Going back to school went pretty well for me. I had three art classes for my last semester, which was quite a bit more relaxed than I was used to. I did a silk screen printing class, which I enjoyed much more than I ever thought I would. It's nerve racking being in art classes as a scientist. I realized how differently I see things than my artistic classmates. It took me some time to realize that I needed to see things in a more literal sense than an analytic sense. I felt like it took me some time, but I figured out how to do that. Silk screen printing was hard after getting my gall bladder out, however. You need to be able to push down on the squeegee with equal pressure from both shoulders multiple times. It's an incredible amount of fun, but extremely hard when you've just had surgery and both your shoulders are weak!
The last semester of school went incredibly fast. In my mind, it went much too fast. I started looking around the school as I walked and realized that I wasn't going to be there much longer as a student or as an employee. I started to panic as well, because I realized how much harder life was going to be past University. I could no longer take a week or two off for surgeries so easily because I was unsure of how my future employers would be able to handle that. I would no longer have things like reading week to take breaks with. Even worse, I would be leaving the University as an employee and I was really going to miss my coworkers. Time steadily passed, just as it had for the past 7 years, and I was soon looking towards the last days of school. Art classes don't have exams, so the last day of school for me was going to be exactly that: the last day of school.
It was around this time that I headed back to my shoulder surgeon to have a checkup for my shoulder graft. My surgeon was extremely happy with how my left shoulder was progressing. He asked me if I had any concerns, and I said that my right shoulder was hurting. It was the same symptoms as when my left shoulder had first collapsed, there was pain and stiffness, though this came and went so I figured it was just a less extreme collapse. He gave me an x-ray on it that day, and it looked fine, but he said there was obviously an issue if I felt pain, so we may as well do surgery and figure out what happened. I can't explain how happy I am to have a surgeon who trusts me and trusts the fact that I know when something is wrong. He told me to schedule it with his nurse. I decided to wait until after I'd started my job to schedule it, because I didn't want to start my job by saying "by the way I have surgery next week."
Finally, school ended, and I went on a trip to Europe with my family! We went so many places because it was a lengthy cruise. We were all so worried about me, we even brought my travel wheelchair just in case (though in hindsight, it wouldn't have done much off the ship because of the cobblestones). We were joking about me sitting on it on the ship and rolling from the left to right side and back, because of the waves. It was one of the best travel experiences I'd ever had, and it was a great way to get even closer to my family. At the end of the trip I was taking several Tylenol 3's a day because my joints were so sore and I was so tired, but I'm happy it didn't cloud my mind, so I'll always remember it. At one point, in Venice, we were waiting for a boat ride to take us to some different areas and then deposit us at the ship. However, that boat never came. My family told me to run to a different part of the block we were on to see if there was a bunch of people waiting over there. I ran but didn't see anything, so I turned back around and saw the three of them walking towards me and laughing. When they got to me, they told me they'd never seen me run before, and that it was hilarious. That's the last time I'll ever run.
When I got back home, I started my new job. It was similar to the University in the sense that everyone was incredibly nice. I got put on a nice big project and was able to use my brain from day one! I found it interesting and challenging, and I was able to wake up feeling excited about going to work every day. I immediately started getting post-school anxiety, however. It was surprising how much time I had left in my day after work was finished. I struggled with finding ways to fill it. This is around the time that I started playing World of Warcraft again, just to ease my frustrations.
A couple of weeks after starting work, I had my convocation from University! I was excited for so many reasons. This was my first real graduation, where I could stay for the entire event and not have to cut it short. As well, I really enjoyed University, and this was a huge stepping stone for me to the beginning of my post-school life. After 7 years, I finally made it through school and was ready to live as an adult! A few people came to watch me, but unfortunately my grandparents were not included in that. I was extremely disappointed about it, but because of recent health issues, none of them were really well enough to make the drive and sit through the convocation. I understood, but was upset about it.
One issue I immediately had was that I was still going back and forth to Hanna on some weekends. I disliked leaving and was finding that I'd often take my laptop with me, just in case. I started getting frustrated with the distance and was looking to just focus more on work and making roots for myself somewhere. He was an extremely nice guy, but I was getting overwhelmed with where I was headed in life and was unsure how to take the next steps while factoring him in. I realized that in order to figure out where I was going, I was going to need some space. So shortly after beginning my job, we broke up.
As you can probably tell, this wasn't the most interesting period of my life, but it was a bit of an emotional roller coaster. I was finishing off some parts of my life, and was starting others. This was definitely a turning point for me however, and was setting the stage for an interesting few months.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Monday, June 16, 2014
Can You Not Cut There? I Have A Piercing I Want To Keep.
As another timing point, this is now the end of December 2012. I had a couple of things to look forward to/dread, such as finding myself a job and getting my gall bladder removed. Yes, after a year and a half of gall bladder pain, I finally was ready to get it taken out. The date for that was January 18th, so I was going to have to wait.
I looked on my University career site for job postings, and there were a couple there. I sent my resume in and figured I'd have to look around. While looking, I got an email from a headhunter that swears she's not a headhunter who found me on LinkedIn. She wanted me to go for an interview at this place downtown. I agreed and set a date, and at the same time another company closer to the University asked me to come for an interview. I agreed and set a date, coincidentally the same date as the other interview, just later in the day. The interviews were for the start of January, so I figured I could put my hunt on hold for a bit.
I went to the first interview. It was a nice enough place, but it was a hassle to get to and I got the feeling of disorganization out of it. The interview went well and I headed back to the Uni to work. Later I got back in my car and drove the one minute drive to the second interview. This one went terrifically. I liked the place, the person who interviewed me, and everything. When I was done, a full hour later than we'd planned, I went home. Both places promised to get back to me about a second interview in about a week. A couple days later I heard back from the second place to come in for another one. I happily did, and everything worked out again. I even got a tour of the office and an offer of pizza.
When I got an offer from the second interview, I still hadn't heard back from the first place. This was already about two weeks after my first interview. Eventually I emailed again (which should never happen from a professional environment), which sparked a response saying I just wasn't experienced enough in PHP. Okay, I've had three years of experience, all of which didn't come from University, so good luck finding someone from here that has that and a University degree. The guy told me that they'd keep me on file for a round of interviews around the time of graduation (how would I be better qualified in four months?). I politely said thanks, but I have an offer and I won't be needing that. Their entire place sounded shady at best. So I took the job from the second place and was so excited.
Having all this out of the way, I was now more prepared to get my gall bladder out, at least mentally. This was the first surgery I was getting at the Rockeyview hospital. Mom, Dad, and I rolled into the hospital early in the morning and waited for check-in. I've always found it so comical the way that people feel the need to be treated better than everyone else just because they're getting cut open. In that room, everyone is getting surgery in a few hours, so acting like a spoiled child really just makes you look like an idiot. I had someone cut the line in front of me to show IDs. In reality, this person is just hurrying up to wait, so it's their own loss. Also, good things happen to those who wait, and on surgery days, I'm willing to get all the good things I can.
Not a lot happened before this surgery, and I don't remember waiting long. Soon it was time to head out to the OR. They did it quite a bit differently this time; they wheeled me directly outside the room where the surgeon briefly chatted and they did all the "are you pretending to be Kelli just so you can get cut open" checks. The surgeon asked if I had any questions and I said "yes, just one. I have a belly button piercing, and is there any way to make it so I can put it back in after?" He laughed and said he'd move the incision to under. Apparently I'm the only one who has ever asked this. Then they wheeled me in the room.
Because I had just recently gotten my graft, we all decided I'd be more comfortable having that arm at my side instead of putting it out and having it get angry during the surgery. So they strapped me in, drugged me up, and put an oxygen mask on me. There was an anesthesiology student there, so they were teaching him how to put the mask on me so that he didn't snap it into my eye. He seemed pretty terrified, which entertained me a bit. I realized I'd likely had more surgeries than he'd ever seen. Then the anesthesiologist (the real one) told me that we were waiting for someone, so I should just sit tight. I was strapped down, so I don't know what he thought I was planning on doing. I listened to my heartbeat and practiced slowing it down so that I was more calm. Once it sounded more like a normal heartbeat, the anesthesiologist looked at me with a surprised look on his face. Don't worry sir, I'm still alive.
Finally the guy came in and they went through the process. Give me something to relax (I wish I could get that on a regular basis), give me the forget-this drug that makes everything look a bit grainy, then knock me out. I've found I remember more and more of it during every surgery. So long as I don't remember the first cut, I figure that's probably okay. Then I was out!
Considering all the surgeries I've had, I don't really count this as an important one so I won't really be giving a lot of details. It went smoothly enough, and I had the exact symptoms they described. I didn't throw up from the drugs because I don't really anymore. The only issue I had was that the gas that they put in you bubbled up to my shoulders, which hurt pretty dang bad. He told me I had over 10 gall stones (they stop counting at 10), so he wasn't surprised I was getting attacks. Apparently I shouldn't have waited a year and a half to get them out. Oh well.
When I got home, I was laying on the chair recovering. A person who is extremely close to me was laying on our couch, having had their own surgery that day. I was just drifting off to a happy dream world when that person got up and went upstairs. That was definitely not okay, but the person (let's call this person Alex) didn't tell us where she was going. When she came down we asked if she was okay, and she didn't answer. Shortly after, maybe about a minute, she started having a seizure. Being a former lifeguard, I recognized what it was, but I wasn't about to leave everyone to deal with it. Alex is extremely close to me, and I wanted to make sure she was okay. So with my Mom on the phone with EMS, I got to work ensuring her head was somewhere soft and away from everything. Alex's husband was close by, trying to get her to stop. I had to make sure he didn't shake her or get close to her mouth, and when she finished seizing I got him to roll her on her side. She woke up after a few minutes but wasn't coherent and kept trying to walk away from us. EMS arrived at this point and took her away, which is when I laid back down and had my nap. I won't tell you more about Alex's story because once again, that's not my story to tell. For this though, it had an effect on me because it was the same day of both our surgeries, and I feel it's important in this point for my story. I will let you know that Alex is okay now.
I only had about a week to recover, and then I went back to my last semester in school. I was so excited for so many things: convocation, starting my new job, and going on a trip that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to handle!
When I got an offer from the second interview, I still hadn't heard back from the first place. This was already about two weeks after my first interview. Eventually I emailed again (which should never happen from a professional environment), which sparked a response saying I just wasn't experienced enough in PHP. Okay, I've had three years of experience, all of which didn't come from University, so good luck finding someone from here that has that and a University degree. The guy told me that they'd keep me on file for a round of interviews around the time of graduation (how would I be better qualified in four months?). I politely said thanks, but I have an offer and I won't be needing that. Their entire place sounded shady at best. So I took the job from the second place and was so excited.
Having all this out of the way, I was now more prepared to get my gall bladder out, at least mentally. This was the first surgery I was getting at the Rockeyview hospital. Mom, Dad, and I rolled into the hospital early in the morning and waited for check-in. I've always found it so comical the way that people feel the need to be treated better than everyone else just because they're getting cut open. In that room, everyone is getting surgery in a few hours, so acting like a spoiled child really just makes you look like an idiot. I had someone cut the line in front of me to show IDs. In reality, this person is just hurrying up to wait, so it's their own loss. Also, good things happen to those who wait, and on surgery days, I'm willing to get all the good things I can.
Not a lot happened before this surgery, and I don't remember waiting long. Soon it was time to head out to the OR. They did it quite a bit differently this time; they wheeled me directly outside the room where the surgeon briefly chatted and they did all the "are you pretending to be Kelli just so you can get cut open" checks. The surgeon asked if I had any questions and I said "yes, just one. I have a belly button piercing, and is there any way to make it so I can put it back in after?" He laughed and said he'd move the incision to under. Apparently I'm the only one who has ever asked this. Then they wheeled me in the room.
