SSTU: Surgical Specialty and Transplant Unit. It was here on the 5th floor of the University of Utah hospital that I was relocated and settled. They set us up in a room in the far corner of the surgical floor that was pretty isolated from everything else; a fact I was very thankful for. The room was small and had a tiny window, but by the end of our stay it'd been decorated with multiple bouquets of flowers, get well cards, and pictures from the kids. The staff of the SSTU agreed that Olivia could stay with us on the floor as long as I was not the primary care taker. I could not be left alone with her. It was now Tuesday evening and I hadn't seen my newborn in over 24 hours. Joe picked Olivia up at Lone Peak around 5:00 pm, ran home to grab clothes and baby supplies, took her to his parents house to see the kids, and then finally I was able to hold her again around 8:00. One of the first things I did was feed my baby a bottle. It had taken the nurses at Lone Peak about 7 hours to get her to drink from a bottle after I left, but she eventually gave in. It was a very sweet moment to know that she was okay and that she'd been taken care of. Having her back did a lot to bring peace and joy despite my new condition. Olivia quickly became the most popular lady on the floor. Nurses would come in and visit us just to get a peek at the only newborn on the floor. It did my mama heart good to hear and see people adoring my baby. The maternity ward nurses would check in every once and a while. They brought me a wonderful double breast pump, to replace the manual one from ICU, so I'd be able to keep my milk. I had to dump all the milk I pumped down the drain because I was on so many narcotics that it just wasn't safe for me to give it to Olivia; however, it seemed to represent the hope that eventually I'd get through this. There would be a sense of normalcy eventually.
Once I was transferred to the SSTU we were finally able to locate my glasses so I could see! I remember putting on my glasses and feeling like I was in a different body. I'd received multiple blood transfusions (I think we'd counted at least 12) and constant fluids from my IV so my entire body was swollen like a balloon. I didn't recognize my own hands or feet because my fingers and toes looked like breakfast sausages. I also got a good look at my incisions for the first time, and it was pretty startling. A long millipede-like scar ran all the way down my stomach and across my abdomen adorned by 68 metal staples. It was then that I was able to finally start processing what had happened. My family had to explain things to me several times for it to actually be able to sink in.
My parents came to be with me every day, which was a miracle in and of itself. My mom's health has really been a struggle for the last 20 years. She is a woman of such great faith and was determined to be there for me despite her own struggles. She called up her ministering sisters and asked them to pray that she'd be able to be there for me at the hospital; they readily agreed. We were granted yet another miracle by the Lord answering those prayers. She and my dad came to the hospital every single day. They brought food for Joe so that he wouldn't need to leave my side more than was necessary. Everyday they brought something else with them to make me more comfortable: jolly ranchers, gum, lotions, fuzzy socks, dry shampoo, anti-itch powder, books and scriptures to read to me, a loofa, soap, shampoo and conditioner, etc. The first time I was able to shower made me almost feel human again. My mom (whose arms would often be numb with pain) diligently scrubbed and combed through my hair because my own arms were wrapped in plastic to protect my IV sites from the water. She washed my feet and back because I couldn't bend over or twist enough to reach those places on my own body. She helped me change my gown when it was soaked in blood. She rubbed lotion on my swollen feet and aching black-and-blue arms. The physical therapists gave me goals to work toward every day and my dad would help me keep track of my progress, accomplish the goals I hadn't met that day, and draw me goofy pictures (he called them trophies) on the white board in front my hospital bed. Whenever I had to go to the bathroom he'd jump up to get all my equipment ready help get me out of bed. He'd fix bottles for Olivia and help arrange things in the room. He also brought up his laptop and would work either in my room or just down the hall in a break room when he needed some privacy or quiet. Through all of this they both were able to maintain a light attitude and sense of humor. One of my favorite moments was when my mom and I were alone in the room and after some very loud thumping a window washer made an appearance in front of the window. Mom and I laughed about it for a good half hour because he scared us half to death! They made many personal sacrifices to be there at my side and I am so grateful for them.
The nurses continued to monitor my progress in the process of unfreezing all my internal organs. I continued my steady diet of IV fluids while I was constantly questioned about if I'd farted and if I felt like I needed to poop. My parents and Joe were always apologizing for eating in front of me. The funny part was that I didn't mind at all. I hadn't eaten in a couple days, but food was the last thing on my mind. Honestly, I was too preoccupied with the pain to care much about eating. That first day out of the ICU helped me realize how much work recovery was going to take.
