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Ed story time - well, miscellaneous ramblings might be more like it, but here goes:
First off, let me be really clear here - as I've gone through all manner of medical experiences (current scorecard:
6 times for cancer, 3 other times flatlined and being revived, missing some organs and lots of cool scars....) it's really
never occurred to me to feel sorry for myself.
Let me explain..
For someone like me, it's more like two distinct things within me have emerged, time and again, as my life was threatened
by physical issues:
a) fascination with all the machinations and processes that are involved, both within the medical profession and within
my own mangy carcass
b) some sort of gutteral, dogged refusal to quit, give up the ghost, stay down
I say these things not to brag - hell, I know I ain't nobody - but instead to state that I didn't have a clue any of that was
even in me before all hell broke loose.
I guess nobody does until they're put in such situations really.
Point is, you'd think that maybe a smart person would at least consider their own mortality after so many times...
Well, there's smart... and then there's me, I guess.
Ok, all that groundwork laid down, I'll get to the gist of this story:
I've been put under anesthesia some...ok, a LOT... of times now as a result of all the medical trainwrecking.
Each time, it's been a distinctly different experience, oddly enough - you'd think they had that process down to a science,
but not in my experience anyways.
Before the first REALLY big cancer surgery (first time I croaked on the slab; marathon 8 hour surgery session for a grapefruit
sized tumor on my kidney), previously I'd been put under for this test or that colonoscopy - you know, the usual aging human
testing sort of crap. No dramas, nothing unpleasant from any of those early times...
But for that life-saving surgery, performed via robotic means by the surgeon who invented the process (apparently it was the
only shot I had at surviving, so I got the best in the biz!) they literally had to re-do the anesthesia twice during the surgery.
Some folks take more of the stuff than others - and something inside me fought being under mightily, come to find out.
Once I woke up after the surgery that night, all my mind could think of was get up - which I then did, despite nurses coming
in a hurry to settle me back down because of the dozens of stitches and kidney removal and all that...
Once the surgeon came in and told me how it had gone (and showed me pics, no less), I then proceeded to defy orders and
got up, doubled over, and walked....and walked...and drove the poor nurses nuts for the next few days.
Point here is - the anesthesia had to be used repeatedly to allow the doc to do his miracle work and once I was up afterwards,
I was UP for literally days....and I used to be a heavy sleeper before.
A few years later, cancer comes a callin' again (this time thyroid, which is now gone). Again, after days of prayer and such
beforehand, I turned to my wife on the way to the hospital and told her it was going to be fine - I just knew it was, thanks
to a prayer answered - and once there, they did the usual anesthesia.
Of course, just like the last big operation, I apparently woke up in the middle of it again and they had to knock me out again
during the procedure.... mule-headed, I reckon.
When I woke up from that one though, it hurt like hell. As in all over my body....and it took everything I had to not ask
for something for the pain (I have always steadfastly refused any sort of prescription painkillers - I'm scared to death of them).
Once again, once I could stand it, I was up and putting my clothes on for a walk a couple hours later...
Which did the usual freaking out of the nursing staff and such, of course. They even called my wife, hoping she'd talk me
into getting back into bed.
Instead, she told them there wasn't much they could do - that I tend to do this whole walking bit right after surgeries - and
just to keep an eye on me.
I wound up not sleeping for two days straight after that one...but the worst of my recoveries from surgery was yet to come.
The most recent surgery, this time for what I call "gut cancer" was just a couple years ago.
Routine stuff at this point - except the anesthesiologist got a little too happy with the juice this time.
As they had my medical records, they saw my spotty history of resisting the night-night juice and decided to really let me have
it this time - which the overly-friendly anesthesiologist happily did - but wouldn't you know, I tried to wake up during that
surgery, too.
Well, of course I did. Can't nothing be easy, right?
The recovery room scene afterwards was equal parts embarassing and to be honest, downright dangerous....
My first foggy memory of it was that of being held down by multiple (I found out later it was 7) nurses and orderlies because
apparently I was having a bad reaction to the whole thing.
I can vaguely recall bellowing at them to GET THE HELL OFF ME and the poor little blonde nurse that had ahold of my left arm
(I'm left-handed) wound up taking a bit of a flight as I tossed her across the next gurney over.
I was having a real hard time coming out of it, to say the least...caveman Ed came out first, regrettably.
As I slowly started to gain more of my human cognitive functions, I made a deal with them that they could hold me by my legs
if they'd just let me sit the hell up - that deal was readily accepted by all and I spent the next few minutes apologizing profusely
to everyone.
My wife was summoned and she had my sinus meds that allowed me to breathe and I eventually calmed down.
One of the nurses told me later with a grin that this had been the first time it had taken all 7 of them in recovery to hold someone
down - but not to feel so bad about it, because it "happens more often than you'd think."
Still...the anesthesia scene wound up being far worse than the surgery itself in that case.
Even more strangely....I've not slept more than 2-3 hours in a stint since then, to this day.
Researching things later on, I've read that others who've had occasion to be put under anesthesia multiple times have had similar
experiences - and further, that some in the medical field believe there's a finite number of times we should be put under in total.
There's a perceived cumulative effect apparently.
If that's the case, I'm the damn poster child for that theory....
My wife used to wonder if I didn't sleep much after all the surgeries because I was afraid - but she's since come to the conclusion
that it's more the effects of all the knockout drugs over time + the mule-headed guy she married.
Guilty as charged...