Because I had just recently gotten my graft, we all decided I'd be more comfortable having that arm at my side instead of putting it out and having it get angry during the surgery. So they strapped me in, drugged me up, and put an oxygen mask on me. There was an anesthesiology student there, so they were teaching him how to put the mask on me so that he didn't snap it into my eye. He seemed pretty terrified, which entertained me a bit. I realized I'd likely had more surgeries than he'd ever seen. Then the anesthesiologist (the real one) told me that we were waiting for someone, so I should just sit tight. I was strapped down, so I don't know what he thought I was planning on doing. I listened to my heartbeat and practiced slowing it down so that I was more calm. Once it sounded more like a normal heartbeat, the anesthesiologist looked at me with a surprised look on his face. Don't worry sir, I'm still alive.
Finally the guy came in and they went through the process. Give me something to relax (I wish I could get that on a regular basis), give me the forget-this drug that makes everything look a bit grainy, then knock me out. I've found I remember more and more of it during every surgery. So long as I don't remember the first cut, I figure that's probably okay. Then I was out!
Considering all the surgeries I've had, I don't really count this as an important one so I won't really be giving a lot of details. It went smoothly enough, and I had the exact symptoms they described. I didn't throw up from the drugs because I don't really anymore. The only issue I had was that the gas that they put in you bubbled up to my shoulders, which hurt pretty dang bad. He told me I had over 10 gall stones (they stop counting at 10), so he wasn't surprised I was getting attacks. Apparently I shouldn't have waited a year and a half to get them out. Oh well.
When I got home, I was laying on the chair recovering. A person who is extremely close to me was laying on our couch, having had their own surgery that day. I was just drifting off to a happy dream world when that person got up and went upstairs. That was definitely not okay, but the person (let's call this person Alex) didn't tell us where she was going. When she came down we asked if she was okay, and she didn't answer. Shortly after, maybe about a minute, she started having a seizure. Being a former lifeguard, I recognized what it was, but I wasn't about to leave everyone to deal with it. Alex is extremely close to me, and I wanted to make sure she was okay. So with my Mom on the phone with EMS, I got to work ensuring her head was somewhere soft and away from everything. Alex's husband was close by, trying to get her to stop. I had to make sure he didn't shake her or get close to her mouth, and when she finished seizing I got him to roll her on her side. She woke up after a few minutes but wasn't coherent and kept trying to walk away from us. EMS arrived at this point and took her away, which is when I laid back down and had my nap. I won't tell you more about Alex's story because once again, that's not my story to tell. For this though, it had an effect on me because it was the same day of both our surgeries, and I feel it's important in this point for my story. I will let you know that Alex is okay now.
I only had about a week to recover, and then I went back to my last semester in school. I was so excited for so many things: convocation, starting my new job, and going on a trip that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to handle!
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
No, I Just Wear This Sling As A Fashion Statement
To give you all a gauge of time in this everlasting story, this was now around October of 2012. I was in my most favourite class, Human Computer Interaction 2, this semester. It was great because I could work on such interesting and new technologies, and it was also so fast paced with so much work that I cried from it a couple times. That's how you know if it's a good class: it breaks your soul.
I was still in my sling at this time, but mostly just while I walked around so that no one decided to body check me into the lockers or something. You really never know with people. When I got to class or work, I'd sit down and take it off so I could type and pretend to be a normal person.
At this point, I was thinking about the poster that I had seen. There was an information session coming up about a very fantastic company that I'd always wanted to work for. I'd talked to my parents about it and my Dad decided to come with me so he could write notes.
The day of the session rolled around and we went to the school together, then sat in a small classroom where it was taking place. There were a LOT of people. They had pizza and drinks on the table, and then proceeded to tell us about this place that they wanted us to apply at. It sounded amazing, though there were only 3 position types and none of them were exactly what I wanted to do. That wouldn't stop me though. I listened to a lot of people's questions, Dad and I made fun of a couple under our breaths. Then we were able to go, and discuss things with the presenters if we so chose. My dad went off and let me wait for people to finish asking their questions of one of the people. So I waited. This guy was in a Program Manager position, which I figured I would fit into the best, despite not having any business background. After a while, he looked at me and says "Wow! What did you do?", gesturing at my sling. I responded "Oh, nothing, I just wear it for fashion." Immediately after saying it, I decided I was an idiot, but thankfully he found it really funny. I told him what I actually had, and he looked a little blown away. I asked a couple of things, like how much my minor would help me and what the medical support from the company was, and that was that!
I honestly didn't think anything would happen from putting my resume in, but a short while later I got an email from Microsoft saying that I was chosen for an interview for the position of PM. I freaked, yelled at my parents to come read it, fist pumped, etc. And then I got really scared. I didn't have a job for after University yet, which was fast approaching, and I really wanted to work here! So I started getting prepared. I made a paper portfolio and practiced thinking about interfaces. And went shopping for interview clothes, of course. The day of the interview rolled around and I was strangely calm. I'd given myself lots of time between a class and the interview so I could be sitting in the seat early. I won't give you too much insight into the interview itself. I'll just say it went pretty good. I left thinking it was one of the better interviews I've done, and left it at that in my mind. After that, I went home and told my parents and brother how it went.
About a week later, I got another email from Microsoft saying I'd been chosen for a second interview... in Seattle! I had to do so much for this, fill out forms, tell them when I was okay to go and how long I'd stay for. My mom decided to come with me for this because then I wouldn't be alone and she could shop. The time flew by very quickly for this, and soon I was at the airport boarding the plane with my mom. We took off, and I immediately got a searing pain in my shoulder. Mom said "I guess she doesn't like flying", which we both found quite funny. We landed in Seattle and took a cab to the hotel. It took forever. I'm sure we didn't even go far, but it felt like we went from Calgary to Edmonton. Really, we went to Bellevue and got dropped off at this amazing hotel. I can't stress that enough... the hotel was beautiful. We had great views of the city and dogs in down coats and mini umbrellas. Yes, I'm serious. The dogs were dressed warmer than the people walking them.
The trip was a little whirlwind. We did a bunch of shopping and saw a friend, but the main part of the trip was obviously the interview itself. I won't tell you about the inner workings of the interview, because I'm sure Microsoft wouldn't appreciate that, but just know I met a really nice Masters student from my school who was also going for an interview in Bellevue. I'll save the stories from this too, though they were hilarious and involved tanning beds and snow sharks. It was one of the best experiences of my life, and solidified in my mind that at this point of my life, there was no place I'd rather be than Calgary. You know, I don't get Seasonal Depressive Disorder, but I felt very depressed from the minute we touched down. Calgary is a very sunny place, and apparently Seattle can too, but it sure wasn't while we were there. I'm also so happy Mom was with me, because she was with me from the second I joined the other interviewees (it was kinda like the first day of school) to when I got back and texted her. She jumped in a cab (who she'd made wait for her while she was outlet shopping) and came back as fast as she could. It made me realize that with all the big moments in my life, my family had been there for me. Whether it was my health problems, getting into University, or going for an interview in Seattle, they were always there. And I'm not ready to give that up. I've had a lot of people come and go in my life, and no matter what, they're still there.
So after Mom and I went to the Microsoft store (it's like heaven for me) and got our matching Surfaces, we got back in the cab and got back on our plane. My donor seemed to have gotten over her fear of flying because my shoulder didn't hurt. On the way home, I tried to make a plan in my head about what I was going to do for a job when I graduated. I had four months left to get a job. And I was in for quite a surprise when I got back.
I was still in my sling at this time, but mostly just while I walked around so that no one decided to body check me into the lockers or something. You really never know with people. When I got to class or work, I'd sit down and take it off so I could type and pretend to be a normal person.
At this point, I was thinking about the poster that I had seen. There was an information session coming up about a very fantastic company that I'd always wanted to work for. I'd talked to my parents about it and my Dad decided to come with me so he could write notes.
The day of the session rolled around and we went to the school together, then sat in a small classroom where it was taking place. There were a LOT of people. They had pizza and drinks on the table, and then proceeded to tell us about this place that they wanted us to apply at. It sounded amazing, though there were only 3 position types and none of them were exactly what I wanted to do. That wouldn't stop me though. I listened to a lot of people's questions, Dad and I made fun of a couple under our breaths. Then we were able to go, and discuss things with the presenters if we so chose. My dad went off and let me wait for people to finish asking their questions of one of the people. So I waited. This guy was in a Program Manager position, which I figured I would fit into the best, despite not having any business background. After a while, he looked at me and says "Wow! What did you do?", gesturing at my sling. I responded "Oh, nothing, I just wear it for fashion." Immediately after saying it, I decided I was an idiot, but thankfully he found it really funny. I told him what I actually had, and he looked a little blown away. I asked a couple of things, like how much my minor would help me and what the medical support from the company was, and that was that!
I honestly didn't think anything would happen from putting my resume in, but a short while later I got an email from Microsoft saying that I was chosen for an interview for the position of PM. I freaked, yelled at my parents to come read it, fist pumped, etc. And then I got really scared. I didn't have a job for after University yet, which was fast approaching, and I really wanted to work here! So I started getting prepared. I made a paper portfolio and practiced thinking about interfaces. And went shopping for interview clothes, of course. The day of the interview rolled around and I was strangely calm. I'd given myself lots of time between a class and the interview so I could be sitting in the seat early. I won't give you too much insight into the interview itself. I'll just say it went pretty good. I left thinking it was one of the better interviews I've done, and left it at that in my mind. After that, I went home and told my parents and brother how it went.
About a week later, I got another email from Microsoft saying I'd been chosen for a second interview... in Seattle! I had to do so much for this, fill out forms, tell them when I was okay to go and how long I'd stay for. My mom decided to come with me for this because then I wouldn't be alone and she could shop. The time flew by very quickly for this, and soon I was at the airport boarding the plane with my mom. We took off, and I immediately got a searing pain in my shoulder. Mom said "I guess she doesn't like flying", which we both found quite funny. We landed in Seattle and took a cab to the hotel. It took forever. I'm sure we didn't even go far, but it felt like we went from Calgary to Edmonton. Really, we went to Bellevue and got dropped off at this amazing hotel. I can't stress that enough... the hotel was beautiful. We had great views of the city and dogs in down coats and mini umbrellas. Yes, I'm serious. The dogs were dressed warmer than the people walking them.
The trip was a little whirlwind. We did a bunch of shopping and saw a friend, but the main part of the trip was obviously the interview itself. I won't tell you about the inner workings of the interview, because I'm sure Microsoft wouldn't appreciate that, but just know I met a really nice Masters student from my school who was also going for an interview in Bellevue. I'll save the stories from this too, though they were hilarious and involved tanning beds and snow sharks. It was one of the best experiences of my life, and solidified in my mind that at this point of my life, there was no place I'd rather be than Calgary. You know, I don't get Seasonal Depressive Disorder, but I felt very depressed from the minute we touched down. Calgary is a very sunny place, and apparently Seattle can too, but it sure wasn't while we were there. I'm also so happy Mom was with me, because she was with me from the second I joined the other interviewees (it was kinda like the first day of school) to when I got back and texted her. She jumped in a cab (who she'd made wait for her while she was outlet shopping) and came back as fast as she could. It made me realize that with all the big moments in my life, my family had been there for me. Whether it was my health problems, getting into University, or going for an interview in Seattle, they were always there. And I'm not ready to give that up. I've had a lot of people come and go in my life, and no matter what, they're still there.
So after Mom and I went to the Microsoft store (it's like heaven for me) and got our matching Surfaces, we got back in the cab and got back on our plane. My donor seemed to have gotten over her fear of flying because my shoulder didn't hurt. On the way home, I tried to make a plan in my head about what I was going to do for a job when I graduated. I had four months left to get a job. And I was in for quite a surprise when I got back.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Aaaaaahhh-Choo-ooowwwwwwwww!