The highlight of my day was getting up to use the bathroom, and believe me it was quite the event. The physical therapists had to do a couple different coaching sessions to help me figure out how to do it. I would push my call button to alert the nurses that it was time. One of them would remove the sleeves that massaged my calves by disconnecting the tubes to each leg and turning off the machine. My oxygen tube and pulse oximeter wire needed to be disconnected and reattached to a wheeling tree from which my IV fluids hung (getting out of bed was so taxing that my oxygen levels dropped every time). I would grab the handles on the side of my bed and slowly roll to my side, at which point I was able to let my feet fall to the floor. I would then use my arms and the handles on the bed to push my torso to an upright position. I was now sitting on the edge of the bed. I was usually pretty winded by this point, so the PT advised me to take several deep breaths and then when I was ready, to breathe out while standing up. I would grip a walker, while two people on either side of me pushed on my back to give me enough momentum to get to my feet. Once on my feet, it took every ounce of concentration to will my feet to move. Once I got started it wasn't too bad, but it was usually that first step or two that was excruciating. Both nurses would have a hand on my back, and while one would make sure the walker was stable, the other would wheel my tree. There was a little lip on the entrance to the bathroom where the floor changed from laminate to tile. I had to lift the walker up ever-so-slightly to get over that lip, which always sent another wave of pain through my body. Once in the bathroom I had to turn around (which is was easier said than done given the logistics of the walker, the tree, and all the tubes and wires connected between) and slowly back up to the edge of the toilet. The nurses would then help me pull down underwear and get my gown tied up and out of the way. Then bracing my arms, they would slowly lower me down to the seat. Sitting on the toilet was excruciating; it felt like my insides were going to fall out. I was so tense it would take me 10 or 15 minutes to relax enough to be able to go. The pain was so intense that for the first little while I couldn't even tell if anything was actually coming out. There was a little hat inside the seat used to monitor my output. For a while all I could manage was 150 ml, or about 5 oz. I know this because every time I went it was announced and recorded; I was very consistent! I would sit on that toilet and have to psych myself up for the journey back. A couple times I would just sit there because I didn't want to go back. Eventually I would convince myself that laying in bed beat sitting on the toilet. Then two people would the pull me up from the toilet, pull up my underwear, untie my gown, help me shuffle over to the sink so I could wash my hands, and we'd slowly make our way back to the bed. Going back to my bed was always the faster part of the excursion, probably because I was so excited to be able to lie down again. Once I was lowered on to the side of the bed, someone would pick up my feet and put them back in bed, replace the sleeves, reattach my oxygen and pulse oximeter, and help me get situated with pillows. Usually a brief nap ensued as a part of the bathroom recovery process.
The greater concern, however, seemed to be a problem with my lower incision, now dubbed "the little zipper." It was leaking quite a lot of blood from the left side and a small puncture hole that hadn't been properly stitched up. It was surmised that the puncture was probably where the other hospital had intended to install a drain, but in their haste to get me on the life-flight it had been overlooked. The bleeding became such an issue that I was soaking through layers and layers of thick bandages and pads in a matter of 10 or 15 minutes. Every time I moved in bed or got up to go to the bathroom my gown, bed pads, and sometimes sheets would need to be changed. My skin was raw from the moisture and all the surgical tape they applied in attempts to keep me from bleeding all over the place. Several members of the surgical team were in and out of my room all day on Wednesday looking at the incision, asking if there'd been any change, and discussion the options. Late Wednesday afternoon, one of the surgeons who had worked on me came in and decided she was going to fix the problem right there in the room.
She was a tall woman with no apologies for her matter-of-fact attitude and brutal honesty. Her name was Monica and I really liked her. As she pulled out the staple gun and moved in to repair the bottom incision, I felt quite anxious about how much it was going to hurt. I still had the PCA button at my disposal and a nurse programmed it so that whenever I saw the button light up I knew I could push it again if I needed to. As she moved in, I found myself once again calling out to God. "Please be with me and help me hold still!" I pleaded. Instantly, my mind thought of a young Joseph Smith who asked to be held by his father as a surgeon operated on his infected leg in their home. I marveled at his bravery - he didn't have a PCA button, or anything else to relieve his pain since he'd chosen to refuse alcohol. I felt Joe grab my hand and instantly I was able to relax. This surgeon went to great lengths to keep the mood light. I tried to focus on her words as she stapled away at my abdomen, but occasionally I would just close my eyes, take some deep breaths and try to block everything else out. I remember the flood of relief that came when I heard her say, "Well, let's see if that will hold it." I was a little skeptical, but decided to trust that she knew what she was doing.
Thursday morning the physical therapist stopped by to take me for a walk, and by walk I mean probably 15 paces or so outside of my hospital room. These walks would take me anywhere from 10-20 minutes. They motivated me to try by telling me I'd been cleared to try some clear liquids and would bring me some when I got back (broth, jello, italian ice, etc. - all of which sound heavenly when you've gone over 72 hours without food). Before I was able to get back to the room, however, a surgeon literally stopped me in the hallway and told me I was once again NPO to prep for surgery (no food or liquids). Unfortunately, the torturous ten minutes of staple gun insanity did little to stop or even slow the bleeding, so surgery number three was categorized as "exploratory" to figure out the source of the bleeding and then seal the incision. While we were waiting to hear when the surgery would take place my brother Spencer, sister Erinn, brother-in-law Clark, and one of my best friends Armanda Summers came to visit. Erinn is in the nursing program at BYU and was in her nursing outfit at the hospital. A couple times people looked a little frustrated with her for sitting down, or not helping them and each time we'd just chuckle and explain that she is my sister not my nurse. It's an amazing thing to be surrounded by that many people who care about you during a time of trial and uncertainty. They held Olivia, and talked about normal everyday things. It was such a comfort to have them there. Armanda even stayed until I returned from surgery almost an hour and a half later.
