My Back Surgery, Part Two

My dad and I drove up to Chicago on October 1st. Being Sunday, the hospital felt like a ghost town when we arrived. We arrived in the late afternoon and were greeted at the reception by a security guard who asked us if we knew where to go. We said we didn’t, and he directed us down the stairs to the inpatient ward. At the desk of the inpatient ward were a few nurses, one of which led us to a room where we put down our stuff. The nurse told us they were serving food in the cafeteria, so we went and got the only thing they had: pizza pockets. That was the last meal, if you can even call it that, I would have for a few days. There was one other nurse that came in to get some food, and a single other patient in the cafeteria with us.

After we got back to the room, they had me shower and get into a gown. I had to use an antiseptic soap to scrub my back. The nurse put an IV into my hand to administer the anesthesia the next day. This was the thing I was most worried about on the first day, as I hate anything to do with needles. Luckily, they numbed the area with a spray first so I barely felt it. My hand hurt more from the freezing cold feeling the spray gave than it did from the IV being put in. My mom arrived as they were inserting the IV, as she had flown in from Norway an hour earlier. After that we just hung out in the room for a while, before my dad left at around eight to stay at his friend’s house. My mom showed me a trivia game she had been playing on her phone and I downloaded it so we could play together. There wasn’t anything to do until tomorrow, so I just tried my best to keep my mind off the surgery. I didn’t want to stay up all night worrying.

A nurse would come in every two hours or so to check my vital signs. I was hooked up to an IV drip of Lactated Ringer’s Solution; a mixture of electrolytes in water to make sure I had enough fluids the night before surgery. The drip was hung from a stand on wheels. It had a small device on it which the IV tube fed through, which I assume was to measure and regulate the amount of medicine I was getting. The fan in it whirred softly, and it had a display that gave off an eerie blue glow in the dark. Having to wheel the stand around with me really solidified the thought that I was about to have surgery. Sure, I was in a hospital and cognitively I knew that I was going to be operated on in the morning. But looking at myself in the mirror, donning a white hospital gown, a tube coming out of my wrist, and the IV machine quietly humming along, I truly felt like a patient.

We played the trivia game until about 10, when we were both a bit tired and decided it was best to rest up for the big day ahead. I got some sleep, but it wasn’t high quality sleep due to being woken up every two hours for the vital sign check. There were two beds in the room, so my mom could stay in the hospital. I was woken up at around 4 thirty to get ready for surgery. The nurse helped me put on some compression stockings to increase the blood flow in my legs so I didn’t get blood clots during surgery. We waited for another half an hour before they came with a gurney to transport me to the waiting room. I’m not sure why I couldn’t just walk up the stairs or take the elevator and then get in the gurney up there; they had me lie down in it while they wheeled me down the hallway, up the elevator, and then down another hallway into the waiting room. My mom followed behind. Once in the waiting room, another nurse there asked me a bunch of questions about my medical history, any allergies, reactions to anesthesia, etc. I hadn’t had surgery before, so my answers to most of the questions were “no” or “I don’t know”. After they were done with all the questions we waited for another half hour. It was probably almost six by now. The anesthesiologist came in and asked me some more questions, and then said she was going to give me a drug to help calm my nerves before surgery. I still had the IV in, so they injected it through that instead of poking me with another needle, which I appreciated.

That’s about all I remember before the surgery. The drug that was supposed to calm my nerves also gave me amnesia. I remember the anesthesiologist injecting the drug, and playing the trivia game with my mom, but nothing after that. I guess it’s better that way; in case I was really scared before going into the operating room, this way I don’t have those bad memories. Though it did add to my confusion when coming out of surgery; nobody told me about the possible memory loss, even though it’s probably common and may even be an intended effect of the drug. I have a vague recollection of being wheeled into an operating room, but I suspect it was actually a dream I had while I was under general anesthetic (unconscious) for the surgery. The room I remember was all dirty, with equipment strewn everywhere. I at least hope that wasn’t the actual operating room.