I have heard that bone grafts are the most painful surgery you can get. I'd always assumed that only applied to people who had the bone removed from elsewhere on their body. I was wrong. Here's a list of things you should never do after getting a bone graft:
1) Sneeze
2) Cough
3) Laugh
4) Shrug
5) Think about your shoulder enough to make it twitch a bit
6) Drop something in front of you and try to catch it with the graft-arm
7) Move, ever
8) Breathe
9) Cry from the pain of the aforementioned motions
I'm pretty sure I did all these things when I woke up from the surgery. It takes time to figure out you don't have an arm to use, so you keep trying to use it until you feel the pain.
I woke up in recovery with the feeling that the bone disease was gone. It was incredible. I could instantly tell the difference. But man was I out of it. I slept a TON and eventually a nurse came over and told me they didn't have a room for me yet, which was why I was still chilling in recovery. I realized it had been a couple hours since surgery already. Eventually my surgeon came in and was livid that I didn't have a room yet. He basically went out and called the nurses station of where I was headed, demanding a room. He's awesome.
Eventually I started rolling towards my room. It had taken a long time, but I was on my way to a nice, peaceful rest. I'm kind of making this sound like death... I didn't die, I swear. I got to my room with my family in tow. They told me it had been six hours since I rolled into my surgery, and that they were happy I was okay. Apparently they weren't told anything, though how could they be? Recovery wasn't about to call them, or let them in. Oh well. The acute pain services people came in and hooked up a morphine drip. This is the first time I've had one of these, where you hit the button if you're feeling pain. I was super hesitant to use it, but they told me I should because soon I was going to be in a TON more pain. So I did.
It didn't take long to get back to sleep. My family left relatively soon because I was exhausted. So I slept the night away, waking up occasionally to wonder why an older lady kept coming to my door. The next day I woke up and went home early, with a bunch of pills in my pocket.
I was in a sling for a long, long time. I have issues wearing that sling because it hurts my elbow, but I had the block this time so I got to wait a few blissful days until the feeling came back to my arm. I say arm because a couple fingers still had pins and needles or no feeling at all for about a week, which wasn't much help except that it made me think about them all the time on top of thinking about the shoulder. My family was extremely helpful. My boyfriend came in a couple times but he was quite hesitant about the whole thing. He wanted to go to a music store about a week after my surgery and I went because I figured he'd driven all that way to come and see me, so I should make him happy. Things like that were super tiring.
I went back to work relatively quickly.. I think it was a week. My boss told me I could so long as I didn't tell people that they beat me up. Work made me happy, it made me feel normal again. I had so many people in the building tell me about their surgeries, specifically the ones they thought I'd gotten (rotator cuff, dislocated shoulder, etc). I had one professor calling me Gimpy. It was great.
I went back to school about a week after that. School was just starting, and it was my last year. I didn't expect the workload of one of the classes, but to be honest, it was completely worth it. I remember them being so scared when I was able to start taking off my sling for comfort reasons, and to type. But I did that quickly, because I hate typing with one hand.
The worst part of this recovery was the fact that I couldn't drive for six weeks. My cab driver neighbour would take me home after school, and my dad would take me there every morning. This meant that I couldn't stay at school late or go early, and also made me hate needing to depend on other people. But really, who likes having to depend on people, right?
One final thing happened during this time was my ex-boyfriend that kept texting me decided to email me. He told me that the reason he'd been trying to get a hold of me was that he had gotten a diagnosis for asperger's, and that he'd finally realized because of it that he'd treated me badly and wanted to apologize. I read it a few times and realized I could take two paths with this. I could ignore it, just like his texts and attempts to chat, as he'd told me he would be fine with me doing in the email. Or I could respond and talk to him about it. I thought about a lot of things with this, but mostly my mind was stuck on how people treated me when they found out about my health problems. I imagined how I would feel had I sent an equivalent email, and how I would feel if a person ignored me. And finally, I thought about the support system that I was aware of him having and how I thought they would react to this news. In the end, the decision was quite easy. I emailed him back and told him that all was forgiven, and then did my best to give him a few pointers about being diagnosed with a major health issue that I had learned along the way. There are people that I know that still refuse to forgive him and don't understand why I did, but in my opinion there was no question about what needed to be done. I could continue on this thread, but just know that I feel there is no fault in what he did, and I hope that he is able to find help, support, and peace with his own health problems. The rest of his story is his story to tell.
After this happened, I went downstairs to head towards my awaiting neighbour. On my way down, I passed a sign for an information session about a potential employer. Naturally, I tore down every sign I could find and stashed it in my bag... no just kidding. I took a picture of it with my phone and made a mental note to discuss this with my parents. I had no idea about the series events this picture would lead to, but I now know that it was likely one of the most important pictures of my life.
1) Sneeze
2) Cough
3) Laugh
4) Shrug
5) Think about your shoulder enough to make it twitch a bit
6) Drop something in front of you and try to catch it with the graft-arm
7) Move, ever
8) Breathe
9) Cry from the pain of the aforementioned motions
I'm pretty sure I did all these things when I woke up from the surgery. It takes time to figure out you don't have an arm to use, so you keep trying to use it until you feel the pain.
I woke up in recovery with the feeling that the bone disease was gone. It was incredible. I could instantly tell the difference. But man was I out of it. I slept a TON and eventually a nurse came over and told me they didn't have a room for me yet, which was why I was still chilling in recovery. I realized it had been a couple hours since surgery already. Eventually my surgeon came in and was livid that I didn't have a room yet. He basically went out and called the nurses station of where I was headed, demanding a room. He's awesome.
Eventually I started rolling towards my room. It had taken a long time, but I was on my way to a nice, peaceful rest. I'm kind of making this sound like death... I didn't die, I swear. I got to my room with my family in tow. They told me it had been six hours since I rolled into my surgery, and that they were happy I was okay. Apparently they weren't told anything, though how could they be? Recovery wasn't about to call them, or let them in. Oh well. The acute pain services people came in and hooked up a morphine drip. This is the first time I've had one of these, where you hit the button if you're feeling pain. I was super hesitant to use it, but they told me I should because soon I was going to be in a TON more pain. So I did.
It didn't take long to get back to sleep. My family left relatively soon because I was exhausted. So I slept the night away, waking up occasionally to wonder why an older lady kept coming to my door. The next day I woke up and went home early, with a bunch of pills in my pocket.
I was in a sling for a long, long time. I have issues wearing that sling because it hurts my elbow, but I had the block this time so I got to wait a few blissful days until the feeling came back to my arm. I say arm because a couple fingers still had pins and needles or no feeling at all for about a week, which wasn't much help except that it made me think about them all the time on top of thinking about the shoulder. My family was extremely helpful. My boyfriend came in a couple times but he was quite hesitant about the whole thing. He wanted to go to a music store about a week after my surgery and I went because I figured he'd driven all that way to come and see me, so I should make him happy. Things like that were super tiring.
I went back to work relatively quickly.. I think it was a week. My boss told me I could so long as I didn't tell people that they beat me up. Work made me happy, it made me feel normal again. I had so many people in the building tell me about their surgeries, specifically the ones they thought I'd gotten (rotator cuff, dislocated shoulder, etc). I had one professor calling me Gimpy. It was great.
I went back to school about a week after that. School was just starting, and it was my last year. I didn't expect the workload of one of the classes, but to be honest, it was completely worth it. I remember them being so scared when I was able to start taking off my sling for comfort reasons, and to type. But I did that quickly, because I hate typing with one hand.
The worst part of this recovery was the fact that I couldn't drive for six weeks. My cab driver neighbour would take me home after school, and my dad would take me there every morning. This meant that I couldn't stay at school late or go early, and also made me hate needing to depend on other people. But really, who likes having to depend on people, right?
One final thing happened during this time was my ex-boyfriend that kept texting me decided to email me. He told me that the reason he'd been trying to get a hold of me was that he had gotten a diagnosis for asperger's, and that he'd finally realized because of it that he'd treated me badly and wanted to apologize. I read it a few times and realized I could take two paths with this. I could ignore it, just like his texts and attempts to chat, as he'd told me he would be fine with me doing in the email. Or I could respond and talk to him about it. I thought about a lot of things with this, but mostly my mind was stuck on how people treated me when they found out about my health problems. I imagined how I would feel had I sent an equivalent email, and how I would feel if a person ignored me. And finally, I thought about the support system that I was aware of him having and how I thought they would react to this news. In the end, the decision was quite easy. I emailed him back and told him that all was forgiven, and then did my best to give him a few pointers about being diagnosed with a major health issue that I had learned along the way. There are people that I know that still refuse to forgive him and don't understand why I did, but in my opinion there was no question about what needed to be done. I could continue on this thread, but just know that I feel there is no fault in what he did, and I hope that he is able to find help, support, and peace with his own health problems. The rest of his story is his story to tell.
After this happened, I went downstairs to head towards my awaiting neighbour. On my way down, I passed a sign for an information session about a potential employer. Naturally, I tore down every sign I could find and stashed it in my bag... no just kidding. I took a picture of it with my phone and made a mental note to discuss this with my parents. I had no idea about the series events this picture would lead to, but I now know that it was likely one of the most important pictures of my life.
Friday, February 7, 2014
How's It Going? Why Is Your Face So White? Did He Hit My Jugular?
So August 28th rolled around. I made sure to get a lot of sleep before and hang out with my cat as much as I could. I threw balls left handed, juggled left handed, cooked with only my left hand... no, wait, I didn't do those things. I just thought I should try it while I had it. I was very prepared for this surgery in my mind.
We strolled into the hospital at the balmy hour of 2am (more like 6am, but there's not really a difference) and got checked in. Sitting in bed waiting for the surgery to start, I was so excited. It's hard to explain how you can be excited for a surgery. Most people in that room are sitting there being scared out of their minds, but not me. I was about to have my shoulder stop being a bitch. It was finally time!
The holding room nurse starting giving me an IV. I hate IV's. Not because I find them painful, but because my veins tend to decide they won't get an IV before surgery. So this guy tried to give me one and succeeded! But shortly after, my vein blew. My arm started swelling up and hurting and I was like "um, sir?" He ripped it out of me and said the anesthetist would do it. Poor guy. I really am a dream killer.
They wheeled me into the holding area to go into surgery, and Mom and Dad were both beside me. We talked to the anesthetist and he decided that the best thing to do for pain relief during and after the surgery was a block. It would freeze my entire left arm for a few days and I wouldn't feel a thing. In order to do it, they had to put a needle in my neck and there was a chance of them accidentally nicking my jugular and killing me. As much as I'm making this sound not very appetizing, the block sounded perfect, so we said yes. Then the surgeons walked in. I don't know if you've ever met surgeons, and maybe it's just my surgeons, but I've never met a group of more excited, happy people in my life. The two that were doing this one were hilarious. My usual shoulder surgeon is just great, a barrel of laughs really, and the other one really made an impression this day. He came in, having driven from the city that his practice is in, and show us the instructions he would be using to do the graft surgery. The paper was all wet and crinkled, and he told us that was because he'd had the papers in his back seat with his dog, who was wet. But we needn't worry, because he could still read them quite well. This cracked up all of us. There's a reason I let these people work on my joints, and part of it is because I just like them so much. So they signed my left shoulder and told me it was time for the block.
They wheeled me behind a curtain, then told me to look to the right. I could only see Dad, who stood there for moral support, but I could hear Mom's voice behind me, as she was standing within the curtain. I also heard the voice of my anesthetist and two more doctors. They had to ultrasound my neck as they did it to make sure they didn't kill me. I could see my Dad's face and it was going whiter and whiter. I could also hear the doctors talking about how not to hit important parts of my body with the needle. After what seemed like twenty minutes but I'm pretty sure was only 5, I heard "we're done!" and I started not feeling my arm. Voila! I'd give a thumbs up at the point but my had was frozen so it was more of a thumb-play-dead. Surgery time.