Joe walked down with me to surgery this time and was able to be at my side as they walked me through the pre-op procedure. Coming out of surgery number three was painful and exhausting, but they felt confident they'd fixed the issue. That night, after everyone had gone home, sleep felt impossible. Just as I'd drift off I'd be startled awake by pain or bizarre dreams (probably from all the narcotics). Olivia wasn't having such a great night either. Every hour or so she seemed to be struggling to go back to sleep. When I heard Olivia wake up that night for her bottle, I asked Joe if I could feed her for him. He groggily eyed me and I could see the skepticism in his face, but I just said, "Please babe, I really need to hold her." He hastily agreed and helped me arrange pillows all around my body to help support her, since I didn't really have the strength to do so on my own. He laid my beautiful baby next to my right side in the crook of my arm. Joe laid back down on the couch and said, "Wake me up if you need anything." I fed her the bottle, awkwardly burped her the best that I could, and snuggled in to her and smelled her sweet newborn skin. Within minutes both of us were asleep and all three of us slept soundly until morning. I needed that baby just as much as she needed me.
After the best night's sleep that any of us had had in a while, we were greeted with several new surprises on Friday morning. First, I was able to start eating! Well sort of... the clear liquids diet felt like eating. I'll never forget the look on the face of food services guy when he handed me the liquids diet menu and I just kept giggling and saying, "Oh wow, this all sounds so good!" I'm pretty sure he thought I was certifiable. By the dinner time I was cleared to actually eat food. It was a fun progression!
The second surprise was being able to see my kids. It was very bittersweet. We felt that I was finally at a point where it wouldn't be too scary for them to see me, so Joe's sister Rachel brought them up. It was a pretty rough visit. I don't think I've ever felt so helpless in my life. As soon as I saw their beautiful little faces, my mom instincts overwhelmed me. All I wanted to do was hold my babies and know they were okay, but I could barely move on my own. My two oldest girls smiled, talked to me about school, held Olivia, and told me they loved me. My son looked in my eyes, told me he loved me a gently stroked my arm, forehead, and cheeks. My youngest, Alaina, wouldn't even look at me during most of the visit. She wasn't even 2 years-old. It was all I could do not to be flooded with guilt that she felt like I'd abandoned her. I was so grateful she trusted Rach enough to take care of her. After they left, I sobbed. It was all I could do not to despair. My mom gently stroked my hair and told me it would be okay, and Alaina would forgive me. What she needed was for me to get better. I knew she was right.
The third surprise was that they prepped me for the transition to oral pain meds - a huge step in the right direction in order to help us go home. We were hopeful that maybe I'd be able to go home before the weekend.
Our hopes of returning home were a little premature, however, because I was still bleeding from my little zipper. Surgery number three had significantly slowed the bleeding. Instead of soaking through thick pads in 10-15 minutes, I could wear pads for about 2-3 hours before soaking through. What I thought was great progress was pretty frustrating to the surgical team. I was grateful when they determined that this wasn't going to be good enough to send me home. On Saturday morning they transitioned me to oral pain meds. By Saturday night I was back on NPO and first thing Sunday morning I was wheeled down for surgery number four.
Every surgery aroused a little bit of anxiety just because I wasn't ever sure what the outcome would be on the other side. I did, however, have complete trust in my doctors, which helped the quell the anxiety a great deal. Surgery number two had been performed by Dr. Kraiss and his team. Surgery number three was done by Dr. Smith. By surgery number four, Dr. Kraiss decided to be the one to make sure it was done correctly. It was determined that instead of attempting to repair the little zipper, it needed to be redone completely. All the stitches, staples, everything would be removed and they would start over, resew each layer meticulously, seal it up tight, and install a drain to eliminate leaking.
Sunday morning came quickly and no sooner had I woken up than they were wheeling me down for surgery number four. I was grateful I didn't have to spend all day anticipating it and feeling anxious about the outcome. As they wheeled me in to surgery, they were playing music appropriate for the Sabbath in the OR. Instantly I felt my fears subside and I knew that I was in the Lord's hands. As I lay on the operating table, I pondered my relationship with the Savior. I was in awe that I had but to call is His name in my mind and instantly He was at my side. Though my body could barely move, He filled my soul and made it complete. Through him, my Spirit received a strength that I'd never know before. He didn't just make it bearable, He helped me feel and recognize joy and miracles that filled me with gratitude and humility. I was grateful that these were the thoughts I fell asleep with because waking up was the hardest part of the experience so far.
Waking up from surgery number four elevated my pain to a whole new level. The first thing I remember after waking up was an unbearable burning all through my abdomen. Up to this point, I had never really complained about my pain, asked for more meds, or felt like it was more than I could bear. This surgery changed that. As I gradually regained consciousness I remember moaning in pain. I could hear the nurse's voice around me and in a hoarse voice I begged her, "Please, it burns so bad." Her response was simple and unfeeling, "Oh that can happen sometimes," she said. "I've already given you pain meds. That will wear off eventually." It didn't. They wheeled me back to the room and I was still in agony. My nurses came in to check on me and I immediately asked for pain pills. I couldn't take much more. I was allowed one narcotic every four hours. Once I took the pill it took anywhere from 20-30 excruciating minutes for the medicine to kick in. It dulled the pain effectively for about 2 hours and then the burning would gradually return over the course of about 30 minutes leaving one hour where the medicine had already worn off and all I could do was wait. I was constantly checking the clock to see if it was time for me to take another pain pill yet.
