things happen.

The story, in a nutshell, is this (I posted a link to the full article below, and give full credit to Pat Reavy and ksl.): Three days after Sierra's body was found, a young woman has her Jeep stolen. She reports it to the police, and also tells her boss about it. Later that day, her boss walks into a bank where she discovers her employee's stolen truck in the parking lot and the man who stole it inside robbing the bank. She confronts the man in the parking lot, and is able to capture a picture of him on her phone. West Jordan police respond to the scene. The detective who was investigating the murder of Sierra Newbold catches wind of these developments, and has a feeling that he should go to the scene of the crime. Upon arrest of the suspect for the bank robbery and car theft, the detective notices black soot on the knees of the man's pants. He remembers that the field in which Sierra Newbold's body was found had been burned a few days prior to her murder, and that her pajamas were covered in this same black soot. Going on this hunch, they run DNA and lo and behold, they have a match.

Luck? Divine intervention? Just plain old good police work? I feel that it is a combination of all of the above.

Of course, that is not the point of this blog post. I read this story and think, "Miracle." Miracle that this family could have some closure, miracle that this man is off the streets and will never harm another child again, miracle that all of the pieces fell into place and led to this man's arrest. Others see it and say, "No miracle here. The miracle would've been her not being raped and murdered in the first place."

And, you know, they are right. That is a miracle. Every six year old girl on the earth today who hasn't been kidnapped, raped, and murdered, is a miracle. Every day that passes that this little girl is allowed to continue her life, alive and unhurt, is a miracle. Every young woman who goes on a first date without getting assaulted is a miracle. Every child who is born into this world healthy and whole is a miracle. Every day the sun rises, every night the sun sets, every breath, every touch, every minute, is a miracle. How do I know this? How do I see these miracles? Because, this life isn't a given. It is because horrible things happen to good people, because people make mistakes, because some people are truly cruel and evil, that miracles happen. If no one ever got hurt, or killed, or maimed, if every pregnancy was uncomplicated and resulted in a healthy newborn who would live a full life without ever having to suffer, if everyone was guaranteed a life without pain, or heartache, or loss, without suffering, there would be no miracles.

My heart hurts for this family. It isn't fair what happened to them. I picture the last moments of this little girl's life and it makes me physically sick to my stomach. (Not that I haven't had a moment without being nauseated in the past month, but you know what I mean.) But, here are the consequences of that incident: An innocent little girl is in heaven, and never has to suffer another moment. A mother has lost a daughter. A sister has lost her best friend. A father feels the emptiness of his home. A man was captured, a man who may be responsible for other incidents such as this. These parents, who have lived without their child for years, have hope that they will find an answer, find some closure. A community is mourning. Who knows how many little girls were saved by this man's arrest. Every mother who reads this story holds her child closer. Some people installed home security systems, some people bought guns, or big dogs, to protect their family. Maybe as a result of that, a life is saved.

When you take away the bitter, you take away the sweet. The more the pendulum swings back into pain and despair, the further it can swing forward into happiness and joy. Nobody wants the bad things to happen, but without those negative experinces, there is no joy in life.

So, take a minute today to see the miracles. They are all around you. Enjoy the good moments. Because they won't last. They can't last. And that is what makes them so, so, sweet.

Here's a link to the article if you would like to read it:
http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=21194209

Hospital Part Two

Now officially admitted to the hospital and installed in my room, Eric and I decided that he should go home and sleep. He was extremely reluctant to go, but A) He had to go to work in the morning, B) The only thing he had to sleep on was a rather uncomfortable recliner and C) He couldn't really do anything for me at that point.  So, he gave me a kiss and went home.

I did not sleep well that night. I was getting pain medication regularly, and the nurse would come in to check vitals every couple of hours. At 3 am, they came in to draw liver function tests (LFTs).

Dr. Watts' PA came in that morning to talk to me. He said that since they ruled out a biliary leak, they were looking at a couple of different diagnoses. He ordered a CT scan with contrast and (to rule out constipation) a suppository. Oh boy!

For the CT I had to drink contrast. They gave me six cups with the contrast divided equally among them and they mixed it with cranberry juice. I was supposed to drink one cup every 10 minutes. It was disgusting, but since I was NPO I was grateful for something to drink. Pain meds give you such a dry mouth, and even though I was getting IV fluids pumped into me I was still insanely thirsty. Then, after a dose of Ativan (because I am extremely claustrophobic, I had a panic attack getting a DEXA scan and that is just a bar that goes over your hips and legs, let alone a tube they slide you into), they wheeled me down for the CT. I had to sit a minute because they called me down a little bit to early, so I sort of dozed in my wheelchair and tried not to fall off of it. Then, they got me on the table and ran the contrast into my IV. Holy Hannah! They told me it would make my body warm, they failed to mention it would feel like my entire being was on FIRE! And, I felt like I was peeing my pants. (For the record, I didn't.)