My nurse rolled me down the hall and near the OR, and I jumped off the trolley. We walked into the room, making sure to bring my trusty sling, and I approached the "bed". I put it into quotations because the bed for my shoulder surgeries is actually more of a chair. Once you jump on onto it and they strap you down and put everything into you and onto you, they lay it back and it's more of a bed. It's just better to get you in position for the surgery. So I got positioned and got all ready to go. Sometimes I find those surgeries a little uncomfortable in that chair because there's people putting things all over your body and you just kinda have to take it. Gravity likes to give you a hard time with the gown too. But eventually everything was in position, and they started giving me the drugs. I remember up to the forgetting drug again, but not to where I got to count. That guy is pretty good.
I feel a bit awkward about giving the gory details of this surgery on my blog. If I do succeed in making this a book, I will enhance it and put them in there, at least as much as I know. Just know that someone else's shoulder magically became mine! With the help of some very talented people.
When I woke up, I was shocked. I could immediately feel no bone disease pain. I knew it was a success. It was a good thing we had done it. They ended up replacing 70% of my humeral head. All that bone was either gone or ruined from my bone disease. I woke up with the graft in, the sling on, and a massive, wet/dry bandage stuck to my arm. I couldn't even peek. All I could do was snuggle back down into my hospital bed and await the 6 weeks of pain and sling-ness that I had coming for me.
We strolled into the hospital at the balmy hour of 2am (more like 6am, but there's not really a difference) and got checked in. Sitting in bed waiting for the surgery to start, I was so excited. It's hard to explain how you can be excited for a surgery. Most people in that room are sitting there being scared out of their minds, but not me. I was about to have my shoulder stop being a bitch. It was finally time!
The holding room nurse starting giving me an IV. I hate IV's. Not because I find them painful, but because my veins tend to decide they won't get an IV before surgery. So this guy tried to give me one and succeeded! But shortly after, my vein blew. My arm started swelling up and hurting and I was like "um, sir?" He ripped it out of me and said the anesthetist would do it. Poor guy. I really am a dream killer.
They wheeled me into the holding area to go into surgery, and Mom and Dad were both beside me. We talked to the anesthetist and he decided that the best thing to do for pain relief during and after the surgery was a block. It would freeze my entire left arm for a few days and I wouldn't feel a thing. In order to do it, they had to put a needle in my neck and there was a chance of them accidentally nicking my jugular and killing me. As much as I'm making this sound not very appetizing, the block sounded perfect, so we said yes. Then the surgeons walked in. I don't know if you've ever met surgeons, and maybe it's just my surgeons, but I've never met a group of more excited, happy people in my life. The two that were doing this one were hilarious. My usual shoulder surgeon is just great, a barrel of laughs really, and the other one really made an impression this day. He came in, having driven from the city that his practice is in, and show us the instructions he would be using to do the graft surgery. The paper was all wet and crinkled, and he told us that was because he'd had the papers in his back seat with his dog, who was wet. But we needn't worry, because he could still read them quite well. This cracked up all of us. There's a reason I let these people work on my joints, and part of it is because I just like them so much. So they signed my left shoulder and told me it was time for the block.
They wheeled me behind a curtain, then told me to look to the right. I could only see Dad, who stood there for moral support, but I could hear Mom's voice behind me, as she was standing within the curtain. I also heard the voice of my anesthetist and two more doctors. They had to ultrasound my neck as they did it to make sure they didn't kill me. I could see my Dad's face and it was going whiter and whiter. I could also hear the doctors talking about how not to hit important parts of my body with the needle. After what seemed like twenty minutes but I'm pretty sure was only 5, I heard "we're done!" and I started not feeling my arm. Voila! I'd give a thumbs up at the point but my had was frozen so it was more of a thumb-play-dead. Surgery time.
My nurse rolled me down the hall and near the OR, and I jumped off the trolley. We walked into the room, making sure to bring my trusty sling, and I approached the "bed". I put it into quotations because the bed for my shoulder surgeries is actually more of a chair. Once you jump on onto it and they strap you down and put everything into you and onto you, they lay it back and it's more of a bed. It's just better to get you in position for the surgery. So I got positioned and got all ready to go. Sometimes I find those surgeries a little uncomfortable in that chair because there's people putting things all over your body and you just kinda have to take it. Gravity likes to give you a hard time with the gown too. But eventually everything was in position, and they started giving me the drugs. I remember up to the forgetting drug again, but not to where I got to count. That guy is pretty good.
I feel a bit awkward about giving the gory details of this surgery on my blog. If I do succeed in making this a book, I will enhance it and put them in there, at least as much as I know. Just know that someone else's shoulder magically became mine! With the help of some very talented people.
When I woke up, I was shocked. I could immediately feel no bone disease pain. I knew it was a success. It was a good thing we had done it. They ended up replacing 70% of my humeral head. All that bone was either gone or ruined from my bone disease. I woke up with the graft in, the sling on, and a massive, wet/dry bandage stuck to my arm. I couldn't even peek. All I could do was snuggle back down into my hospital bed and await the 6 weeks of pain and sling-ness that I had coming for me.
Monday, January 27, 2014
That's What My Gall Bladder Looks Like? Are They Always That Happy?
So this is a little embarrassing, but I messed up the timing a little bit in my last post. I removed the last paragraph of the last one. Forget what I said about heading towards February... I got the timing of the gall bladder surgery wrong! It's embarrassing when you have so many surgeries that you get them mixed around. Oops!
So I went into the new year quite happily! My school schedule wasn't too challenging, I was learning about how to make robots take over the world, and I was heading back and forth to Hanna every other weekend. I figured out that not only does lengthy highway driving put a lot of strain on my joints, Hanna in general puts a lot of strain on my migraines. But I decided it was okay, because I was pretty into this guy, so I'd just live with it. So, zoom zoom. School was pretty fantastic, I was in a lot of art classes, and I was starting to get grades that were high enough that I was thinking of going to grad school in a few years after University. I was still taking a few group things at the pain clinic and I was doing one on one stuff with my doctor now, and they were helping in ways I'd never dreamed! So my first semester of my first year motored on quite smoothly, and I hit summer pretty quickly. And summer is where everything blew up.
I started out by seeing my gall bladder surgeon. He told me that I did indeed have stones, and it was likely from the steroids I had from the brain surgery. My daily attacks would likely be cured by a gall bladder removal, he said, so we should definitely take it out. Then he drew a little picture for me on the bed that looked like a smiley face. I said "okay." So I walked out and texted my parents, saying "woot, surgery number 5." Someday we hope to remove the sarcastic bone in my body, but that wouldn't be this surgery. I now had a solid date to take this baby out of me! I was pumped! I told them to put me in line to get the surgery, and if it came up before I got my call for my shoulder, then I'd get this. Sounds perfect! Right? I mean, I'd been waiting so long for my shoulder and I hadn't got my call, so why would I get it now?
Of course, when you're thinking something won't happen, it happens.
So a little while later, in the summer of 2012, I got my call. I was so excited. They told me that a shoulder became available and that I should get prepared. They said there was still more tests to do on it and they would tell me in a week if it was good, but I should be ready to get surgery within a month. I can't even explain how I felt. I called my parents, then I called my brother, and we were all just ecstatic. I got everything ready for work so they'd know I was away. I was ready. I couldn't have been more ready. And when they didn't call after a week I started telling myself it just meant good news, that they'd forgotten to call because they were busy getting it ready for surgery. My parents weren't so optimistic. They started telling me to not be too excited. There would be another time. I shouldn't be heartbroken if it didn't work out this time
I already was.
They called a week and a half after that first call, and told me the bone didn't pass it's tests. I was sitting at the top of my stairs, and all I could say was "okay. Thank you." I cried for a long, long time. It wasn't just me that didn't get a donor that day, it was a lot of people. I'm sure all of us were crushed. I understand the process, but it was like they handed me the world and then said "oops, that's not good enough for you, sorry. No replacements." Eventually I called Mom and told her. She could tell how terrible I felt, and she felt terrible for me. Poor Mom. She's really always been the cushion I fall on, every time.
Over the next month or so, I took some time to just calm down from the whole thing. I still had this gall bladder to look forward too (right? That's what you do for surgery, right? Look forward to it?) so I couldn't be totally dismayed.
At the end of July, something extremely unexpected happened... I got another call! I went through the whole cycle again, calling everyone, being excited. After waiting so long for the first call, what were the odds that the second call would happen after only a month? I got everything ready, and I was optimistic. For some reason I just felt that this time, it was going to work out. I have bad luck, but I don't have THAT much bad luck. Mom was cautious like a deer in front of all the headlights in the world. She said she just didn't want to see me hurt again. I totally got that, but I just didn't want to be scared and hurt anymore. We started looking through the obituaries and watching the news to see if we could maybe find who it was that my graft came from. For bone grafts, the donor could only be in Southern Alberta, which is why it's so important to sign your donor card. We think we found her, because (assuming she was from Calgary) there could really only be one person that could have been a donor for me. The situation of the woman that we found was eerie in a way that made even Mom think it was maybe meant to be.
A week later, I got the second call. It was a go! I was to get the surgery August 28th. Both my regular shoulder surgeon and the surgeon in charge of the graft clinic was to do the surgery. I was ready! I put only healthy things into my body for the next few weeks. The Chronic Pain Center told me that they would assist for pain control after the surgery. I called my gall bladder surgeon and told him that I'd have to hold off for a bit. There was really nothing that could go wrong! I should stop thinking those words!
No matter how prepared I thought I was, I wasn't prepared. But I was definitely ready to have my shoulder stop dislocating and have my life back in order. All I could think was: bring it on!
So I went into the new year quite happily! My school schedule wasn't too challenging, I was learning about how to make robots take over the world, and I was heading back and forth to Hanna every other weekend. I figured out that not only does lengthy highway driving put a lot of strain on my joints, Hanna in general puts a lot of strain on my migraines. But I decided it was okay, because I was pretty into this guy, so I'd just live with it. So, zoom zoom. School was pretty fantastic, I was in a lot of art classes, and I was starting to get grades that were high enough that I was thinking of going to grad school in a few years after University. I was still taking a few group things at the pain clinic and I was doing one on one stuff with my doctor now, and they were helping in ways I'd never dreamed! So my first semester of my first year motored on quite smoothly, and I hit summer pretty quickly. And summer is where everything blew up.
I started out by seeing my gall bladder surgeon. He told me that I did indeed have stones, and it was likely from the steroids I had from the brain surgery. My daily attacks would likely be cured by a gall bladder removal, he said, so we should definitely take it out. Then he drew a little picture for me on the bed that looked like a smiley face. I said "okay." So I walked out and texted my parents, saying "woot, surgery number 5." Someday we hope to remove the sarcastic bone in my body, but that wouldn't be this surgery. I now had a solid date to take this baby out of me! I was pumped! I told them to put me in line to get the surgery, and if it came up before I got my call for my shoulder, then I'd get this. Sounds perfect! Right? I mean, I'd been waiting so long for my shoulder and I hadn't got my call, so why would I get it now?
Of course, when you're thinking something won't happen, it happens.
So a little while later, in the summer of 2012, I got my call. I was so excited. They told me that a shoulder became available and that I should get prepared. They said there was still more tests to do on it and they would tell me in a week if it was good, but I should be ready to get surgery within a month. I can't even explain how I felt. I called my parents, then I called my brother, and we were all just ecstatic. I got everything ready for work so they'd know I was away. I was ready. I couldn't have been more ready. And when they didn't call after a week I started telling myself it just meant good news, that they'd forgotten to call because they were busy getting it ready for surgery. My parents weren't so optimistic. They started telling me to not be too excited. There would be another time. I shouldn't be heartbroken if it didn't work out this time
I already was.