But I'd kill for a good nights' sleep, too.
First off, let me be really clear here - as I've gone through all manner of medical experiences (current scorecard:
6 times for cancer, 3 other times flatlined and being revived, missing some organs and lots of cool scars....) it's really
never occurred to me to feel sorry for myself.
Let me explain..
For someone like me, it's more like two distinct things within me have emerged, time and again, as my life was threatened
by physical issues:
a) fascination with all the machinations and processes that are involved, both within the medical profession and within
my own mangy carcass
b) some sort of gutteral, dogged refusal to quit, give up the ghost, stay down
I say these things not to brag - hell, I know I ain't nobody - but instead to state that I didn't have a clue any of that was
even in me before all hell broke loose.
I guess nobody does until they're put in such situations really.
Point is, you'd think that maybe a smart person would at least consider their own mortality after so many times...
Well, there's smart... and then there's me, I guess.
Ok, all that groundwork laid down, I'll get to the gist of this story:
I've been put under anesthesia some...ok, a LOT... of times now as a result of all the medical trainwrecking.
Each time, it's been a distinctly different experience, oddly enough - you'd think they had that process down to a science,
but not in my experience anyways.
Before the first REALLY big cancer surgery (first time I croaked on the slab; marathon 8 hour surgery session for a grapefruit
sized tumor on my kidney), previously I'd been put under for this test or that colonoscopy - you know, the usual aging human
testing sort of crap. No dramas, nothing unpleasant from any of those early times...
But for that life-saving surgery, performed via robotic means by the surgeon who invented the process (apparently it was the
only shot I had at surviving, so I got the best in the biz!) they literally had to re-do the anesthesia twice during the surgery.
Some folks take more of the stuff than others - and something inside me fought being under mightily, come to find out.
Once I woke up after the surgery that night, all my mind could think of was get up - which I then did, despite nurses coming
in a hurry to settle me back down because of the dozens of stitches and kidney removal and all that...
Once the surgeon came in and told me how it had gone (and showed me pics, no less), I then proceeded to defy orders and
got up, doubled over, and walked....and walked...and drove the poor nurses nuts for the next few days.
Point here is - the anesthesia had to be used repeatedly to allow the doc to do his miracle work and once I was up afterwards,
I was UP for literally days....and I used to be a heavy sleeper before.
A few years later, cancer comes a callin' again (this time thyroid, which is now gone). Again, after days of prayer and such
beforehand, I turned to my wife on the way to the hospital and told her it was going to be fine - I just knew it was, thanks
to a prayer answered - and once there, they did the usual anesthesia.
Of course, just like the last big operation, I apparently woke up in the middle of it again and they had to knock me out again
during the procedure.... mule-headed, I reckon.
When I woke up from that one though, it hurt like hell. As in all over my body....and it took everything I had to not ask
for something for the pain (I have always steadfastly refused any sort of prescription painkillers - I'm scared to death of them).
Once again, once I could stand it, I was up and putting my clothes on for a walk a couple hours later...
Which did the usual freaking out of the nursing staff and such, of course. They even called my wife, hoping she'd talk me
into getting back into bed.
Instead, she told them there wasn't much they could do - that I tend to do this whole walking bit right after surgeries - and
just to keep an eye on me.
I wound up not sleeping for two days straight after that one...but the worst of my recoveries from surgery was yet to come.
The most recent surgery, this time for what I call "gut cancer" was just a couple years ago.
Routine stuff at this point - except the anesthesiologist got a little too happy with the juice this time.
As they had my medical records, they saw my spotty history of resisting the night-night juice and decided to really let me have
it this time - which the overly-friendly anesthesiologist happily did - but wouldn't you know, I tried to wake up during that
surgery, too.
Well, of course I did. Can't nothing be easy, right?
The recovery room scene afterwards was equal parts embarassing and to be honest, downright dangerous....
My first foggy memory of it was that of being held down by multiple (I found out later it was 7) nurses and orderlies because
apparently I was having a bad reaction to the whole thing.
I can vaguely recall bellowing at them to GET THE HELL OFF ME and the poor little blonde nurse that had ahold of my left arm
(I'm left-handed) wound up taking a bit of a flight as I tossed her across the next gurney over.
I was having a real hard time coming out of it, to say the least...caveman Ed came out first, regrettably.
As I slowly started to gain more of my human cognitive functions, I made a deal with them that they could hold me by my legs
if they'd just let me sit the hell up - that deal was readily accepted by all and I spent the next few minutes apologizing profusely
to everyone.
My wife was summoned and she had my sinus meds that allowed me to breathe and I eventually calmed down.
One of the nurses told me later with a grin that this had been the first time it had taken all 7 of them in recovery to hold someone
down - but not to feel so bad about it, because it "happens more often than you'd think."
Still...the anesthesia scene wound up being far worse than the surgery itself in that case.
Even more strangely....I've not slept more than 2-3 hours in a stint since then, to this day.
Researching things later on, I've read that others who've had occasion to be put under anesthesia multiple times have had similar
experiences - and further, that some in the medical field believe there's a finite number of times we should be put under in total.
There's a perceived cumulative effect apparently.
If that's the case, I'm the damn poster child for that theory....
My wife used to wonder if I didn't sleep much after all the surgeries because I was afraid - but she's since come to the conclusion
that it's more the effects of all the knockout drugs over time + the mule-headed guy she married.
Guilty as charged...
But I'd kill for a good nights' sleep, too.