The suppository wasn't incredibly successful, but I didn't think it would be. I have been backed up, but not THAT badly.

The news of the day: My LFTs were still elevated, the CT scan was normal. So, on to another sleepless night at the hospital. Highlight: My amazing father-in-law bought me JK Rowling's new book, which I had to read a page at a time because that's how long it would take for the pain meds to work and put me to sleep for 45 minutes or so.

Friday, Dr. Watts came in to talk to me. He said that my LFTs were still elevated, making interesting fluctuations, but still not normal. He decided that I should have a consult with a GI. So, I waited, and waited, and waited, but the GI never came.

Highlight of Friday: My mom and my sister came by and brought my little niece, and she snuggled with me. They gave me this awesome hot pad that was heated with water that would cycle through it, so it was always the perfect temperature. It felt really nice on my belly. Ivory loved it too, because it kept her nice and toasty while I was holding her. The nurses came in to ooh and aah over her, and we had a nice long chat. It was very relaxing and I was sad to see them go.

Eric came over every night after work, but being at the hospital was really hard on him. He felt really powerless and I could tell it was painful for him to watch me be in pain. He told me that he wasn't sleeping well without me at home, and he always looked so exhausted. One day, he said that he had a really vivid dream that I came home. He could hear me come in the door, say Hi to the dog, and crawl into bed next to him. He rolled over to ask me how I got home and I wasn't there.

Saturday, Dr. Watts came in again. LFTs still elevated. I told him the GI had never come in, and he told me that they never got the hepatitis panel ordered. My mom had done some research on Sphincter of Oddi dysfunction, and it describes my symptoms EXACTLY. Nausea, vomiting, intermitant severe pain, elevated LFTs. No jaundice, no fever, normal CT. Me to a T. I asked him about it, and he ordered an MRCP. He also decided to switch pain medication because I wasn't doing well on the one I was on.

Once again, they doped me up with Ativan before the test. Thank heavens they did! Even with the Ativan, I still was panicking a little in the MRI machine. The tube they put you in is TINY and the test takes like 45 minutes. I was very uncomfortable.

Saturay my mom and Dave came in and visited. Eric came by after work. At this point, I was at the end of my rope. I was physically, mentally, emotionally drained. I started to have a lot of anxiety, and I paged the nurse. An hour later, I still hadn't seen her. That had been going on all day; I would page them because I was in pain or extremely nauseated and dry heaving into my "horse condom" as Eric lovingly calls the blue emesis bags, and it would take them an hour or so to get into my room, by which point I was very uncomfortable. So, crying, hyperventilating, I called the number of the patient advocate and blubbered out that I think they all forgot me and I was so anxious and so upset and I really, really, really needed help!

Next thing I know, I've got three nurses in my room. The charge nurse came in and talked me down. They gave me some extra buspar and got me nice and doped up so I could sleep. Eric was really upset, and understandably so. I just had a meltdown and there was nothing he could do about it.

Sunday morning, they decided to discharge me. The MRCP was normal and my LFTs were, you guessed it, elevated. But, I had gotten to the point where I was off of IV pain meds and onto oral pain meds, so even though they had no answers, I was discharged. I was relieved, I was so ready to just go home.

So, that is where I am at now. I take a big handful of pills so I can function and nothing has changed. The pain is exactly the same, the nausea is exactly the same, and I have no answers. I'm going to try to get a referral to a GI and push for some answers. I'll try to keep everyone updated on this blog.

Once again, thank you for all of your thoughts and prayers! They are very much appreciated!

Hospital Part One

It's 3:30 am and I'm wide awake. The phlebotomist just came in to draw some blood, and now that I'm up I can feel the pain and nausea, again.

As you probably know, I had my gallbladder removed. The surgery was successful and uncomplicated, and for the first week, so was my recovery.

Then, in the wee morning hours of Wednesday, I was awakened with pain. Severe pain. The kind of pain that took your breath away and just hurt like crazy no matter what you did. After a couple of minutes it faded away and I fell back asleep. Maybe 30 minutes later, I was writhing again, only to have it fade away a few minutes later. This went on for a couple of hours.

I decided to get up and see if a hot bath would ease the pain. I also took  some pain medicine. After about 45 minutes in the tub, I found myself leaning over the edge to puke in the toilet.