They called a week and a half after that first call, and told me the bone didn't pass it's tests. I was sitting at the top of my stairs, and all I could say was "okay. Thank you." I cried for a long, long time. It wasn't just me that didn't get a donor that day, it was a lot of people. I'm sure all of us were crushed. I understand the process, but it was like they handed me the world and then said "oops, that's not good enough for you, sorry. No replacements." Eventually I called Mom and told her. She could tell how terrible I felt, and she felt terrible for me. Poor Mom. She's really always been the cushion I fall on, every time.
Over the next month or so, I took some time to just calm down from the whole thing. I still had this gall bladder to look forward too (right? That's what you do for surgery, right? Look forward to it?) so I couldn't be totally dismayed.
At the end of July, something extremely unexpected happened... I got another call! I went through the whole cycle again, calling everyone, being excited. After waiting so long for the first call, what were the odds that the second call would happen after only a month? I got everything ready, and I was optimistic. For some reason I just felt that this time, it was going to work out. I have bad luck, but I don't have THAT much bad luck. Mom was cautious like a deer in front of all the headlights in the world. She said she just didn't want to see me hurt again. I totally got that, but I just didn't want to be scared and hurt anymore. We started looking through the obituaries and watching the news to see if we could maybe find who it was that my graft came from. For bone grafts, the donor could only be in Southern Alberta, which is why it's so important to sign your donor card. We think we found her, because (assuming she was from Calgary) there could really only be one person that could have been a donor for me. The situation of the woman that we found was eerie in a way that made even Mom think it was maybe meant to be.
A week later, I got the second call. It was a go! I was to get the surgery August 28th. Both my regular shoulder surgeon and the surgeon in charge of the graft clinic was to do the surgery. I was ready! I put only healthy things into my body for the next few weeks. The Chronic Pain Center told me that they would assist for pain control after the surgery. I called my gall bladder surgeon and told him that I'd have to hold off for a bit. There was really nothing that could go wrong! I should stop thinking those words!
No matter how prepared I thought I was, I wasn't prepared. But I was definitely ready to have my shoulder stop dislocating and have my life back in order. All I could think was: bring it on!
Friday, December 20, 2013
If I'm An Artist Now, Does That Mean I Need To Wear A Beret And A Turtleneck? Because I Look Awesome In Berets.
So, getting back to the story, I'll actually let you back in on the timeline. In my mind, the times get a bit muddled around this part because the depression part of my life seemed to stretch out for years. In reality, it had only been eight months. Once I started getting back on my feet (quite literally) and getting into my life again, I had some fun things happen.
I met a new guy, for one. He's not super important on the boyfriend scale, but he did become a really awesome friend and a really supportive person. There have been a few people in my life like this (my nurse friend, my friend from computer science, my work husband from the uni, my Seattle friend, some family friends who are ALWAYS supportive and there for me, and of course, my own family, immediate and extended), but to be honest, people like this are just so few and far between that it's worth it to mention. He made me feel normal, and still does. When I told him about my health stuff, he nodded and said "everyone has stuff." But then he was also the first person to text when I had surgeries. He made me realize how bad I'd had it with Josh, so he came in at a good time in my life. I'm not going to say a lot about him in this, but he'll show up in the future briefly.
Another awesome thing that happened was I decided to add an art minor to my school. This is a huge thing in my life because I'm not very artistic. I wanted to better myself and step out of my element. A lot of amazing people that I know are artists, and I really respect them, so I did feel like I had a lot of hard work to do to get anywhere near the realm that they were in. The title of this post is symbolic of what people think before they do anything artistic. Artists are some of the most creative and hard working people. It's only the one's that are obsessed with their image that wear the beret's and turtlenecks. Josh had previously wanted me to finish school asap so we could work on paying off his debt and he could go to school again, but now I was ready to add on to my degree.
One thing I did that I never thought I'd do is I got a tattoo on my left inner wrist. It says Fight. I used to write this on my wrist all the time because it gave me strength when I needed it, and I needed it a lot. One day I decided I was wasting a lot of ink, and I may as well just waste a little and get it put on permanently. I've never regretted it, and I don't think I ever will. I look at it several times a day and feel a bit stronger.
On top of all this, I got a wicked new Smart car, Smarti.
Despite having so many great things going on, my life felt like a constant battle. I felt like I was trying to roll sideways up a steep hill because there was cheese at the top (I love cheese). I had so many appointments at the pain clinic. They were all massively helpful but doing them between school and work and life was draining. I kept with it though because I knew I had to. I didn't want to slide back down that hill and away from the cheese.
Around October or something, I got back in line for my left shoulder bone graft. My parents were very hesitant about this, saying that I should just have some time to be me without surgeries, which I understood. However, my shoulder was still dislocating several times a day, so I was pretty ready to have that fixed. Just as I respected their opinion, they respected my decision, so I jumped back in line and got ready for it. There was a hitch though: I also needed to get out my gall bladder now. Apparently the steroids I'd taken for my brain surgery and meningitis all those years ago had also given me gall stones. So I went and talked to my shoulder surgeon about timing, because I needed to know what would happen if I got my gall bladder out and my shoulder came in. He assured me that they would do it after a minimal amount of recovery time, so I decided to go ahead with the gall bladder surgery.
For New Years of 2012, I decided to go to Hanna to hang out with my cousin one last time before she moved away. I went to this big Hanna dance with them all, and I wore this tight, tiny blue dress. I hardly hung out with her at all, because there was a lot of people she knew there and she was everywhere at once. So I ended up hanging out with my other cousin and his friends. One of the people I hung out with was this guy that he'd known for a long time. I'd always heard stories about him but hadn't really talked to him. He was pretty shy and kept bringing me coke's all night (I wasn't drinking). At the end of the night I drove him home, even though you can walk anywhere in Hanna in about five minutes. It was cute. I contacted him on Facebook a bit later (I realize now he was too shy to contact me) and we ended up hanging out in Calgary again. Then we started dating. I though it would be great to date someone long distance because there would be the added bonus of having no pressure to hang out all the time instead of focusing on school. I didn't account for all the driving time, mind you. That's fine though. So we started dating, and he and I started alternating driving back and forth from where he was, which was Red Deer for a couple months, and then Hanna for a long, long time. But you'll hear more about that in the future.
It was around this time that I got a text message from an ex, the one I dated for 2 years and a bit. He told me he wanted to talk to me and that he was sorry for everything that happened. This stressed me out terribly. I told him not to talk to me again, and even considered changing my phone number. It had taken me a long time to get to where I was in my confidence, and I just wasn't ready to have him bring it down again. In hindsight, I should have been more willing to listen. You'll hear about that soon too.
So the clock ticked towards the new year, and I stared into my future with apprehensive but excited eyes. I had a lot of stuff that was going to get done in 2012 whether I liked it or not.
I met a new guy, for one. He's not super important on the boyfriend scale, but he did become a really awesome friend and a really supportive person. There have been a few people in my life like this (my nurse friend, my friend from computer science, my work husband from the uni, my Seattle friend, some family friends who are ALWAYS supportive and there for me, and of course, my own family, immediate and extended), but to be honest, people like this are just so few and far between that it's worth it to mention. He made me feel normal, and still does. When I told him about my health stuff, he nodded and said "everyone has stuff." But then he was also the first person to text when I had surgeries. He made me realize how bad I'd had it with Josh, so he came in at a good time in my life. I'm not going to say a lot about him in this, but he'll show up in the future briefly.
Another awesome thing that happened was I decided to add an art minor to my school. This is a huge thing in my life because I'm not very artistic. I wanted to better myself and step out of my element. A lot of amazing people that I know are artists, and I really respect them, so I did feel like I had a lot of hard work to do to get anywhere near the realm that they were in. The title of this post is symbolic of what people think before they do anything artistic. Artists are some of the most creative and hard working people. It's only the one's that are obsessed with their image that wear the beret's and turtlenecks. Josh had previously wanted me to finish school asap so we could work on paying off his debt and he could go to school again, but now I was ready to add on to my degree.
One thing I did that I never thought I'd do is I got a tattoo on my left inner wrist. It says Fight. I used to write this on my wrist all the time because it gave me strength when I needed it, and I needed it a lot. One day I decided I was wasting a lot of ink, and I may as well just waste a little and get it put on permanently. I've never regretted it, and I don't think I ever will. I look at it several times a day and feel a bit stronger.
On top of all this, I got a wicked new Smart car, Smarti.
Despite having so many great things going on, my life felt like a constant battle. I felt like I was trying to roll sideways up a steep hill because there was cheese at the top (I love cheese). I had so many appointments at the pain clinic. They were all massively helpful but doing them between school and work and life was draining. I kept with it though because I knew I had to. I didn't want to slide back down that hill and away from the cheese.
Around October or something, I got back in line for my left shoulder bone graft. My parents were very hesitant about this, saying that I should just have some time to be me without surgeries, which I understood. However, my shoulder was still dislocating several times a day, so I was pretty ready to have that fixed. Just as I respected their opinion, they respected my decision, so I jumped back in line and got ready for it. There was a hitch though: I also needed to get out my gall bladder now. Apparently the steroids I'd taken for my brain surgery and meningitis all those years ago had also given me gall stones. So I went and talked to my shoulder surgeon about timing, because I needed to know what would happen if I got my gall bladder out and my shoulder came in. He assured me that they would do it after a minimal amount of recovery time, so I decided to go ahead with the gall bladder surgery.
For New Years of 2012, I decided to go to Hanna to hang out with my cousin one last time before she moved away. I went to this big Hanna dance with them all, and I wore this tight, tiny blue dress. I hardly hung out with her at all, because there was a lot of people she knew there and she was everywhere at once. So I ended up hanging out with my other cousin and his friends. One of the people I hung out with was this guy that he'd known for a long time. I'd always heard stories about him but hadn't really talked to him. He was pretty shy and kept bringing me coke's all night (I wasn't drinking). At the end of the night I drove him home, even though you can walk anywhere in Hanna in about five minutes. It was cute. I contacted him on Facebook a bit later (I realize now he was too shy to contact me) and we ended up hanging out in Calgary again. Then we started dating. I though it would be great to date someone long distance because there would be the added bonus of having no pressure to hang out all the time instead of focusing on school. I didn't account for all the driving time, mind you. That's fine though. So we started dating, and he and I started alternating driving back and forth from where he was, which was Red Deer for a couple months, and then Hanna for a long, long time. But you'll hear more about that in the future.
It was around this time that I got a text message from an ex, the one I dated for 2 years and a bit. He told me he wanted to talk to me and that he was sorry for everything that happened. This stressed me out terribly. I told him not to talk to me again, and even considered changing my phone number. It had taken me a long time to get to where I was in my confidence, and I just wasn't ready to have him bring it down again. In hindsight, I should have been more willing to listen. You'll hear about that soon too.
So the clock ticked towards the new year, and I stared into my future with apprehensive but excited eyes. I had a lot of stuff that was going to get done in 2012 whether I liked it or not.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Yeah, You'll Probably Just Be Alone For The Rest Of Your Life... High Five!
I had a lot of potential coming out of this time of my life, and for good reason. It is extremely hard coming out of a deep depression, and you need a lot of things to look forward to. I vividly remember being in my kitchen, leaning again my cupboard, having my family telling me I have a problem with my pills and with being depressed. My eyes stung with tears, my chest hurt, and I just felt helpless. What was I supposed to do? Well, I had a little ways still that I could go down, but I had a long ways that I could go up. Luckily, I'd gotten rid of two big parts that were weighing me down, so it was time to swim.
I've had this happen a couple times in my life, though never to that extreme. One thing I've learned is to never let myself not work or not do things with my mind again. Apparently I always need to be thinking or I get upset. Some people need to exercise their body; I need to exercise my mind. I'm interested to see where that will take me in life, but I guess that's likely going to be a different story. Another thing I've learned from it is to nip it in the bud and start fixing things early. This chapter will center around how I did that.