Being that it was Sunday, there were a bunch of distractions to help keep me occupied. Olivia's cord fell out on Sunday afternoon. It was both wonderful and bittersweet because our beautiful newborn hadn't even been inside of our home yet. We also had a higher volume of visitors than normal. Sunday is the day to visit and minister to the sick I guess! Our friends the Stephensons, my friend Heather Christensen, and Joe's uncle and his wife and son all came to visit us. This turned out to be both a good thing and a bad thing. It was good, in that it provided a welcome distraction from the pain, but bad in that I wouldn't get up to go to the bathroom while visitors were in the room (because I didn't want them present during my 20 minute process) and masking my pain became more difficult the more my bladder was full and the longer it'd been since I'd had a pain pill. At one point I got pretty privately frustrated with one of the nurses (there were visitors there at the time) because it was an hour past when I was supposed to have my pain pill and she hadn't come in to give me another one. Looking back on it, I realized she probably was trying to be considerate of my time with the visitors and not disturb me while they were there. After all, she couldn't read my mind and had no idea how much pain I was in. After pushing my call button three different times, and then waiting an additional 20 minutes, she finally brought the pain pill, but the previous one had worn off long before.
When all the visitors had left I was a physical and emotional wreck. My pain had reached a threshold that the meds could barely make a dent in. I knew I was in for a long night. Sleep seemed almost ludicrous. I asked Joe to let me snuggle Olivia. Joe was eager to help, but I knew he was exhausted as well. I urged him to sleep. I knew there wasn't much he could do. As I snuggled my sweet baby, trying hard not to writhe in pain, my heart again called out to my Savior. "What can I do?" I asked him. The only solution seemed to be to ask for more narcotics. The ramifications of that filled me with terror. I refused to become addicted to opioids. I sat there in pain for hours, just staring at the clock and wishing that morning would come already. Tears rolled down my face as I begged Heavenly Father for guidance. "I can't do this much longer," I told him. Then, in the darkness I felt a gentle voice enter into my heart. "Ask for help. It is okay. You don't have to do this alone." I was almost surprised. I knew that He was telling me the pain medicine served a specific purpose and that it was all right for me to take it. With this prompting I was able to make up my mind to ask for more help with pain management.
Seemingly moments after I'd made up my mind, a nurse named Nancy came in around 2:00 am to check on me. "Nancy," I told her, "I can't do this any more. I need help with pain management. This isn't working." Her hands flew to her hips. For a brief moment as she leaned forward I thought I was about to get a lecture. Instead, she surprised me and said, "Well it's about time!" I was so confused by her response and it must have showed, so she went on to explain, "I could tell you were in pain, but I can't offer you more pain meds. You have to ask for it. I'll go put in an order for more right now and bring you something until that order goes though." As she opened the door she looked back at me and said, "Don't try and be so brave all the time. After all you went through you've got a lot to recover from and the meds can help you do that." I instantly flooded with relief. Her words helped me reconcile all my feelings and validated the impression I'd received to ask for help. She obviously wasn't worried that I would become a junkie, and that helped me a lot. It was a bit of a process to gauge when I was coming down off the medicine and when to take more, but after about a day and staggering a few different medications we were finally able to get everything under control. It was such a blessing!
Another huge blessing was that surgery number four seemed to do the trick. Everything was sealed up tight and I'd stopped leaking from my incisions entirely. This made movement a lot easier. Though I was still in a lot of pain, I didn't have to worry about losing blood and it really put my mind at ease.
Now that my leaking issues were resolved, the nurses began to weigh me. My body had retained so much fluid from IVs and blood transfusions that I was like a walking water balloon. I topped out at around 199 lbs, almost 25 lbs more than I'd even been pregnant! The fluid around my joins and all through my abdomen made it excruciating to walk. One walk with the physical therapists ended much quicker than usual as my knees started to give out on me as I was walking. The surgeons determined they would give me some lasix to help clear me out a little. The lasix were quick to work and extremely effective. In one day I peed off 25 lbs! This alleviated a lot of the pain associated with the fluid retention.
Finally, on Wednesday morning, ten days after I'd first gone to the hospital to have Olivia, the surgical team told me that I could go home. The thought was a bit daunting given that I couldn't walk without the aid of a walker and someone there, but we were excited to know that they were confident enough about the progress of my recovery to let me finish it at home. Most of my swelling had gone down significantly, but my feet were still swollen enough that I couldn't fit them inside of the shoes I'd brought with me. My sweet Joseph gave me his slippers so I'd have something to wear home on my feet. Going outside for the first time in ten days (other than my midnight life-flight) felt like viewing everything in HD. I was grateful to be alive, grateful I'd been spared, grateful I'd see my children again. There was too much to look forward to to feel frustrated about everything that had already happened.
There were several tender mercies that I was granted through this experience, but I'll only mention a couple. The first was the ability to remember the name of every person that walked in my room. These women and men were my angels. They were saving me and caring for me so I could return to my family. I felt compelled to remember the name of every person who set foot in my room and learn a little bit about them. Whether it was a nurse, a technician, a surgeon, a therapist, a lactation consultant, a meal services rep, the lady that brought the newspaper, or the cleaning crew, I knew every name and face that walked in to my room. Doing this gave me such gratitude for my caregivers, but it also lightened the burden. It didn't allow me to wallow in self-pity when I was getting to know all the different people I came in contact with.
The other tender mercy was concerning my pain. There are times when I know that the Savior bore the burden of my physical pain and mental strife. It was simply alleviated more than should have been possible. He filled my soul and calmed my fears. And then there were the times when I felt and bore everything, both physically and mentally. I was just as aware of the Savior's presence in these moments as well. In fact, these moments probably helped me feel that much closer to Him because I know He knew exactly what I was feeling. He had felt this pain. In these moments, though my pain was not alleviated or taken away, I was given the strength and mental ability to endure, to tell myself that this affliction would only be a small moment. And it was.