I teetered into my bedroom to wake my husband just in time for our alarm clocks to go off. After I started vomiting, I decided to call in at work. I was pretty upset considering I just barely started the job and I was already calling in. Since I was supposed to be at work in an hour, I told my boss that I would come in until she could find sometime. So, I put on some deodorant, gagged and threw up in the sink trying to brush my teeth, did what I could with my dang hair, then hauled my sorry behind into work. I was only there for about an hour, but I was pretty miserable.

I called and left a message for my surgeon, took my last two Lortab and some phenergan, and fell asleep. I continued to have episodes of the pain, but the meds took the edge off. I had to get up on occasion to throw up, or more accurately, dry heave since I hadn't had anything to eat or drink.

At about 1:30, Eric called to check up on me. It was perfect timing because my meds had worn out. I still hadn't heard from my surgeon's office, so I decided to go to the clinic and get a shot or an IV. While I was waiting in the lobby (which, for the record, was weird), my surgeon office called me back. They wanted me to have some labs drawn and he wanted to see me.

Ariane and Dr. Walton got me shots - toradol and zofran - and since Eric needed to work and my sister needed to get out of the house, Sylvee and Ivory took me to see the surgeon.

I saw his PA. He and Dr. Watts decided to do another HIDA scan to check for a bile leak. They told me that if the HIDA showed a leak, that I would be admitted. The labs and the HIDA were both normal. I was sent home with pain meds and no answers.

We got home at about 7:00ish. I took two percocets at about 7:30. At about 8:30, the pain hit again. A complete 10. All my other attacks lasted 5 minutes tops. Five minutes passed, no relief. I ran another hot bath. Started dry heaving, which I had been doing all day. I called for Eric. 10 minutes passed. Started to panic. Eric was sitting on the bathroom floor watching me writhe in pain in the tub and dry heaving. 15 minutes. I tried deep breathing, different positions, focusing on other things. Nothing helped. I was praying. I started moaning, Lucius started crying, Eric was visibly upset. After 20 minutes, I told him: we need to go to the hospital. Now.</p>
<p>We arrive at the ER. It took an hour to get a room. The ER doc draws some labs and discusses possibly doing a CT scan. They get an IV in, and give me some dilauded and zofran. Finally, relief!</p>
<p>Wait, my pain isn't going away. And it wasn't going away. Time passes, no relief! So they give me another dose. And I was STILL writhing in pain! The ER doc comes back in and tells me that after consulting with the on call surgeon, they decided to admit me.

I had realized that this was a possibility, and I told Eric that, but I was surprised at how surprised I was. A lot of denial, I guess.

They gave me a third dose of dilauded because I was still in a lot of pain. They wheeled me into my room where the lovely nurse gave me phenergan and toradol and acetaminophen and I finally, finally had relief 4 hours later.

I'm exhausted now, but I will post more in a couple of hours. I appreciate all of the thoughts and prayers. Every time I am feeling depressed and discouraged, I get a little reminder that there are people out there who love me and who are rooting for me to get better. Also, my new employers have been unbelievably understanding and flexible with me, and I really appreciate it!

Example

I'm the oldest child. Of course, one of these days I might get a knock on the door from a half sibling courtesy of my bio dad, in which case I will invite them in and we will have a jaw about "good ole dad" har har. And, this unknown sibling might be older than me. Until that day comes, I am the undisputed oldest child.

As such, here are the responsibilities granted to me: 1) Maintain family repudiation and honor and improve on it whenever and wherever possible. 2) Provide my parents with a "practice" child to screw up on. Do #1 despite the damage inflicted by #2. 3) When my parents get old, I am responsible for removing their keys when they can no longer safely operate motor vehicles. (My mom will probably bite my finger off. For Dave, I will wait until he falls asleep. I'd do the same for my mom, but as far as I can tell she never sleeps.) 4) When my parents are old enough to experience incontinence, I will provide and change briefs for as long as necessary to maintain dignity. Then, when they are completely senile and (hopefully) won't remember, I will be the one picking out the best home can find and make regular visits to said Home to harass the nursing staff into keeping better track of my unusually energetic mother. 5) Planning their funeral, keeping my siblings from having a complete meltdown, reading a beautiful eulogy, and keeping it all together until I get home and I'm alone. 6) Setting an example to my three younger siblings.

For the record, all my siblings are supposed to do is provide grandchildren, which Sylvee has done excellently and will be a tough act to beat. Oh, did I mention I ALSO have to provide grandchildren?!? I almost forgot: since Justin is the youngest he had the added task of being the most loved member if the family, which he does better than any kid I know! (Although, Ivory is giving him a run for his money!)

I've given significantly more thought to the first 5 items on the list than the last one. I don't know that I ever thought I would do anything with my life that would make my siblings feel the urge to follow suit. But, then, my 12 year old sister called me on the phone one day.