The first step I took wasn't actually under my control. I got rid of Josh. I didn't realize it at the time but he was like the black hole of my happiness. Every time he came home he was just whining about his job and stuff, and he just made me so freaking miserable. I'd have to work to keep him happy, and then try to defend him to people. It was exhausting. So when he left, I was instantly several magnitudes happier, because I only had to focus on my own happiness and not his.
The next step I took was going to a psychologist. This was a very familiar step for me, I've gone to quite a few of these over the years. A lot of people call psychologist shrinks, which is stupid because they're very normal sized people, and they're quite helpful. This guy specialized in trauma. He talked through everything I'd gone through and everything I was going through with me and did some trauma techniques with me. It was very helpful. One thing we talked about was relationships and about whether or not I would find a husband that I would be with for the rest of my life. He told me most people divorce nowadays, and so it wasn't a bad thing to find a man for the now instead of for the forever. I'm not sure I necessarily agree with him, but it's definitely something I've kept in mind. Not everyone can handle my health stuff, but that doesn't mean I can't be with them.
The next step I took is one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life, and if you're in chronic pain I strongly suggest taking this step. I went to my family doctor (who is a complete hero in this story, she is the person who got everything in motion from the get go and essentially saved my life many times because of it). I told her about my difficulties with the pain and the pills (which I'd now gotten control of) and how I just needed some help. She immediately suggested the Chronic Pain Center, saying she'd refer me to it. This is one of those things that I get emotional about when I mention it. They're amazing! They give you group sessions so you can discuss techniques with other people to deal with your pain, such as sleep sessions, figuring out your triggers, meditation sessions, yoga, swimming even! And once you go through a bunch give you a team of doctors, physiotherapists, kinesiologists, occupational therapists, nutritionists, psychologists, nurses, etc. and all of them, ALL of them, specialize in PAIN! I walked into that place a wounded animal and walked out a confident person. The only issue I had with the place is I found a lot of people, mostly the ones who were a lot older than me, were extremely negative. That's fine though, I tried to spread a little positivity wherever I went. I have stories galore from this place, not about other people because I feel their stories are not mine to tell, but about me. Unfortunately, you guys only have so much time to read this, so someday, if I ever make this blog a book, I'll delete this sentence and tell you a bunch of awesome stories. The current outcome of the CPC, however, is that my pain has gone down and I'm able to manage it. I do have flare ups, of course, but I can deal with them better. That's absolutely amazing, and apparently a pretty rare outcome of this place (that the pain goes down).
One thing I should note about my time with the CPC: while here I saw the psychologist about my issue with relationships. She told me the exact opposite of the other psychologist, that there are men out there that can deal with health problems and there are men that can't, and there are also men that will target women that have them (eg. creeps). I should be looking for the men that can deal with them and can make me feel normal. I totally agree with this. I need to think about this long and hard though because there's apparently not a lot of guys in the world who can do that.
Another step I took was starting my charity, Team Kelli. I raise money for the Alberta Children's Hospital by selling wristbands (hopefully doing more in the future) and telling my story. I've raised almost $2 000 to date. The hospital has done so much for me in the past, and now I want to give back.
Finally the last step I took was writing this blog. I decided I'd gone through a lot in my life, and people have always told me I've been really positive and done really well. After seeing things like people in hospitals and hearing stories of other people in similar situations, I decided to write this to hopefully help people see that you can be positive no matter what the circumstance, and that it will help you to push through and get to the greener side of the fence. Nothing in life is easy, but if it was we wouldn't appreciate it. That's what makes life fun! So I hope by reading what I've written here, you've realized this for yourself and taken more risks, found more positives, and had your life become a bit better. Or, missing that, you've at least found this an interesting read thus far.
I say thus far for a reason... one thing about my life that the only things that seem to be constants are bad luck, pain, and health problems. I don't so much mind that, it gives me something to depend on. Don't take that as a negative statement, please! More just as a statement that you'd only understand if you were in the situation. I view pain as a level system. First it's excruciating and you just want to get rid of it. Then it's annoying, then tolerable. Eventually you don't notice it. Finally you're so used to it that it's one of your closest friends, always there with you, never leaving your side. You get a bad grade? At least you can depend on your pain still being there. Friends ditch you? Pain didn't! It is weird, but that's what happens.
Anyway, I digress, as usual. Back to my usual, happy self, I was back in school, back to work, and back to life! I could now focus on getting some of the things fixed in my messed up body. And boy, was I going to get them fixed...
I've had this happen a couple times in my life, though never to that extreme. One thing I've learned is to never let myself not work or not do things with my mind again. Apparently I always need to be thinking or I get upset. Some people need to exercise their body; I need to exercise my mind. I'm interested to see where that will take me in life, but I guess that's likely going to be a different story. Another thing I've learned from it is to nip it in the bud and start fixing things early. This chapter will center around how I did that.
The first step I took wasn't actually under my control. I got rid of Josh. I didn't realize it at the time but he was like the black hole of my happiness. Every time he came home he was just whining about his job and stuff, and he just made me so freaking miserable. I'd have to work to keep him happy, and then try to defend him to people. It was exhausting. So when he left, I was instantly several magnitudes happier, because I only had to focus on my own happiness and not his.
The next step I took was going to a psychologist. This was a very familiar step for me, I've gone to quite a few of these over the years. A lot of people call psychologist shrinks, which is stupid because they're very normal sized people, and they're quite helpful. This guy specialized in trauma. He talked through everything I'd gone through and everything I was going through with me and did some trauma techniques with me. It was very helpful. One thing we talked about was relationships and about whether or not I would find a husband that I would be with for the rest of my life. He told me most people divorce nowadays, and so it wasn't a bad thing to find a man for the now instead of for the forever. I'm not sure I necessarily agree with him, but it's definitely something I've kept in mind. Not everyone can handle my health stuff, but that doesn't mean I can't be with them.
The next step I took is one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life, and if you're in chronic pain I strongly suggest taking this step. I went to my family doctor (who is a complete hero in this story, she is the person who got everything in motion from the get go and essentially saved my life many times because of it). I told her about my difficulties with the pain and the pills (which I'd now gotten control of) and how I just needed some help. She immediately suggested the Chronic Pain Center, saying she'd refer me to it. This is one of those things that I get emotional about when I mention it. They're amazing! They give you group sessions so you can discuss techniques with other people to deal with your pain, such as sleep sessions, figuring out your triggers, meditation sessions, yoga, swimming even! And once you go through a bunch give you a team of doctors, physiotherapists, kinesiologists, occupational therapists, nutritionists, psychologists, nurses, etc. and all of them, ALL of them, specialize in PAIN! I walked into that place a wounded animal and walked out a confident person. The only issue I had with the place is I found a lot of people, mostly the ones who were a lot older than me, were extremely negative. That's fine though, I tried to spread a little positivity wherever I went. I have stories galore from this place, not about other people because I feel their stories are not mine to tell, but about me. Unfortunately, you guys only have so much time to read this, so someday, if I ever make this blog a book, I'll delete this sentence and tell you a bunch of awesome stories. The current outcome of the CPC, however, is that my pain has gone down and I'm able to manage it. I do have flare ups, of course, but I can deal with them better. That's absolutely amazing, and apparently a pretty rare outcome of this place (that the pain goes down).
One thing I should note about my time with the CPC: while here I saw the psychologist about my issue with relationships. She told me the exact opposite of the other psychologist, that there are men out there that can deal with health problems and there are men that can't, and there are also men that will target women that have them (eg. creeps). I should be looking for the men that can deal with them and can make me feel normal. I totally agree with this. I need to think about this long and hard though because there's apparently not a lot of guys in the world who can do that.
Another step I took was starting my charity, Team Kelli. I raise money for the Alberta Children's Hospital by selling wristbands (hopefully doing more in the future) and telling my story. I've raised almost $2 000 to date. The hospital has done so much for me in the past, and now I want to give back.
Finally the last step I took was writing this blog. I decided I'd gone through a lot in my life, and people have always told me I've been really positive and done really well. After seeing things like people in hospitals and hearing stories of other people in similar situations, I decided to write this to hopefully help people see that you can be positive no matter what the circumstance, and that it will help you to push through and get to the greener side of the fence. Nothing in life is easy, but if it was we wouldn't appreciate it. That's what makes life fun! So I hope by reading what I've written here, you've realized this for yourself and taken more risks, found more positives, and had your life become a bit better. Or, missing that, you've at least found this an interesting read thus far.
I say thus far for a reason... one thing about my life that the only things that seem to be constants are bad luck, pain, and health problems. I don't so much mind that, it gives me something to depend on. Don't take that as a negative statement, please! More just as a statement that you'd only understand if you were in the situation. I view pain as a level system. First it's excruciating and you just want to get rid of it. Then it's annoying, then tolerable. Eventually you don't notice it. Finally you're so used to it that it's one of your closest friends, always there with you, never leaving your side. You get a bad grade? At least you can depend on your pain still being there. Friends ditch you? Pain didn't! It is weird, but that's what happens.
Anyway, I digress, as usual. Back to my usual, happy self, I was back in school, back to work, and back to life! I could now focus on getting some of the things fixed in my messed up body. And boy, was I going to get them fixed...
Saturday, May 25, 2013
My Cat Doesn't Respond To Her Name, But She Does Respond To Smurf Face
Once we got home from the surgeon's appointment, I settled into the couch to await the surgery. And when I say I settled in, I mean I settled the heck in. There was a permanent imprint of my body shape on that couch. I figured I'd be there for a while, so I may as well get used to it.
I had a pretty major revelation at this time: when things are really bad for you, that doesn't mean it can't get worse, and it definitely doesn't mean that you can't have other things happen to you. This is something that should have been pretty obvious to me in the past, for so many reasons, but I decided that nothing more could touch me while I was sitting on that couch, so I was good. And thus, when I got a kidney infection and started running super high fevers and hallucinating, I didn't really care or even pay attention to it. This was right around New Years, about January 2nd, and for obvious reasons I don't have a huge amount of memories of it. At the time, we were getting a railing attached to the wall going up the stairs so that I wouldn't fall down them if I was alone, and we were also getting the guest bedroom repainted so that we could use it as my living room (it's right beside my bedroom). I remember Mom and Dad standing in the guest bedroom and me sitting against the wall. They were talking about something, and I was looking up at Mom, thinking about how pretty the shapes were that were floating around her head. She was watching me looking extremely worried and eventually got my attention, telling me that I was going to the doctor the next day.
So I went to the doctor the next day. Whoever said the Canadian healthcare system sucks is a fool, they get you in when you need it. I've had an awful lot of times where I've been extremely sick and needed healthcare, and they always get me in immediately in those cases. Anyway, I digress. They sent me to get blood work, and they took pretty much all of my blood (not really, but it felt like it, they had to take it from both arms because I was so dehydrated, and I needed a cookie after). Once I got home and settled back into the couch, they called me and told me to go to the hospital. I remember Josh looked annoyed and I couldn't figure out why, but once he saw that I was looking at him, he looked worried. Right, actor. So we called my Mom and she came home, then her, Josh, and I went to the Peter Lougheed Emergency. They took my name, gave me some orange juice and basically told me to drink as much as I could before I went in. I feel like I waited a while, but it was only a couple of hours. Mom and I were quite used to this. Eventually I got to go in, where they pumped me full of antibiotics and fluids to get me hydrated and not infected any more. Good times. They kept sending Josh in to keep me company but he was such a downer and so bitter about being there the whole time that I kind of just wanted him to go home and just be there with Mom instead. I'm pretty sure he felt the same thing.