I have such a testimony of miracles. I know that there were angels, both seen and unseen, that surrounded me and those I loved, and comforted us in our time of trial. If you were one that prayed for me, thank you! I know that He heard every prayer offered on my behalf and answered them. I know that I should have died, but I also know that wasn't what God wanted. He wanted me to stay. I don't really know why He wanted me to stay, though I'm sure a big part is because of my husband and children, but I also know that I don't need to know why. I just need to keep living. I hope I can make the most of the time I've been given and live each day filled with gratitude and remembrance of His goodness and mercy.
Once I was transferred to the SSTU we were finally able to locate my glasses so I could see! I remember putting on my glasses and feeling like I was in a different body. I'd received multiple blood transfusions (I think we'd counted at least 12) and constant fluids from my IV so my entire body was swollen like a balloon. I didn't recognize my own hands or feet because my fingers and toes looked like breakfast sausages. I also got a good look at my incisions for the first time, and it was pretty startling. A long millipede-like scar ran all the way down my stomach and across my abdomen adorned by 68 metal staples. It was then that I was able to finally start processing what had happened. My family had to explain things to me several times for it to actually be able to sink in.
My parents came to be with me every day, which was a miracle in and of itself. My mom's health has really been a struggle for the last 20 years. She is a woman of such great faith and was determined to be there for me despite her own struggles. She called up her ministering sisters and asked them to pray that she'd be able to be there for me at the hospital; they readily agreed. We were granted yet another miracle by the Lord answering those prayers. She and my dad came to the hospital every single day. They brought food for Joe so that he wouldn't need to leave my side more than was necessary. Everyday they brought something else with them to make me more comfortable: jolly ranchers, gum, lotions, fuzzy socks, dry shampoo, anti-itch powder, books and scriptures to read to me, a loofa, soap, shampoo and conditioner, etc. The first time I was able to shower made me almost feel human again. My mom (whose arms would often be numb with pain) diligently scrubbed and combed through my hair because my own arms were wrapped in plastic to protect my IV sites from the water. She washed my feet and back because I couldn't bend over or twist enough to reach those places on my own body. She helped me change my gown when it was soaked in blood. She rubbed lotion on my swollen feet and aching black-and-blue arms. The physical therapists gave me goals to work toward every day and my dad would help me keep track of my progress, accomplish the goals I hadn't met that day, and draw me goofy pictures (he called them trophies) on the white board in front my hospital bed. Whenever I had to go to the bathroom he'd jump up to get all my equipment ready help get me out of bed. He'd fix bottles for Olivia and help arrange things in the room. He also brought up his laptop and would work either in my room or just down the hall in a break room when he needed some privacy or quiet. Through all of this they both were able to maintain a light attitude and sense of humor. One of my favorite moments was when my mom and I were alone in the room and after some very loud thumping a window washer made an appearance in front of the window. Mom and I laughed about it for a good half hour because he scared us half to death! They made many personal sacrifices to be there at my side and I am so grateful for them.
The nurses continued to monitor my progress in the process of unfreezing all my internal organs. I continued my steady diet of IV fluids while I was constantly questioned about if I'd farted and if I felt like I needed to poop. My parents and Joe were always apologizing for eating in front of me. The funny part was that I didn't mind at all. I hadn't eaten in a couple days, but food was the last thing on my mind. Honestly, I was too preoccupied with the pain to care much about eating. That first day out of the ICU helped me realize how much work recovery was going to take.
The highlight of my day was getting up to use the bathroom, and believe me it was quite the event. The physical therapists had to do a couple different coaching sessions to help me figure out how to do it. I would push my call button to alert the nurses that it was time. One of them would remove the sleeves that massaged my calves by disconnecting the tubes to each leg and turning off the machine. My oxygen tube and pulse oximeter wire needed to be disconnected and reattached to a wheeling tree from which my IV fluids hung (getting out of bed was so taxing that my oxygen levels dropped every time). I would grab the handles on the side of my bed and slowly roll to my side, at which point I was able to let my feet fall to the floor. I would then use my arms and the handles on the bed to push my torso to an upright position. I was now sitting on the edge of the bed. I was usually pretty winded by this point, so the PT advised me to take several deep breaths and then when I was ready, to breathe out while standing up. I would grip a walker, while two people on either side of me pushed on my back to give me enough momentum to get to my feet. Once on my feet, it took every ounce of concentration to will my feet to move. Once I got started it wasn't too bad, but it was usually that first step or two that was excruciating. Both nurses would have a hand on my back, and while one would make sure the walker was stable, the other would wheel my tree. There was a little lip on the entrance to the bathroom where the floor changed from laminate to tile. I had to lift the walker up ever-so-slightly to get over that lip, which always sent another wave of pain through my body. Once in the bathroom I had to turn around (which is was easier said than done given the logistics of the walker, the tree, and all the tubes and wires connected between) and slowly back up to the edge of the toilet. The nurses would then help me pull down underwear and get my gown tied up and out of the way. Then bracing my arms, they would slowly lower me down to the seat. Sitting on the toilet was excruciating; it felt like my insides were going to fall out. I was so tense it would take me 10 or 15 minutes to relax enough to be able to go. The pain was so intense that for the first little while I couldn't even tell if anything was actually coming out. There was a little hat inside the seat used to monitor my output. For a while all I could manage was 150 ml, or about 5 oz. I know this because every time I went it was announced and recorded; I was very consistent! I would sit on that toilet and have to psych myself up for the journey back. A couple times I would just sit there because I didn't want to go back. Eventually I would convince myself that laying in bed beat sitting on the toilet. Then two people would the pull me up from the toilet, pull up my underwear, untie my gown, help me shuffle over to the sink so I could wash my hands, and we'd slowly make our way back to the bed. Going back to my bed was always the faster part of the excursion, probably because I was so excited to be able to lie down again. Once I was lowered on to the side of the bed, someone would pick up my feet and put them back in bed, replace the sleeves, reattach my oxygen and pulse oximeter, and help me get situated with pillows. Usually a brief nap ensued as a part of the bathroom recovery process.