She had just taken an aptitude test that said she would do well working in the healthcare profession. Of course, our mom works in healthcare. But then she said, and I could hear her wiggling with excitement on the other end if the phone, "We have a job shadowing day coming up, and I would like to shadow you."

Wow. Me? She wanted to shadow me? Wow! To say I'm flattered is an understatement. I mean, I am proud of my job. I love what I do. I just never thought my younger siblings would be interested in it, or even consider for a moment following in my footsteps. But, there it is.

So, although I will continue to focus on the rest of my list (it unfortunately gets more relevant the older my parents get), I will keep this little nugget of being looked up to close to my heart. I guess being the oldest child has its perks after all!

Surgery Today!

I had to be at the hospital at 6:45 am. I checked in, got my pre surgical labs (all good), and went upstairs to get ready for surgery.

My pre-op nurse was a very nice blonde gal who had just passed her Nurse Practitioner exams and was fascinated and very impressed with my job. It took them a really long time to find a vein, she had to call in another nurse who happened to know my in-laws. The second nurse found one in my left wrist, numbed it up (YEOWCH!), and stuck me. No flash. So, since it wasn't hurting me, she played around for a little while trying to find it and finally decided it want going to go. I usually have very good veins, but I think that I was dehydrated and that makes me hard to poke.

She switched to a vein in my right hand, and got the IV placed. They had me take some very nasty tasting meds, got me shaved (wasn't expecting that, but she didn't find a lot of hair to shave off; I'm very smooth), and got the lovely, crawly compression booties on me. I turned on the TV at this point because I was starting to get really scared and needed the distraction.

My surgeon peeked his head in, said Hi, and was quickly followed by my anesthesiologist and surgical nurse. The anesthesiologist was amazing! Her name is Dr. Bearnson I believe, and she was great. My anesthesiologist for my sinus surgery was this weird guy who kept talking about buried treasure.

When she came in, I started to really freak out. As you may or may not know, a good friend of mine passed away in March after the same surgery. She was also 22. I know that something like that is a freak occurrence, but I was still terrified. So, I started to cry and hyperventilate a bit, and my anesthesiologist said, "Oh, sweetie, it's ok. I'll take care of you!" Then she said, "I have something in my pocket that will make you feel better!" It was versed, and it did the trick! They doped me up, I kissed my mom goodbye, and they wheeled me back to the OR.

Once we were there, I changed beds, got all hooked up to the monitors, and then the anesthesiologist put on an oxygen mask and said, "Pick your dream!" and I was gone.

When I woke up, I was in a LOT of pain! And, it wasn't even my tummy that hurt, it was my chest! I was saying, "My chest hurts, my chest hurts!" And the nurse was scrambling to give me pain medication. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the pain improved and I became more and more alert. They gave me some cold water (delicious!) and asked if I wanted some crackers. My mouth was so dry, I didn't want dry crackers. Then she offered me applesauce. It was cold and wet and it tasted so good; I think I can honestly say it was the best applesauce I've ever had! I swallowed my pain pills, which helped with the pain a TON (who knew?) and I was deemed ready to be returned to my mother.

I've never been so happy to see her! I was just thinking, "I'm alive! I made it! Thank you, God, for tender mercies!" I was given some sprite, cookies, and jello. When I had surgery in February, I had a lot of nausea post-op, and when I told the pre-cert nurse, she told me that they would give me a sea sickness patch behind my ear before surgery. That thing is awesome! I had zero nausea post-op, it was amazing!

I know my family and friends were praying for a speedy recovery, because it wasn't very long at all that I was ready to get up and pee! I was pretty sore in my tummy and chest still, but I was ok walking around. Not very long after that, I decided I was ready to go home. I had no nausea and my pain was very manageable, and I was starting to nod off so I figured I was ready to go home and go to bed!

My mom told me that the surgeon said my gallbladder was scarred and really sludgy, and that my common bile duct is very narrow. My whole life, my gallbladder must have been working extra hard to push bile out and it finally crapped out. It was great to hear that, because my tests weren't very obviously gallbladder and the main reason I had surgery is because I had textbook symptoms. I will admit I was nervous that they would go in there and find a perfectly healthy gallbladder and I would have no answers and no relief. But, it turns out it really did need to be removed, and hopefully I will be feeling much better in the future.

I still have a lot of recovering to do, but I'm doing a lot better today than I thought I would. I've been up and walking around, which they say is the best thing for the chest pain. A big, big thank you for those who were praying for me. I know that those prayers were heard and answered because I am doing so well and the surgery went so well without any complications. (My Grammie must've been praying because she is so good, God always listens to her, lol!) Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you all!!