I felt much better after this. They gave me more antibiotics to take at home, so we went back, I tucked into bed, and pretty much stayed there for the next five or so months. I remember very few things about this because time started quickly blurring together and I wasn't doing much at all. I really like watching people play video games, and Josh really liked playing them, so there was quite a few nights when he'd get home and I'd be on the couch or bed writhing in pain and he'd be playing the game, asking me if I was okay every few minutes. I felt bad always because we both knew there wasn't anything that could be done; I wasn't okay but it's not like saying "No" was going to help anything, so I just gave the normal thumbs-up. Painkillers didn't work well at all any more because I was in so much pain, so I started having to take 12 hour oxycontin pills a lot of the time. That was a huge hit on me because I basically took the dive into bigger pills and allowed my body to get hooked on them by necessity. I really started to hate myself because of that, because of the pain, and because of my relationship. But I stuck with it, because really, what else could I do?
About two weeks before my surgery, I had a chat with my parents and Josh about talking to my doctor and maybe a psychologist about the depression I'd delved into. They were positive that once I was able to work and go back to school I'd be fine, but it would probably help. I was willing to try anything. It's really hard to be helpless.
I finally went into my surgery in March. This sounds weird, but going in for surgery is one of the most familiar things in the world for me now, and it's almost calming. It's interesting how they do it differently for different types as well, and I always notice these things before the surgery. For this, they brought me in on the bed, as normal, and the pulled me over on the sheets so that I wouldn't need to do anything myself. This is so that I don't have to put my weight on my hip. The bed is quite thin for this but it's a full bed, not a chair like it is for the shoulder. They take you in, put you on the bed, and pull your arms out to the sides, putting on the blood pressure cuff on one and strapping down the other. They told me once that they have to do this when you're awake now. They ask you some questions to make sure you're you, and then the surgeon comes in, says hi, and starts talking into his recorder to take his pre-surgery notes. You can hear your heartbeat going. It's interesting, because as I type this I'm getting the feeling that I do when I lay on the bed, where my heart starts pumping and my headache gets light and to the top of my head. I usually at this point start breathing in for four seconds and out for eight to slow down my heartbeat because it's going pretty quick. Then the anaesthesiologist gives me the drug that will "calm me down" and everything goes a bit fuzzy and calm. I remember thinking everything was going to be okay at this point because my surgeon (who is a giant, by the way, he's over 6 feet tall) was joking around with the other doctors and the nurses. He knew what he was doing. The nurse beside me said "See you in a few hours." I said "See you in a couple of minutes." I was out.
I hate waking up from hip surgeries. At least with this one I could feel my feet. I always want to know what kind of dressing is on my wound, immediately, but with hip surgeries you can't feel that because they won't let you throw back the sheets and start poking around. I got to find out how it went quite quickly, they must have told my surgeon I was awake, because he just about immediately came over to me. He was so happy and excited, and told me it went the best it could have gone. The arthroscopy completely fixed the tear. I wouldn't need a replacement. I was so excited! All I had to do was recover, and I could move on with my life!
So we went home. I was going to be sleeping on the air mattress in the office downstairs because I couldn't get upstairs. Mom slept on it with me (it's a huge great air mattress, seriously, I'm taking that thing with me when I move out instead of my bed) in case I needed anything during the night. Venus, one of our stupid cats, also decided that she wanted to help out in the middle of the night and jumped onto my chest. I screamed, Mom screamed, Venus fled, my hip hurt. Good times. The next few nights I slept on the couch because I still couldn't get upstairs. Eventually I started healing more and more and could see that I was going to get better... it was awesome. Around this time my cousin moved into our house for the summer. This isn't super important to the story, but she's super important to me and I love her. She's one of those awesome people who make me feel normal no matter what happens to me.
As I was going on this upwards track and starting to get into my life again, Josh broke up with me again. This time, however, it was for real. He told me he just couldn't handle my health problems. This was in June. I was so confused, I was getting better from my hip and he couldn't handle it now? I had been honest with him from the start about what I'd gone through and about what I would go through. He told me he thought I was overstating it. I was so hurt that he'd use something I couldn't control as the reason for him leaving me. There was no question over who got to keep the cat: me. Lola was mine.
Weirdly enough, it didn't take me long to get over him. I've mentioned this before, but because of the way my life is it doesn't take me long to get over things. I need to be like this because otherwise I'd spend much too much time mourning the loss of everything that's left me and spend no time celebrating what I have. It took me about two weeks to fully get over Josh. One of the main reasons was my awesome family, like my cousin. I think the fact that it took so little time tells me it was clearly for the best; I have a bad habit of trying to stick with things when I shouldn't because I think it can be fixed or because I don't want to hurt someone. Luckily this situation ended for me. The way he did it didn't do me any favours though. It left me with a fear that any person I met would leave me because of my health problems.
For the next few weeks I healed extremely fast. I hung out with my cousin a ton. She moved into the room next door to me that was previously my living room, so Lola ran back and forth between us. We were laughing all the time. It was great.
With my labral tear out of the way, I now had the ability to focus on my school, my work, my shoulder, and my state of mind. I had finally had a truly successful surgery, and I was going to grasp this bright part of my life and run with it for as long as I could.
I had a pretty major revelation at this time: when things are really bad for you, that doesn't mean it can't get worse, and it definitely doesn't mean that you can't have other things happen to you. This is something that should have been pretty obvious to me in the past, for so many reasons, but I decided that nothing more could touch me while I was sitting on that couch, so I was good. And thus, when I got a kidney infection and started running super high fevers and hallucinating, I didn't really care or even pay attention to it. This was right around New Years, about January 2nd, and for obvious reasons I don't have a huge amount of memories of it. At the time, we were getting a railing attached to the wall going up the stairs so that I wouldn't fall down them if I was alone, and we were also getting the guest bedroom repainted so that we could use it as my living room (it's right beside my bedroom). I remember Mom and Dad standing in the guest bedroom and me sitting against the wall. They were talking about something, and I was looking up at Mom, thinking about how pretty the shapes were that were floating around her head. She was watching me looking extremely worried and eventually got my attention, telling me that I was going to the doctor the next day.
So I went to the doctor the next day. Whoever said the Canadian healthcare system sucks is a fool, they get you in when you need it. I've had an awful lot of times where I've been extremely sick and needed healthcare, and they always get me in immediately in those cases. Anyway, I digress. They sent me to get blood work, and they took pretty much all of my blood (not really, but it felt like it, they had to take it from both arms because I was so dehydrated, and I needed a cookie after). Once I got home and settled back into the couch, they called me and told me to go to the hospital. I remember Josh looked annoyed and I couldn't figure out why, but once he saw that I was looking at him, he looked worried. Right, actor. So we called my Mom and she came home, then her, Josh, and I went to the Peter Lougheed Emergency. They took my name, gave me some orange juice and basically told me to drink as much as I could before I went in. I feel like I waited a while, but it was only a couple of hours. Mom and I were quite used to this. Eventually I got to go in, where they pumped me full of antibiotics and fluids to get me hydrated and not infected any more. Good times. They kept sending Josh in to keep me company but he was such a downer and so bitter about being there the whole time that I kind of just wanted him to go home and just be there with Mom instead. I'm pretty sure he felt the same thing.
I felt much better after this. They gave me more antibiotics to take at home, so we went back, I tucked into bed, and pretty much stayed there for the next five or so months. I remember very few things about this because time started quickly blurring together and I wasn't doing much at all. I really like watching people play video games, and Josh really liked playing them, so there was quite a few nights when he'd get home and I'd be on the couch or bed writhing in pain and he'd be playing the game, asking me if I was okay every few minutes. I felt bad always because we both knew there wasn't anything that could be done; I wasn't okay but it's not like saying "No" was going to help anything, so I just gave the normal thumbs-up. Painkillers didn't work well at all any more because I was in so much pain, so I started having to take 12 hour oxycontin pills a lot of the time. That was a huge hit on me because I basically took the dive into bigger pills and allowed my body to get hooked on them by necessity. I really started to hate myself because of that, because of the pain, and because of my relationship. But I stuck with it, because really, what else could I do?
About two weeks before my surgery, I had a chat with my parents and Josh about talking to my doctor and maybe a psychologist about the depression I'd delved into. They were positive that once I was able to work and go back to school I'd be fine, but it would probably help. I was willing to try anything. It's really hard to be helpless.
I finally went into my surgery in March. This sounds weird, but going in for surgery is one of the most familiar things in the world for me now, and it's almost calming. It's interesting how they do it differently for different types as well, and I always notice these things before the surgery. For this, they brought me in on the bed, as normal, and the pulled me over on the sheets so that I wouldn't need to do anything myself. This is so that I don't have to put my weight on my hip. The bed is quite thin for this but it's a full bed, not a chair like it is for the shoulder. They take you in, put you on the bed, and pull your arms out to the sides, putting on the blood pressure cuff on one and strapping down the other. They told me once that they have to do this when you're awake now. They ask you some questions to make sure you're you, and then the surgeon comes in, says hi, and starts talking into his recorder to take his pre-surgery notes. You can hear your heartbeat going. It's interesting, because as I type this I'm getting the feeling that I do when I lay on the bed, where my heart starts pumping and my headache gets light and to the top of my head. I usually at this point start breathing in for four seconds and out for eight to slow down my heartbeat because it's going pretty quick. Then the anaesthesiologist gives me the drug that will "calm me down" and everything goes a bit fuzzy and calm. I remember thinking everything was going to be okay at this point because my surgeon (who is a giant, by the way, he's over 6 feet tall) was joking around with the other doctors and the nurses. He knew what he was doing. The nurse beside me said "See you in a few hours." I said "See you in a couple of minutes." I was out.
I hate waking up from hip surgeries. At least with this one I could feel my feet. I always want to know what kind of dressing is on my wound, immediately, but with hip surgeries you can't feel that because they won't let you throw back the sheets and start poking around. I got to find out how it went quite quickly, they must have told my surgeon I was awake, because he just about immediately came over to me. He was so happy and excited, and told me it went the best it could have gone. The arthroscopy completely fixed the tear. I wouldn't need a replacement. I was so excited! All I had to do was recover, and I could move on with my life!
So we went home. I was going to be sleeping on the air mattress in the office downstairs because I couldn't get upstairs. Mom slept on it with me (it's a huge great air mattress, seriously, I'm taking that thing with me when I move out instead of my bed) in case I needed anything during the night. Venus, one of our stupid cats, also decided that she wanted to help out in the middle of the night and jumped onto my chest. I screamed, Mom screamed, Venus fled, my hip hurt. Good times. The next few nights I slept on the couch because I still couldn't get upstairs. Eventually I started healing more and more and could see that I was going to get better... it was awesome. Around this time my cousin moved into our house for the summer. This isn't super important to the story, but she's super important to me and I love her. She's one of those awesome people who make me feel normal no matter what happens to me.
As I was going on this upwards track and starting to get into my life again, Josh broke up with me again. This time, however, it was for real. He told me he just couldn't handle my health problems. This was in June. I was so confused, I was getting better from my hip and he couldn't handle it now? I had been honest with him from the start about what I'd gone through and about what I would go through. He told me he thought I was overstating it. I was so hurt that he'd use something I couldn't control as the reason for him leaving me. There was no question over who got to keep the cat: me. Lola was mine.
Weirdly enough, it didn't take me long to get over him. I've mentioned this before, but because of the way my life is it doesn't take me long to get over things. I need to be like this because otherwise I'd spend much too much time mourning the loss of everything that's left me and spend no time celebrating what I have. It took me about two weeks to fully get over Josh. One of the main reasons was my awesome family, like my cousin. I think the fact that it took so little time tells me it was clearly for the best; I have a bad habit of trying to stick with things when I shouldn't because I think it can be fixed or because I don't want to hurt someone. Luckily this situation ended for me. The way he did it didn't do me any favours though. It left me with a fear that any person I met would leave me because of my health problems.
For the next few weeks I healed extremely fast. I hung out with my cousin a ton. She moved into the room next door to me that was previously my living room, so Lola ran back and forth between us. We were laughing all the time. It was great.
