happychappyhouse

I spent the better part of a year either limping or not moving at all what with my “procedures,” my recoveries, and being sick all the damn time. It has truly been a major suck fest. I’d say that maybe I’m finally getting a break from this stuff but I’m afraid I might jinx myself. I’m still not entirely convinced that there isn’t someone out there who has a voodoo doll of me or has thrown a curse my way.

Recently I suffered from some pretty horrible pelvic pain on my right side. It started out as a dull ache. As time went on it became unbearable to do simple things, like roll over in bed, pull my pants up, get into my car, walk, sit, etc. I mentioned it last month and the month before at my pre-natals when it was just a minor inconvenience and no one seemed too concerned. Pregnancy hormones often cause discomfort as ligaments stretch and allow the pelvis greater range of motion. No biggie. If it sucks and you’re pregnant, it’s probably normal. So I went with it. After all, I’m a big girl. If other girls can handle it, I can. Hmmph.

But the pain got worse. I moved up my next pre-natal by a few days this week to see if there was anything they could suggest to alleviate the pain. If it got worse, I couldn’t see myself being able to move. I’d definitely have to quit my jobs. Again, they weren’t too concerned, probably a minor case of SPD. “If the pain gets too bad, we can refer you to a physical therapist and maybe they can give you some tips.” La-dee-da, you’ll be fine. I don’t think so! I told them I needed that referral NOW.

So later that day I made it to the Physical Therapy area in the hospital. I was a little put-off at first because just about everyone I saw in there was blonde with a spray tan, a bouncy ponytail, and a stupid amount of make-up. They all looked like they were still in school. As much as I support hands-on learning, I did not want these fit girls touching me in all of my bloated glory. While flipping through a magazine, I wondered how much this latest medical adventure was going to cost. Then I was summoned in Spanish by an older gentleman. They must have grabbed him because I signed in as Lopez. I looked up and exhaled dramatically in relief. (Yes! A respectable-looking health care professional!)

We talked about the various ways my pain was inconveniencing my life. While I went on and on about every activity that I could no longer do without wincing in pain this guy pulled and twisted my legs this way and that to see what would elicit more pain. After about an hour of this productive torture (“evaluative process” as they like to call it), the physical therapist said, “I think I can fix this today.”

I didn’t get excited. Au contraire, my heart dropped. My reaction was basically Ugh! Yeeeeeeaaaaaah riiiiiiiiight. This guy could not possibly know what he was talking about. I was in agony! But I was already there and expecting a bill in the mail so I went along with it. He had me lie down flat on a table and hold on for dear life to the edge. He performed a weird combination of lifting, rotating, yanking, and pushing with my leg. Nothing I could or would have ever done myself. Then, POP!

I sat back up and noticed that my pain was virtually gone. Friggin’ miracle. I finally bothered to check out the therapist’s name tag. “Gene.” I made a mental note to remember that. Gene explained that at some point in time I must have done something physically jarring to cause what is called an iliosacral upslip:

Not only that…but this jarring event was apparently so severe that when the right side of my pelvis was forced upward it left my leg behind. I’ve been walking around with half of my pelvis much higher than it’s supposed to be and a leg out of the socket. For months. Gene asked if I remembered anything that might have caused this – falling on my ass, accidentally stepping into a deep hole, anything? Nope, not unless you count when I sat down really hard in a chair and caused a cyst I’ve had my entire life to rupture. But that was in September!

According to Gene, it’s entirely possible that I’ve been walking around like this for that long. After all, I spent so much time limping around I probably never realized after I recovered from my operations that I wasn’t totally walking normally. He said if I wasn’t pregnant, it would have caused issues for me eventually but since I was pregnant, my  hormones were probably aggravating the problem. Pregnancy hormones do tend to allow for wider range of motion in the pelvis. Normally this is good. It is a terrible, terrible thing if your parts aren’t where they’re supposed to be in the first place.

It’s amazing what correcting an upslip and popping a leg back in does for your posture. Everyone at work says I look better, that I seem taller and to be carrying higher. I feel different, too. I can walk! My back feels straight! My legs are the same length! How did I not notice how miserable my condition was before?! I don’t think I realized how bad it was until I was fixed. I’m still a little sore and will be for a while. But I can live my life again.

