Paper Chain

It isn't often that I experience something so awful, so challenging, so consuming, that I am unable to write in detail about it while I am going through the trial.  In fact, I don't think it has ever happened to me.  Until my jaw surgery.

What can I say?  Wow.  It was hard.

My surgery was on September 5th.  After all I could do to prepare, I placed my faith in God and trusted in my oral surgeon, Dr. Urban, carefully selected, to perform a successful surgery.  The procedure that I had is called a Lefort Osteotomy.  Check out this link to understand more.  I had the first kind.  http://www.roopakmaj.com/2007/06/3-weeks-post-op-prepare-to-be-grossed.html

I knew that when I woke up my teeth would be banded together.  I was pretty nervous about this causing me to panic.  I chose not to research the operation because, sometime, not knowing is better.  I'm still glad that I didn't do much research.  I knew just enough to be prepared but not enough to back down.  If I had known how hard it would be, I can't imagine that I would have gone through with the surgery.  People told me it would be terrible.  I told myself it would be really terrible.  I wanted it to be less terrible than I imagined.  It was more terrible.

My last meal was a hamburger from the Training Table and an A&W root beer at 9 p.m. on Tuesday.  On Wednesday we got the kids off the school and headed over to Alta View Hospital.  They checked me in, weighed me, drew a bit of blood to make sure I wasn't pregnant, drew some more blood just to drain me a little ( I don't know why they did it twice), checked my vitals, and deposited me in a room to change into a somewhat revealing hospital gown and  wait it out.

We waited.

And waited.

We laughed when we watched a cooking show called "The Chew" while waiting.  There I was, about to lose my ability to chew for 6 or more weeks, watching a cooking show full of people chewing delicious homemade pizza.

About an hour behind schedule, the ball got rolling.  The Dr. came in.  We talked about last minute things.  I told him I was afraid of throwing up and that Phenergan  had controlled nausea in the past for me, but that it would also make me sleep.  The anesthesiologist came in and put in the I.V.  Without warning me, he also added something to make me drowsy.  I remember them starting to wheel me out.  I can't really remember anything after that until. . .

I woke up. .

The surgery lasted 3 1/2 hours.

I woke up 2 hours after the surgery ended.  It was 7 P.M.

There were two people by my bed and I was in an open space.  They sounded a little frantic and were telling me to breathe.  "Breathe deeper!"  I struggled to breathe, but something was gurgling in my throat.  After a bit I started to cough up blood.  The nurse demanded that I open my mouth.

The first set of rubberbands. They made it very hard to talk and I couldn't open my mouth.  Now I only have two rubberbands that I am allowed to remove to eat and brush. 

What?  I knew my teeth were banded together.  I said I couldn't, the best I could with the tight bands.  She said I could.  So I tried, envisioning the tracheotomy I was going to get if I didn't start breathing better.  And as I coughed up blood, the nurse suctioned it out.  I guess this helped my O2 levels because they started to calm down.  I didn't calm down though .  Blood was dripping down my throat.  I felt terrible.  I remember hearingi someone say the anesthesiologist had been sitting with me for a long time.  I heard the word tachycardic.  I had no idea what it meant.  Now I know it means rapid heart rate.  I think my heart was going 130 or so, where normal for me is in the 70's.

That night is somewhat of a blur of suctioning myself all night long, coughing up blood, blood running down my face, and just feeling miserable.  The Dr. came to see me that night and again the next morning very early and told the nurse to clean me up.  I guess I had blood all over my face.

They were pumping me full of drugs- phenergan, morphine, steroids, antibiotics, and later Lortab, Zofran, something like Motrin, and Afrin.

The morphine burned as it entered, starting in my heart and burning down my body like liquid draining out of my feet.  The steroid burned in a different way.  It took me about two days to communicate that to the nurses.

I couldn't talk.  I wrote everything down for a bit.  My mouth was very swollen. My palate was swollen . My tongue was swollen. I tried not to panic.  At some point they started to push liquids on me.  I had this 2 oz. syringe with tubing attached and a very strong person could suck up the liquid and then squirt it in my mouth.  It was exhausting.  I remember being immensely proud of myself that I fed myself 4 oz. of apple juice and thinking that it was plenty for one meal.  I think I had about 600 calories between Wednesday and Saturday.

I hadn't planned on people sleeping there with me, but I guess I was in such bad shape that Judd decided it was necessary.  He stayed the first night.  I think my dad slept at my house with my kids.  My dad stayed the next two nights.  All they had to sleep on was a pitiful reclining chair.  It didn't look comfortable.  I kept them up while they worried about me.  I was a mess.

The 3 day hospital stay doesn't really fit chronologically in my mind.  It's a mix of half awake half asleep episodes.  There was walking around the halls.  It was exhausting.  Blood pressure, humidifier, I.V. food.  At some point a nutritionist came and brought me a wired jaw diet packet.  I think I opened my eyes for about 5 seconds of her visit.  I never got to read the packet and it didn't seem to come home with me.  The R.S. presidency came to visit me.  The president told me later that she cried after she left my room because I looked so awful.  My aunt came and sat with me and rubbed my hands and feet with lotion and braided my hair.  It was very soothing.  I felt so helpless and disconnected.  I felt like I was dying.