The greater concern, however, seemed to be a problem with my lower incision, now dubbed "the little zipper." It was leaking quite a lot of blood from the left side and a small puncture hole that hadn't been properly stitched up. It was surmised that the puncture was probably where the other hospital had intended to install a drain, but in their haste to get me on the life-flight it had been overlooked. The bleeding became such an issue that I was soaking through layers and layers of thick bandages and pads in a matter of 10 or 15 minutes. Every time I moved in bed or got up to go to the bathroom my gown, bed pads, and sometimes sheets would need to be changed. My skin was raw from the moisture and all the surgical tape they applied in attempts to keep me from bleeding all over the place. Several members of the surgical team were in and out of my room all day on Wednesday looking at the incision, asking if there'd been any change, and discussion the options. Late Wednesday afternoon, one of the surgeons who had worked on me came in and decided she was going to fix the problem right there in the room.
She was a tall woman with no apologies for her matter-of-fact attitude and brutal honesty. Her name was Monica and I really liked her. As she pulled out the staple gun and moved in to repair the bottom incision, I felt quite anxious about how much it was going to hurt. I still had the PCA button at my disposal and a nurse programmed it so that whenever I saw the button light up I knew I could push it again if I needed to. As she moved in, I found myself once again calling out to God. "Please be with me and help me hold still!" I pleaded. Instantly, my mind thought of a young Joseph Smith who asked to be held by his father as a surgeon operated on his infected leg in their home. I marveled at his bravery - he didn't have a PCA button, or anything else to relieve his pain since he'd chosen to refuse alcohol. I felt Joe grab my hand and instantly I was able to relax. This surgeon went to great lengths to keep the mood light. I tried to focus on her words as she stapled away at my abdomen, but occasionally I would just close my eyes, take some deep breaths and try to block everything else out. I remember the flood of relief that came when I heard her say, "Well, let's see if that will hold it." I was a little skeptical, but decided to trust that she knew what she was doing.
Thursday morning the physical therapist stopped by to take me for a walk, and by walk I mean probably 15 paces or so outside of my hospital room. These walks would take me anywhere from 10-20 minutes. They motivated me to try by telling me I'd been cleared to try some clear liquids and would bring me some when I got back (broth, jello, italian ice, etc. - all of which sound heavenly when you've gone over 72 hours without food). Before I was able to get back to the room, however, a surgeon literally stopped me in the hallway and told me I was once again NPO to prep for surgery (no food or liquids). Unfortunately, the torturous ten minutes of staple gun insanity did little to stop or even slow the bleeding, so surgery number three was categorized as "exploratory" to figure out the source of the bleeding and then seal the incision. While we were waiting to hear when the surgery would take place my brother Spencer, sister Erinn, brother-in-law Clark, and one of my best friends Armanda Summers came to visit. Erinn is in the nursing program at BYU and was in her nursing outfit at the hospital. A couple times people looked a little frustrated with her for sitting down, or not helping them and each time we'd just chuckle and explain that she is my sister not my nurse. It's an amazing thing to be surrounded by that many people who care about you during a time of trial and uncertainty. They held Olivia, and talked about normal everyday things. It was such a comfort to have them there. Armanda even stayed until I returned from surgery almost an hour and a half later.
Joe walked down with me to surgery this time and was able to be at my side as they walked me through the pre-op procedure. Coming out of surgery number three was painful and exhausting, but they felt confident they'd fixed the issue. That night, after everyone had gone home, sleep felt impossible. Just as I'd drift off I'd be startled awake by pain or bizarre dreams (probably from all the narcotics). Olivia wasn't having such a great night either. Every hour or so she seemed to be struggling to go back to sleep. When I heard Olivia wake up that night for her bottle, I asked Joe if I could feed her for him. He groggily eyed me and I could see the skepticism in his face, but I just said, "Please babe, I really need to hold her." He hastily agreed and helped me arrange pillows all around my body to help support her, since I didn't really have the strength to do so on my own. He laid my beautiful baby next to my right side in the crook of my arm. Joe laid back down on the couch and said, "Wake me up if you need anything." I fed her the bottle, awkwardly burped her the best that I could, and snuggled in to her and smelled her sweet newborn skin. Within minutes both of us were asleep and all three of us slept soundly until morning. I needed that baby just as much as she needed me.