I have another appointment next week just to make sure nothing migrates in the wrong direction. Until then I’ve been told that the only exercise I’m allowed is walking to help stabilize my pelvis. No stretching exercises. No swimming (too much resistance in water, I guess). Nothing to exert or strain the area.

It’s funny because a few weeks ago I wanted to try pre-natal yoga. I even looked up the yoga schedule on the local studio’s website, dusted off my yoga mat, and woke up early to drop in on a class. But when I arrived no one was there. The lights were out. I waited for a bit before driving back home deciding that it wasn’t meant to be. I also thought about getting a rec center membership so that I could go swimming. But some things happened at work and I decided that I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be there. So I didn’t go by to get a membership after all.

Lately I’ve made it a policy to try to “follow the signs.” Hokey as it sounds, I often look back at crappy moments in my life and realize that all the signs were there for me to avoid those crappy moments – if I’d only paid attention. I was thinking that stretching out and swimming might help alleviate my pain but turns out they probably would have caused me even more pain and perhaps even more damage. Yikes! So I’ll wait until I get the okay to do anything else. So far, I’m satisfied with just walking. After all, for the first time in a long time walking actually feels really good.

We haven’t posted in a while. So what’s happening with us? John is still working on the nursery and I’m working on getting rid of clutter. Yesterday I made a trip to the recycle bins, Goodwill, Hastings (got $130 for DVDs we’ll never watch…John promptly bought a video game), and cleaned out a whole bunch of papers from school that I will never, ever need again because I have OFFICIALLY finished my Master of Library Science degree! Just waiting on final grades to post and my diploma to arrive in the mail.

Probably the most fun we’ve had in the last two months has been Kite Fest 2012 in Nacogdoches, where we both learned how to fly kites again…after some initial trial and error. Other recent social activities have included a bridal shower for a friend, a cancer remission party for another friend, and a lunch this weekend with Beau and Giana and their new son Jack. If you recall, Beau was the officiant at our wedding. He and his family stopped in Nac on their way back to the valley from Shreveport where Beau had his graduation ceremony at Louisiana Baptist University. Go Beau! Lunch was great. Beau and Giana both had a lot of great new parenting tips! And I finally understand some of the differences between the bagillion types of baby bottles out there! Unfortunately, I also learned that even the best places to eat in town don’t have high chairs. Oops!

Things we’re looking forward to:
This weekend we’ll be heading to Houston to visit John’s parents.
We’re having a baby shower in the valley during Memorial weekend.
I’ve finally organized the photos from our honeymoon and hope to post about it soon!

We thought about having a baby shower in Nac but decided that we really don’t have enough friends around here to make it worthwhile to rent a place to have one. We could technically have one at the house but we have very little parking and very little useable space right now, especially given the fact that some of the people who would come to a Nac shower would probably want to stay the night. We’d hate to have to send some folks to a hotel while others stay in the house. So we’ve ditched the idea. We figure that the people who really want to see us or bestow gifts upon our unborn child will do it with or without a baby shower as an excuse. ***EDIT: Okay, people keep telling us we should have a shower in Nac, so maybe we will after all. We keep going back and forth on it. I’m going to take this week to think about it.***

Baby Stuff:
Isabel seems to be doing fine. By that I mean she’s still kicking. One of the most frustrating things for me has been that I never really know exactly what’s going on in there! I’m toying with the idea of buying a stethoscope or other type of monitor so that I can at least keep track of heart rate but I haven’t decided if that would be considered “going overboard.” We have our next prenatal toward the end of the month. Some new developments for me have been unsightly purple-red veins on my upper thighs and some weird pelvic pain on my right side. I’ve also learned that brushing my long hair is not a good idea unless I’m wearing a bra. Brush bristles and sensitive nipples do not go well together. John has been pushing me to do more for myself. So every week I’m going to try to do at least one thing for me. I have such a hard time spending money on myself or spending time doing selfish things. Last night I opted for a slow start and took a bath in tepid water – and learned that I have grown to a size that makes bathing in a tub more difficult than it’s ever been! We’ll see how future endeavors go!