The next thing I can remember is being wheeled to the intensive care unit (ICU) after the surgery was finished. This is standard practice after large surgeries, to give the patients extra attention and to monitor for any complications. I think I had a breathing tube in during surgery that they had just taken out because my throat was full of phlegm and it was difficult to breathe. My parents came in to say hello, though I was barely conscious. I remember being in quite a bit of pain, despite having a lot of painkillers. I think I fell asleep shortly after, as the anesthesia was still in my system. My body was probably exhausted anyway. The rest of that day was a blur. It was already in the late afternoon, as the surgery took over nine hours. I drifted in and out of sleep until the night, probably around 10, when a resident came in to check on me. I had expected to be in pain, but my arms and legs being numb was a surprise. The resident wasn’t concerned with the numbness in my legs, explaining that because I was lying down for such a long time that the nerves had been compressed. He said the arm numbness was more uncommon, but didn’t seem too worried about this either. My arms returned to normal in the next few days, but my legs are still numb and will be for a few more months according to my doctor.

The day after surgery I was still in considerable pain, but less than I had expected. I was given a very strong pain killer called Dilaudid in the ICU. The nurses told me it was stronger than Morphine. I was given a low dose by IV drip, and also had a “pain button” I could press to administer more. They said to press the button if my pain was over a four on their pain scale (just rating the pain out of ten, ten being the worst and zero being no pain), but I was probably at a seven most of the time so I didn’t bother pressing it unless the pain got worse. Otherwise I’d be pressing it constantly. I don’t remember a whole lot from this day either, but I think I spent it mostly just lying in bed. In the afternoon, physical therapy came to see me and they had me get out of bed and sit in a wheelchair.

Physical therapy told me the movement limitations I had to abide by in order to prevent any damage to my spine and the equipment holding it straight. They used the acronym BLT: no bending, lifting or twisting. I was allowed to bend at the waist, but not bend my back. I wasn’t allowed to lift anything over ten pounds, and I wasn’t allowed to twist; my shoulders and hips had to stay in alignment. With all these things I couldn’t do, a lot of previously run-of-the-mill actions became extremely difficult.

Standing up for the first time was scary. I was very weak and they wanted me to somehow get out of bed without hurting my back. I felt like the tiniest wrong move could damage my fragile spine. The physical therapists explained the technique to get out of bed without breaking the BLT rules. It was a three-step process. First, I had bend my knees. This was difficult because my back hurt whenever I lifted my legs, but not too bad and certainly the easiest step. Next I had to ‘log roll’ onto my side: keeping my shoulders in alignment with my hips to prevent twisting. I didn’t have any core strength right after surgery, so I pulled my upper body over by grabbing onto the handrail. Lying on my side, I would then push myself up while lowering my legs off the edge, making sure to keep my shoulders above my hips. But my arms weren’t strong enough to hold my own bodyweight, so someone had to help pull me up. Finally ending up in a sitting position on the edge of the bed, I would stand up. This was easier said than done, because although I was allowed to bend at the waist I was not allowed to exceed a ninety degree angle; once I was sitting upright I wasn’t allowed to lean forward any more. Standing up without bending forward is similar to getting out of a squat if your knees are behind your heels. I had to have someone stand in front of me so I could grab their hands and push/pull myself up.

Once I stood up they had me just stand still for a moment. I think the physical therapists were holding me upright otherwise I would have toppled to the floor. I felt extremely unstable, losing a good amount of balance with what was basically a teetering plank for an upper body. I tried to look down but they quickly told me that was a bad idea liable to have me fall over. After I had gained a bit of my balance back they had me sit down in a wheelchair, which although not as difficult as standing up was still terrifying because I was so unstable. Luckily it had tall arm rests that I was able to use to slow my descent.

After sitting for two hours in the chair they had me stand back up, which was again made easier by the arm rests though I still needed assistance. I sat back down on the bed and did the reverse of my previous actions to get on my back again. I was extremely glad to be lying down again after the ordeal. I hadn’t even tried walking yet.