the lobectomy papers: part 3

Highs and Lows

This recovery is ever so much more enjoyable than the one in February because my pain is considerably less. Between the epidural-delivered narcotics and Dilaudid pills, I live in a relatively happy, if not befuddled, place. But sadly, as they say, all good things must come to an end.

My blood pressure drops to 78. I explain that I normally have low blood pressure but that doesn't impress anyone. My beloved epidural is blamed for the crash, and the best way to get my blood pressure back to a living, breathing human level is to turn off the narcotic feed for a half hour, then cautiously creep it back up to 3. It was 7 when I was pain-free; talk about separation anxiety.

It doesn't take long for the epidural magic to wear off, and I am not at all appreciating this latest torment, a charlie-horse-like pain, a horrible, seizure-like cramp, that drives like a freight train right through my chest, freezing me in position with a hand pressed to my upper rib cage to hold together what's left of my lungs.

It hits just about every time I try to move, and a few times when I don't. My beloved Dilaudids, 4 mg every three hours, don't even come close to dealing with it. There are groans, there are screams, there are gasps, there are curses. I frighten the visitors.

The most amazing part of this experience is the admission by a doctor that a lobectomy is, "... an extremely painful type of surgery." Wow. I've never heard a doctor say "pain" before. They might mention slight pressure, some discomfort, a bit of irritation and other innocuous sensations, but never the P word. Fine. It's painful. I get that, now please do something about it!

But no, we must run blood tests and a cardiogram because the pain I try to describe sounds to someone like a cardiac event, otherwise known as a heart attack. A cardiac event? That's like calling excrutiating pain "slight discomfort." Oh, wait, they already do that. Perhaps the kinder, gentler term for heart attack was crafted to calm the patient's family, or to reassure his employer that he really can handle that promotion. But, "serious as a cardiac event" just doesn't have the same impact.

I've never had a heart attack, but I know this isn't one. I know that heart attacks don't occur over and over, that they aren't caused by some insignificant movement. I know that, if I was indeed having heart attacks, I would have been stone cold dead hours ago. To add to my frustration, no one is familiar with the term charlie-horse. And no one is going to turn my epidural back on until they've thoroughly checked out my heart.

The Pain Doctor is consulted, and he finally comes up with a drug he thinks is worthy of a try: Gabapentim. It's an interesting drug, used to treat epilectic seizures, bipolar disorder and pain from migrane headaches to degenerative disc disease of the back. It's also interesting that, like love or the economy, no one really understands how it works. We start with 200 mg every three hours.

A perk of living in Stepdown is that everything is brought to you, even the X-ray Dept.

A pleasant technician quietly rolls in a darling, mini, wheeled x-ray machine, lays a lead blanket over the parts of me she's not interested in, steps back behind the machine, calls out, "X-ray!" like you'd call out "Four!" on the golf course, and pushes the button to take a picture.

I'm sure it costs more than my home, my truck, all my computer equipment and all my camera gear but, here it is, another service included in a $165-a-night room. Today I'm finding it difficult to be critical of the Canadian healthcare system.

My cardiogram and blood test results are returned with the verdict that I've not had a heart attack, I mean cardiac event. Gee... ya think?

With the dosage upped to 300 mg every three hours, the Gabapentim is working. The chest charlie-horses lessen until they're gone and my epidural is gradually turned back up to a conservative but civilized 3. Along with 2 mg of Dilaudid every four hours, I'm back to a tolerable level of pain.

My blood pressure never did reach normal range but then, as far as I know, it's never been normal. I doubt that it ever will be, and that's just fine by me. Life wouldn't be nearly as interesting if everything was Normal.

As much as I love Dilaudid, because it's a narcotic, it has certain disadvantages. Narcotics cause constipation. Serious constipation and, unless you've suffered serious constipation, you have no idea of how painful it can be. Now I'm certain why junkies are so skinny. I used to think it was their unhealthy lifestyle, but now I'm convinced it's simply because they don't eat. They're scared to. Scared shitless, you might say, and that's no laughing matter.

Someone in the kitchen has a sense of humour though. Every day, on my dinner tray, appears a small, factory-wrapped package of Black Diamond cheddar cheese. Black Diamond produces a lovely cheddar (I sometimes buy it at home) but, unfortunately, cheddar causes constipation.

It takes every iota of my willpower to stash the package in my drawer rather than rip it open to enjoy right now. That's how bad narcotic-induced constipation is.

"And the doctor said, 'Give him jug band music, it seems to make him feel just fine.'" John Sebastian (Lovin' Spoonful).