You can’t tell from these pictures, but we spent a while looking and looking and looking. Finally, half an hour after I had already decided it was a girl, the ultrasound tech felt confident enough to call it. Girl.

Look at that spine!
There were several more photo-worthy moments, like when we were staring at the bottom of our baby’s bum with her little legs sticking out, but I don’t think our ultrasound tech had the best eye. Or reflexes. Most of our images from this session are giant blurs.

She’s been moving a lot lately, especially when I’m lying down to go to bed or when I’m just waking up in the morning. I can finally feel her kicking and punching me in the gut!

Next week (Friday, 20 April) is when we will find out whether we are having a boy or a girl…assuming the baby cooperates. We’d like to know what YOU think we’re having! In case you’re wondering, I’m not carrying high or low.

I’m hoping that this will be the final installment of this series! After my wound healed over the first time I still felt discomfort but figured it was just a scar tissue thing. Just before it abscessed again I was under a lot of stress, so that may have played a role in the recurrence. That and perhaps those lovely chemicals called hormones. If you remember, the surgeon had said that if the cyst abscessed again we would opt for a more extensive procedure. This extensive procedure involves putting me completely under in an operating room, opening me up, and scraping a good chunk of tissue out of me – just to be sure they get the entire area so that the cyst (hopefully) won’t come back. It involves months of recovery, not to mention the chance that afterward it might look like I’ve had a tail removed!

The discomfort had been growing and I started to get worried. One day I finally asked John to look at the area. And, of course, it was inflamed and purple. John said, “yeah, there’s stuff in there.” So I made an appointment for later that day to see what my doctors thought. And, again, they referred me to the surgeon to have it drained. Two hours later I was in the waiting room. Everyone working there remembered me and kept apologizing that I was back while smiling oh so sympathetically, which was intensely irritating. Even with my limited social abilities I knew that all I could/should do was smile back and say thanks. (Ugh.) When I saw the surgeon he also apologized and said, “we have to do something about this” and went on to explain to me that  we couldn’t do that more extensive procedure we talked about in my current condition. So we’d have to opt for the same procedure as last time. He told me that this would be the second abscess he’d drain that day. And in the same area of the body. Apparently cysts in this area of the body abscess frequently. What a relief. He left the room and I got into position.

I now know at least one reason why these silly gowns are open at the back.

The Lidocaine felt just like I remembered it. The surgeon left the room again for a bit to let it take effect and his assistant came in to prepare the tray table. He apologized – again – and proceeded to chat with me. I normally dislike small talk. It’s way worse when you’re on your stomach with your ass exposed to the person who is talking for no reason at all other than to break the silence. A silence which I had been trying to use to think about the next few weeks. I decided I should turn my phone off so that it wouldn’t ring during the procedure. First, I took a few pictures.

That's not blood. It's betadine solution. The blood came after.

The procedure went well and I was sent home packing. HA! Get it?! Because once again I had a ridiculous amount of gauze packed into my open wound! … I know, bad joke. I went home and cried off and on all day about my crazy lot in life. (I blame the hormones for making me emotionally weak.) Anyway, for the last two weeks we’ve been packing the wound like the last time. Since I didn’t wait as long to see the doctor it wasn’t nearly as bad an infection. We’re already about done with the packing and can let the incision heal. The bad news is that we can now call this cyst a recurrent issue. Which means it could come back again. Maybe even again during the pregnancy. There’s a good chance that I’ll need to get that ugly procedure at some point in time. I look forward to it. I can’t help but think that if this cyst never ruptured in the first place I might have never had this issue and might have gone my entire life without knowing that I had cysts at all!

Ever since this whole thing started I’ve been hearing about other people who have had the same problem. One of my best friends called me one day when he was feeling particularly excremental. His first words were “you won’t believe what happened to me.” Then he proceeded to explain to me the exact same thing that happened to me. It turns out we had the same thing happen to us at around the same time. His abscess came back, too, sooner than mine did. I’m glad I have friends like me who don’t feel the need to censor themselves for things that other people might be too embarrassed to talk about. Our abscesses have been an interesting and unique pain to bond over.