After the best night's sleep that any of us had had in a while, we were greeted with several new surprises on Friday morning. First, I was able to start eating! Well sort of... the clear liquids diet felt like eating. I'll never forget the look on the face of food services guy when he handed me the liquids diet menu and I just kept giggling and saying, "Oh wow, this all sounds so good!" I'm pretty sure he thought I was certifiable. By the dinner time I was cleared to actually eat food. It was a fun progression!
The second surprise was being able to see my kids. It was very bittersweet. We felt that I was finally at a point where it wouldn't be too scary for them to see me, so Joe's sister Rachel brought them up. It was a pretty rough visit. I don't think I've ever felt so helpless in my life. As soon as I saw their beautiful little faces, my mom instincts overwhelmed me. All I wanted to do was hold my babies and know they were okay, but I could barely move on my own. My two oldest girls smiled, talked to me about school, held Olivia, and told me they loved me. My son looked in my eyes, told me he loved me a gently stroked my arm, forehead, and cheeks. My youngest, Alaina, wouldn't even look at me during most of the visit. She wasn't even 2 years-old. It was all I could do not to be flooded with guilt that she felt like I'd abandoned her. I was so grateful she trusted Rach enough to take care of her. After they left, I sobbed. It was all I could do not to despair. My mom gently stroked my hair and told me it would be okay, and Alaina would forgive me. What she needed was for me to get better. I knew she was right.
The third surprise was that they prepped me for the transition to oral pain meds - a huge step in the right direction in order to help us go home. We were hopeful that maybe I'd be able to go home before the weekend.
Our hopes of returning home were a little premature, however, because I was still bleeding from my little zipper. Surgery number three had significantly slowed the bleeding. Instead of soaking through thick pads in 10-15 minutes, I could wear pads for about 2-3 hours before soaking through. What I thought was great progress was pretty frustrating to the surgical team. I was grateful when they determined that this wasn't going to be good enough to send me home. On Saturday morning they transitioned me to oral pain meds. By Saturday night I was back on NPO and first thing Sunday morning I was wheeled down for surgery number four.
Every surgery aroused a little bit of anxiety just because I wasn't ever sure what the outcome would be on the other side. I did, however, have complete trust in my doctors, which helped the quell the anxiety a great deal. Surgery number two had been performed by Dr. Kraiss and his team. Surgery number three was done by Dr. Smith. By surgery number four, Dr. Kraiss decided to be the one to make sure it was done correctly. It was determined that instead of attempting to repair the little zipper, it needed to be redone completely. All the stitches, staples, everything would be removed and they would start over, resew each layer meticulously, seal it up tight, and install a drain to eliminate leaking.
Sunday morning came quickly and no sooner had I woken up than they were wheeling me down for surgery number four. I was grateful I didn't have to spend all day anticipating it and feeling anxious about the outcome. As they wheeled me in to surgery, they were playing music appropriate for the Sabbath in the OR. Instantly I felt my fears subside and I knew that I was in the Lord's hands. As I lay on the operating table, I pondered my relationship with the Savior. I was in awe that I had but to call is His name in my mind and instantly He was at my side. Though my body could barely move, He filled my soul and made it complete. Through him, my Spirit received a strength that I'd never know before. He didn't just make it bearable, He helped me feel and recognize joy and miracles that filled me with gratitude and humility. I was grateful that these were the thoughts I fell asleep with because waking up was the hardest part of the experience so far.
Waking up from surgery number four elevated my pain to a whole new level. The first thing I remember after waking up was an unbearable burning all through my abdomen. Up to this point, I had never really complained about my pain, asked for more meds, or felt like it was more than I could bear. This surgery changed that. As I gradually regained consciousness I remember moaning in pain. I could hear the nurse's voice around me and in a hoarse voice I begged her, "Please, it burns so bad." Her response was simple and unfeeling, "Oh that can happen sometimes," she said. "I've already given you pain meds. That will wear off eventually." It didn't. They wheeled me back to the room and I was still in agony. My nurses came in to check on me and I immediately asked for pain pills. I couldn't take much more. I was allowed one narcotic every four hours. Once I took the pill it took anywhere from 20-30 excruciating minutes for the medicine to kick in. It dulled the pain effectively for about 2 hours and then the burning would gradually return over the course of about 30 minutes leaving one hour where the medicine had already worn off and all I could do was wait. I was constantly checking the clock to see if it was time for me to take another pain pill yet.
Being that it was Sunday, there were a bunch of distractions to help keep me occupied. Olivia's cord fell out on Sunday afternoon. It was both wonderful and bittersweet because our beautiful newborn hadn't even been inside of our home yet. We also had a higher volume of visitors than normal. Sunday is the day to visit and minister to the sick I guess! Our friends the Stephensons, my friend Heather Christensen, and Joe's uncle and his wife and son all came to visit us. This turned out to be both a good thing and a bad thing. It was good, in that it provided a welcome distraction from the pain, but bad in that I wouldn't get up to go to the bathroom while visitors were in the room (because I didn't want them present during my 20 minute process) and masking my pain became more difficult the more my bladder was full and the longer it'd been since I'd had a pain pill. At one point I got pretty privately frustrated with one of the nurses (there were visitors there at the time) because it was an hour past when I was supposed to have my pain pill and she hadn't come in to give me another one. Looking back on it, I realized she probably was trying to be considerate of my time with the visitors and not disturb me while they were there. After all, she couldn't read my mind and had no idea how much pain I was in. After pushing my call button three different times, and then waiting an additional 20 minutes, she finally brought the pain pill, but the previous one had worn off long before.