Dr. Urban kept urging me to get up out of bed, but I couldn't manage more than a walk around the nurses station every few hours. He said I would feel better if I got up and moved around.  It didn't make me feel better. It took every bit of will power I had and then I would sleep for two hours after a walk.  On the fourth day, I went home to my parents house.  I began to have anxiety attacks each night.  My nose was stuffy and I was afraid it would completely clog and I would suffocate or have to cut the bands and risk my jaw healing incorrectly.  Every time I would fall asleep I would wake up in a panic. I had this constant heavy feeling on my chest. This lasted for 4 nights.  I slept for only a few hours each night, and only for one hour at a time.  The rest of the time I would just breathe in and out and try not to panic, praying for comfort. My parents set up a humidifier and a fan, and placed a bell by me that I could ring if I needed help. Finally,  on the 7th night after surgery, I got decent sleep.  I thought I would turn the corner and feel better and be able to stay awake and focus on doing something like reading or watching t.v.

 But, I still couldn't function.  My dad took me to the store to walk around.  I got in, went down one aisle, and stopped.  "The cart is too heavy.  I can't do this," I didn't care about anything at that moment.  He took me back and told my mom I was getting worse.  She called the doctor and they decided I was dehydrated.  My parents pushed water and pedialyte on me and it actually worked. 8 days after surgery I finally turned a corner!  I was able to stay out of bed and walk without my knees buckling.

I decided I didn't need a blood transfusion and that I wasn't going to die.

I had done some things in the previous days, like working a puzzle with my mom.  It was one of the hardest things I ever did.  I only did it to pass time and to try to stay out of bed.  I could hardly hold my head up. I couldn't walk straight.  I had to hold on to my dad's hand when we would go walk outside because my knees kept buckling under me.  I couldn't seem to lift my arms up. They were just too heavy.  I was walking crooked.  My body just wanted to tilt.

It was so wonderful to emerge from the fog!  And it's just gotten better every day since then.  It has now been 20 days.  I spent 3 days in the hospital and 2 weeks and one day with my parents.  Yesterday was my first day home with my family.  I did have visits with them frequently, but I really stepped back into the mother role today.  And it was hard.  I am pretty much seriously really tired.

 But, nothing has ever been as physically hard as those 8 days.

I knew I was scaring people, and there was nothing I could do about it.   I had many priesthood blessings -probably 5 or 6 over 8 days. I knew I wasn't going to die, but I still felt only half connected.  I heard my mom tell my husband that she could gauge my recovery process by how many times I said,"I don't care.".  I just didn't care about anything.  "You decide Mom, please.  Just tell me what to eat, what to do.  It's too hard."  I personally was gauging my recovery by how well I could play the piano and whether I could beat my mom at Carcassonne.  The first game was a disaster.  I just wanted it to end.  My face hurt so much and I was so tired.  The end was a relief.

I am so glad that the hardest part is over.  I can deal with the rest.  I can deal with no feeling in my palate or upper teeth.  I can deal with the constant tingling and heavy feeling in my upper lip, nose, and cheeks all the way up to my eyes.  I can even handle being banded shut, especially now that I get to take them off to drink through a straw and eat baby food, I mean pureed food. I will not even go into details about how great it is to brush my teeth after not being able to brush for two weeks. Let your imagination fill in the details on that one.  I can handle the pain.  It's not too bad.  I can take the bruising that started by my mouth and spread and then started to sink under my chin.  It's pretty ugly, but I think it will be mostly gone in another week or so.  I can totally handle the weight loss.  Oh yes, that part is sweet.

This all started over two years ago with a broken tooth, soon followed up with a most confusing blessing that told me how much I would need my family to help me through. At the time I remember thinking, "I don't know what's wrong with me, but this doesn't sound good."  My family has rallied around me and supported me and my husband and children in so many ways.  I have received many get well cards, encouraging emails and facebook messages.  My parents cared for me for over two weeks.  My husband took on all the responsibilities at home.  Other family members babysat and brought meals, often both. My sister and brother in law are paying for a mother's helper and cleaning of my home for the next two weeks.  The ward family also flooded our home with goodies and offers of babysitting as needed.  I truly felt cradled in the arms of  love extended by my friends and family. And I needed it so very much. I also felt nourished by the word of God as I read the scriptures alone and with my parents.  The scriptures soothe the spirit, regardless of the state of the body.

So, almost three weeks down and three weeks to go.  I'm halfway there! The paper chain my mother made me is much smaller than it used to be. Has this healed my problem?  Well, I don't know.  My problem had to do with my bite and how it affected my ability to chew properly.  It had to do with how my bad bite was causing me to clench and grind in my sleep.  It was a complicated problem and fixing it is a process.  So, I think I am closer, but I guess I won't know for sure until I get the feeling back in my upper teeth.  Right now my bite feels pretty good, but that is only the opinion of my lower teeth. I am not done with my orthodontic treatment and will have my braces on for another 9 months to a year, mostly likely. Ask me then if my mouth problem is better.  I do believe I'm on the right path and that in the end I will be improved to a point where I am not in daily pain.