The day after my second surgery I had an appointment with our baby doctor. I had to explain why I couldn’t sit or lay back. Turns out the tech who drew my blood that day used to do physical therapy for people who had had the extensive procedure. (I’LL HAVE TO HAVE FRIGGIN’ PHYSICAL THERAPY?!!!) When the doctor came in she was really understanding. She listened for the baby’s heartbeat while I stood and she explained to me that she had had the same problem and had gone through the extensive surgery. She said they told her that even with the big surgery they couldn’t be sure that they got everything that might cause a problem and that it might come back. Hers hasn’t, though, so I have some degree of hope. (As for the baby, my blood work to check for the possibility of neural defects came back fine and the heartbeat is strong.)

It also turns out that one of my co-workers knows all about this problem because her mother packs people’s open wounds for a living! She happens to work for some sort of at-home healthcare organization. She gave me all sorts of tips just in case this happens again. I’m now part of a community of people I know who have had experience with this really crappy situation. I guess it’s a small world, after all!

Today I still have an open wound but I’m looking forward to it healing. Hopefully this time is the last time. I hope to never gross you out again with a tale like this one. And I hope this never happens to you. Because it sucks. But if it does, at least you’ll know you’re not alone!

Pain killers and I really don’t get along. Even Tylenol makes me feel sick. The morning Trey came to pick me up I took one of the Vicodin I was prescribed. I knew that removing gauze from inside my wound and replacing it wouldn’t be pleasant. I was trying to prepare. As Trey was pulling into the carport I was vomiting the Vicodin back up. I’d have to get through this without any pharmaceutical help. The drive to the surgeon was awkward – and not just because I couldn’t quite sit right. Trey drives a mustang, which has really low seats. I could feel every single bump in the road. Plus, I had never asked Trey to do anything like this for me before. Or any friend, for that matter.

When we got to the surgeon’s office I didn’t ask Trey to come with me back into the little room. The first thing the surgeon asked when he came in after I changed into one of those ridiculous open-backed gowns was whether or not I had taken a pain killer that morning. When I explained to him what had happened he told me that they’d have to give me something else because without pain killers changing my gauze was going to be an absolute nightmare. Then he asked me if I was ready. Because I had no idea what was coming I said that I was. When he started pulling the gauze out of me the I screamed the longest string of obscenities that had ever come out of me. Before I could recover he started stuffing new gauze into the wound. When it was over I was sobbing hysterically and couldn’t stop. The surgeon left the room to give me some time to myself.

When I finally got hold of myself I changed back into my clothes and limped out of the room. I was handed a prescription for Percocet and was told that we’d have to keep changing out the gauze for at least three weeks. I went into the waiting area to get Trey. I asked if he had heard me screaming. He said no, but I think he must have been lying to spare my feelings. Those rooms are not sound-proof!

My sister arrived later. The next night she and John worked together to change my gauze. I think John’s main job was to hold me down. They told me later that my screaming during the process didn’t make it any easier on any of us. My sister left the room the first night because again, I was sobbing hysterically. For the next three weeks Kristen changed out my gauze, drove me around, and kept me fed. I’m pretty sure the rest of the time she was bored as hell. Every once in a while when the pain killers weren’t keeping me in a haze of semi-consciousness I tried to participate in fun stuff. I let Kris dye my hair, she painted my toenails, and once the three of us took the dogs out the the Experimental Forest. I limped behind for a good portion of the walk but the activity pretty much put me in a coma for the next few days.

One night we decided to invite Trey over for a game night. I had only been taking half of the dosage of pain meds prescribed to me but decided to take the full dosage that night so that I wouldn’t wince every time I moved while we had company over. I don’t remember everything that happened that night but I do know that at some point I lost feeling in my lips and fingertips while playing Scattergories. A few minutes after Trey left that night I stood up. And woke up on the floor. With chills, a hot head, and hives. Kristen looked up my meds online and found out that Percocet is basically a huge Acetaminophen pill. Remember when I said that even Tylenol makes me sick? Acetaminophen. So at that point we determined that I my body reacts poorly to both hydrocodone (the Vicodin) and Acetaminophen. We brought it up at the next follow-up and the doctor suggested we discontinue use of the pain meds and stick to the Motrin, which was the anti-inflammatory I was using throughout the entire process. Fun!