When all the visitors had left I was a physical and emotional wreck. My pain had reached a threshold that the meds could barely make a dent in. I knew I was in for a long night. Sleep seemed almost ludicrous. I asked Joe to let me snuggle Olivia. Joe was eager to help, but I knew he was exhausted as well. I urged him to sleep. I knew there wasn't much he could do. As I snuggled my sweet baby, trying hard not to writhe in pain, my heart again called out to my Savior. "What can I do?" I asked him. The only solution seemed to be to ask for more narcotics. The ramifications of that filled me with terror. I refused to become addicted to opioids. I sat there in pain for hours, just staring at the clock and wishing that morning would come already. Tears rolled down my face as I begged Heavenly Father for guidance. "I can't do this much longer," I told him. Then, in the darkness I felt a gentle voice enter into my heart. "Ask for help. It is okay. You don't have to do this alone." I was almost surprised. I knew that He was telling me the pain medicine served a specific purpose and that it was all right for me to take it. With this prompting I was able to make up my mind to ask for more help with pain management.
Seemingly moments after I'd made up my mind, a nurse named Nancy came in around 2:00 am to check on me. "Nancy," I told her, "I can't do this any more. I need help with pain management. This isn't working." Her hands flew to her hips. For a brief moment as she leaned forward I thought I was about to get a lecture. Instead, she surprised me and said, "Well it's about time!" I was so confused by her response and it must have showed, so she went on to explain, "I could tell you were in pain, but I can't offer you more pain meds. You have to ask for it. I'll go put in an order for more right now and bring you something until that order goes though." As she opened the door she looked back at me and said, "Don't try and be so brave all the time. After all you went through you've got a lot to recover from and the meds can help you do that." I instantly flooded with relief. Her words helped me reconcile all my feelings and validated the impression I'd received to ask for help. She obviously wasn't worried that I would become a junkie, and that helped me a lot. It was a bit of a process to gauge when I was coming down off the medicine and when to take more, but after about a day and staggering a few different medications we were finally able to get everything under control. It was such a blessing!
Another huge blessing was that surgery number four seemed to do the trick. Everything was sealed up tight and I'd stopped leaking from my incisions entirely. This made movement a lot easier. Though I was still in a lot of pain, I didn't have to worry about losing blood and it really put my mind at ease.
Now that my leaking issues were resolved, the nurses began to weigh me. My body had retained so much fluid from IVs and blood transfusions that I was like a walking water balloon. I topped out at around 199 lbs, almost 25 lbs more than I'd even been pregnant! The fluid around my joins and all through my abdomen made it excruciating to walk. One walk with the physical therapists ended much quicker than usual as my knees started to give out on me as I was walking. The surgeons determined they would give me some lasix to help clear me out a little. The lasix were quick to work and extremely effective. In one day I peed off 25 lbs! This alleviated a lot of the pain associated with the fluid retention.
Finally, on Wednesday morning, ten days after I'd first gone to the hospital to have Olivia, the surgical team told me that I could go home. The thought was a bit daunting given that I couldn't walk without the aid of a walker and someone there, but we were excited to know that they were confident enough about the progress of my recovery to let me finish it at home. Most of my swelling had gone down significantly, but my feet were still swollen enough that I couldn't fit them inside of the shoes I'd brought with me. My sweet Joseph gave me his slippers so I'd have something to wear home on my feet. Going outside for the first time in ten days (other than my midnight life-flight) felt like viewing everything in HD. I was grateful to be alive, grateful I'd been spared, grateful I'd see my children again. There was too much to look forward to to feel frustrated about everything that had already happened.
There were several tender mercies that I was granted through this experience, but I'll only mention a couple. The first was the ability to remember the name of every person that walked in my room. These women and men were my angels. They were saving me and caring for me so I could return to my family. I felt compelled to remember the name of every person who set foot in my room and learn a little bit about them. Whether it was a nurse, a technician, a surgeon, a therapist, a lactation consultant, a meal services rep, the lady that brought the newspaper, or the cleaning crew, I knew every name and face that walked in to my room. Doing this gave me such gratitude for my caregivers, but it also lightened the burden. It didn't allow me to wallow in self-pity when I was getting to know all the different people I came in contact with.
The other tender mercy was concerning my pain. There are times when I know that the Savior bore the burden of my physical pain and mental strife. It was simply alleviated more than should have been possible. He filled my soul and calmed my fears. And then there were the times when I felt and bore everything, both physically and mentally. I was just as aware of the Savior's presence in these moments as well. In fact, these moments probably helped me feel that much closer to Him because I know He knew exactly what I was feeling. He had felt this pain. In these moments, though my pain was not alleviated or taken away, I was given the strength and mental ability to endure, to tell myself that this affliction would only be a small moment. And it was.
I have such a testimony of miracles. I know that there were angels, both seen and unseen, that surrounded me and those I loved, and comforted us in our time of trial. If you were one that prayed for me, thank you! I know that He heard every prayer offered on my behalf and answered them. I know that I should have died, but I also know that wasn't what God wanted. He wanted me to stay. I don't really know why He wanted me to stay, though I'm sure a big part is because of my husband and children, but I also know that I don't need to know why. I just need to keep living. I hope I can make the most of the time I've been given and live each day filled with gratitude and remembrance of His goodness and mercy.
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