After a while John was comfortable enough to change out the gauze on his own and Kristen left to get back to her own life. In total we packed the wound for about two months. The pain of packing the wound lessened over time. Towards the end I could handle it without a peep. I was told that there was about a 50/50 chance that the cyst would cause problems again and that if it did, they’d opt for a more extensive procedure involving a Z-plasty and months of recovery. The cyst abscessed again last week.

For a long time the worst pain I ever felt in my life was the lidocaine shot. Back when I needed stitches on the top of my foot I was what you might call a difficult patient. I was in seventh grade so in my defense it was a difficult time. The doctor had taken one look at me and said I needed staples. Staples? I don’t think so. Staples are lazy. I screamed bloody murder at that doctor. And I won. But my reward was 18 tiny shots of lidocaine, one for each tiny spot a stitch would run through my skin. Every time I look at the ugly scar on my foot I still wonder if staples would have been better…

Back when I saw the surgeon to have my cyst drained in September, I got to experience lidocaine for the second time. The experience was humbling. I don’t know what I was thinking when I got to that little room. I must have been in denial about what was about to happen. When I thought of getting the abscess drained I pictured a little syringe drawing out the infection along my spine. I imagined it would be over after a little prick of the needle. Then the surgeon pulled out a bottle of lidocaine and my image of the procedure changed. In my mind I was determined to be a bad ass. I thought, “All right, let’s lance this bitch.” So I got into position. “A little stick,” he said, and I felt fire as he stuck that needle way down into me and pulled it back out again. “A little stick” and I saw stars. “A little stick” and I couldn’t help myself from breathing hard and fast, in and out through my nose. “A little stick” and that breathing was accompanied by a vocal component – like wheezing, groaning, and whining at the same time. “A little stick” and tears were streaming down my face. I can’t tell you how many “little sticks” there were. But by the end I was ready to leave. It was so painful and took so long that I was sure we were finished. But we weren’t.

As the lidocaine took effect, the surgeon started gathering materials on his little tray. A scalpel (okay, so we haven’t lanced it yet?), scissors (no, no, no, no…), tons of gauze (overkill, I thought), a bottle of betadine solution, and what could only be described as a tiny surgical ladle. John was with me, so the surgeon set up a little screen. I stopped craning my neck to see, stared forward, and waited.

Lidocaine kills pain, as long as you can endure the pain of the shot. The funny thing about it is that it doesn’t get rid of all feeling. I distinctly remember the sensation of thread being pulled through my skin when I got stitches on my foot. My experience with the cyst was no different. I felt the scalpel piercing and then being drawn across my skin. I felt every snip of the scissors and every scoop of the ladle. I heard the slap of infected tissue hit the instrument tray as the surgeon flicked the ladle and went in for more. I turned to John as I felt an immense pressure while over one foot of half-inch shoe string gauze was stuffed into my open wound. And then I stopped thinking of myself.

There was absolutely no color in John’s face. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. “Are you okay?” I asked. The surgeon stopped and looked at John. “Do you need to be sick?” he asked, and John had him point out the nearest trash can, just in case. John explained that while he couldn’t see what was going on, the movements of the surgeon’s arms were enough to create quite a bit of unease. He didn’t throw up but it became clear that I might need to ask someone else to handle the dressing of my wound. The surgeon said that I would be welcome to come in the next morning and have him change out my gauze so that I would have a little time to think of a backup plan. And I needed one. Fast. Because this was right before Labor Day Weekend. The office would be closed Saturday, Sunday, and Monday and I needed to have the gauze replaced every day.

We drove home without incident (lidocaine was still in effect) and I made a difficult call. I called my mom asking if she could come take care of me. My mom had a trip planned but by the end of the night I was assured that my sister would be on her way some time the next day. I still had to get to the surgeon the next morning. I arranged for my friend Trey to take me. I figured John had missed enough work on my account and that Trey wouldn’t feel as impelled as John to be in the room with me when the gauze was changed. That morning is when lidocaine got pushed to second place in the race for worst physical pain ever…