With my labral tear out of the way, I now had the ability to focus on my school, my work, my shoulder, and my state of mind. I had finally had a truly successful surgery, and I was going to grasp this bright part of my life and run with it for as long as I could.
Friday, September 14, 2012
I Think You Might Take "Shop Till You Drop" A Little Too Literally
My vacation was pretty fun, but I didn't get to do near as much as I'd hoped to. I had planned on going zip lining and parasailing and a lot more, but instead I mostly got to sit by the pool with my cane nestled beside me. Even swimming was pretty difficult, much to my dismay. On the bright side, the arm that held the cane was not the arm that was dislocating, so I was at least somewhat evened out. It was a great vacation though, and I met a nice couple from Ontario.
When we came back, I was very ready to start my year at school. I've always been ridiculously excited for school, starting in about June. When the textbook lists come out, I usually spend about two hours just standing in the bookstore being excited and happy that I get to start school again, so I was so pumped to go back. We lived quite close to the school so I got my UPass for the bus and got my backpack all ready and got ready to go. I still was working from home at this point because it was quite hard to move around, but I thought if I could get to school, maybe I'd be able to get a little better and actually start working in the office again. Boy, was I wrong. I had three classes, and they were all Software Engineering classes because the Human Computer Interaction concentration still didn't exist at this point. My profs were all very understanding of my ailment, though I still had no idea what was wrong with me. Every day I went to class, one of them being a class with one of my good friends Ian. I would usually do okay getting there, and I would start getting sore during class, and then when class was over I would hobble over to the bus stop which would take about 20 minutes, and then wait for the bus to take me home. Once I got home I would nap and then do my homework and then go to bed. This got increasingly harder over the weeks. I'd try to fit as much work in as possible too, because I needed to make some money and I really like work, but it was difficult because I was in so much pain and was so tired already.
Early in the semester, I got a couple more tests done. One of them was an MRI where they had to stick a needle in my hip and inject dye beforehand, much like the one I got in my shoulders a while ago. It was painful. I thought it was painful when it went into my shoulder, but that was nothing compared to this. My friend who is a nursing student brought me, and I feel like I'm forever in her debt because of it, because she was amazing. She gave me candy and told me I did awesome and took my mind off it... she was perfect. The second test was a bone density test, where you lay on a bed and they take a massive camera machine and spend about three hours taking random pictures of you. You can't move for the whole thing and the machine is about a centimetre away from you. Josh took me to that and he looked a little freaked out watching it, but I'm an imaging pro, so I was all ready and just let it happen. After these tests were done, I got told that I would get an appointment with my new surgeon soon, but he looks at each case himself and he was on vacation, so I would have to wait.
At about this point, my family and I started realizing that school might be a little too much for me at this point, so I had to unfortunately accept the fact that I was going to need to drop the semester until this got fixed. This was probably the worst thing that could have happened to me. So in October, I bowed out of school and got my tuition for the year back. I was devastated. I really wanted to keep working, but it got harder and harder to hold my laptop to be able to work, and to sit up for long periods of time, so I eventually had to accept the fact that I also unable to work until I got this fixed too. So now I was basically sitting on my ass until this got fixed. I can't do that; I am the type of person who needs something on the go all the time or I get really upset and depressed. Josh and I ended up moving back into my house with my parents so that they could help take care of me.
It was around this time, the time that my life seemed to have come to a crashing halt, that I got the date of my surgeon appointment. December 13th, 2010. Keep in mind, I got this problem halfway through August. This might seems like a ridiculously short time to everyone else, but I was living in crippling pain every day, so this was an eternity to me. I was even on Percocets and long lasting Oxycontin pills to try to deal with the pain, and it wasn't working that well. I waited with baited breathe for this appointment, and then Mom, Dad, Josh, and I leapt into the car and drove to meet my newest surgeon.
Once again, I seemed to have lucked out with surgeons. This man is well known for doing certain hip surgeries, and he seems to have taken some sort of course (or maybe teaches it) on how to be the nicest hip surgeon in the world. He checks out all my tests with us and then gives us the news: I have a labral tear in my hip. I know you all know what this means, but I'll tell you anyway. A labral tear is where the cartilage that surrounds the inner part of the joint rips. The funny part of this: my tear is completely separate from the rest of my health problems, I just happened to get it. Out of bad luck apparently, no one really knows, but I find this a little bit funny because this wouldn't happen to anyone but me. Normally it happens to really active people and God knows I'm not active. He seemed shocked that I managed to tear it by walking through the mall (apparently I was power shopping). Anyway, he said there was a couple of ways to fix it. There was an arthroscopy method where they went in the some cameras and some other tools and stitched the tear back up, much like the arthroscopy method in which they did my shoulder. Or they could replace my hip completely with a synthetic hip (not metal, because if I get pregnant someday that would be VERY bad for my body). He said that, though the second method would for sure fix it, I would need to get the replacement changed every 10 or so years because they wear out. So he would prefer to do the first method, even though the odds that it would actually fix it were quite slim. This isn't exactly a good thing to hear in my opinion, though my family felt quite confident about it, so we decided to go ahead and book me for the arthroscopy.
We left feeling pretty confident that I would get fixed one way or another, though it would be a little ways down the road. The surgery was booked for May, 2011. I was ready to get going and have this recent health problem fixed, but I sure wasn't ready for what was in store for me in the upcoming months.
When we came back, I was very ready to start my year at school. I've always been ridiculously excited for school, starting in about June. When the textbook lists come out, I usually spend about two hours just standing in the bookstore being excited and happy that I get to start school again, so I was so pumped to go back. We lived quite close to the school so I got my UPass for the bus and got my backpack all ready and got ready to go. I still was working from home at this point because it was quite hard to move around, but I thought if I could get to school, maybe I'd be able to get a little better and actually start working in the office again. Boy, was I wrong. I had three classes, and they were all Software Engineering classes because the Human Computer Interaction concentration still didn't exist at this point. My profs were all very understanding of my ailment, though I still had no idea what was wrong with me. Every day I went to class, one of them being a class with one of my good friends Ian. I would usually do okay getting there, and I would start getting sore during class, and then when class was over I would hobble over to the bus stop which would take about 20 minutes, and then wait for the bus to take me home. Once I got home I would nap and then do my homework and then go to bed. This got increasingly harder over the weeks. I'd try to fit as much work in as possible too, because I needed to make some money and I really like work, but it was difficult because I was in so much pain and was so tired already.
Early in the semester, I got a couple more tests done. One of them was an MRI where they had to stick a needle in my hip and inject dye beforehand, much like the one I got in my shoulders a while ago. It was painful. I thought it was painful when it went into my shoulder, but that was nothing compared to this. My friend who is a nursing student brought me, and I feel like I'm forever in her debt because of it, because she was amazing. She gave me candy and told me I did awesome and took my mind off it... she was perfect. The second test was a bone density test, where you lay on a bed and they take a massive camera machine and spend about three hours taking random pictures of you. You can't move for the whole thing and the machine is about a centimetre away from you. Josh took me to that and he looked a little freaked out watching it, but I'm an imaging pro, so I was all ready and just let it happen. After these tests were done, I got told that I would get an appointment with my new surgeon soon, but he looks at each case himself and he was on vacation, so I would have to wait.
At about this point, my family and I started realizing that school might be a little too much for me at this point, so I had to unfortunately accept the fact that I was going to need to drop the semester until this got fixed. This was probably the worst thing that could have happened to me. So in October, I bowed out of school and got my tuition for the year back. I was devastated. I really wanted to keep working, but it got harder and harder to hold my laptop to be able to work, and to sit up for long periods of time, so I eventually had to accept the fact that I also unable to work until I got this fixed too. So now I was basically sitting on my ass until this got fixed. I can't do that; I am the type of person who needs something on the go all the time or I get really upset and depressed. Josh and I ended up moving back into my house with my parents so that they could help take care of me.
It was around this time, the time that my life seemed to have come to a crashing halt, that I got the date of my surgeon appointment. December 13th, 2010. Keep in mind, I got this problem halfway through August. This might seems like a ridiculously short time to everyone else, but I was living in crippling pain every day, so this was an eternity to me. I was even on Percocets and long lasting Oxycontin pills to try to deal with the pain, and it wasn't working that well. I waited with baited breathe for this appointment, and then Mom, Dad, Josh, and I leapt into the car and drove to meet my newest surgeon.
Once again, I seemed to have lucked out with surgeons. This man is well known for doing certain hip surgeries, and he seems to have taken some sort of course (or maybe teaches it) on how to be the nicest hip surgeon in the world. He checks out all my tests with us and then gives us the news: I have a labral tear in my hip. I know you all know what this means, but I'll tell you anyway. A labral tear is where the cartilage that surrounds the inner part of the joint rips. The funny part of this: my tear is completely separate from the rest of my health problems, I just happened to get it. Out of bad luck apparently, no one really knows, but I find this a little bit funny because this wouldn't happen to anyone but me. Normally it happens to really active people and God knows I'm not active. He seemed shocked that I managed to tear it by walking through the mall (apparently I was power shopping). Anyway, he said there was a couple of ways to fix it. There was an arthroscopy method where they went in the some cameras and some other tools and stitched the tear back up, much like the arthroscopy method in which they did my shoulder. Or they could replace my hip completely with a synthetic hip (not metal, because if I get pregnant someday that would be VERY bad for my body). He said that, though the second method would for sure fix it, I would need to get the replacement changed every 10 or so years because they wear out. So he would prefer to do the first method, even though the odds that it would actually fix it were quite slim. This isn't exactly a good thing to hear in my opinion, though my family felt quite confident about it, so we decided to go ahead and book me for the arthroscopy.
We left feeling pretty confident that I would get fixed one way or another, though it would be a little ways down the road. The surgery was booked for May, 2011. I was ready to get going and have this recent health problem fixed, but I sure wasn't ready for what was in store for me in the upcoming months.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Stop Staring At Me And Answer My Questions!
So for the first time since I was 16, I was jobless. I have to be honest with you, I don't like being jobless. I was still in school at this point, so I was putting a lot of focus into that, but summer was quickly approaching and I had tuition to pay for the next year of school, along with rent for my new apartment, so I was starting to panic a little. I decided to look on Joblink, an awesome site my University has that posts jobs. I found a job that the University itself had posted for a web developer, developing in C#, a language that I was somewhat familiar in. I figured it couldn't hurt to try. I also applied at a job that my friend Ian worked at, because it would be awesome working with him. To my surprise, I got an interview at both of them! I hadn't had an interview for a long, long time, so I was terrified. The interview for the job at Ian's place was a lot of fun, I mostly just talked to them. They all seemed to really like me and they were all really nice people. The only problem was I would have to be moving a lot of heavy equipment and with my shoulder that would obviously be a problem. I had high hopes for it however.
The University interview was scary but awesome. They had a test for me to take, and then they talked to me after. The people there were so nice, and I remember thinking that I would give anything to get that job, though I really didn't think I did that well. I didn't sleep much that night because I kept thinking about what I could have done better. To my surprise, I got an email back saying that I didn't get chosen for that position, but I did look like a good fit for another position, a User Interface position, and they wanted me to come in and interview for that! This was awesome for me, because I was really wanting to get into the Human Computer Interaction concentration in school, so it was more aligned to what I wanted to do in my future. I was ecstatic! I came in and interviewed, and my excitement towards the topic took over my nervousness this time. I think I did pretty well!
I ended up getting offers for both jobs! I was really surprised and excited, especially because this was the first time I'd tried getting a job in the Computer Science field! I took the University job, not only because it had to do with UI and programming, but also because it was at the University, somewhere that has been one of the most amazing places in my life for almost the entirety of my life. So far it has educated me, now it has employed me, and in the future it will also be a huge factor in helping my health. But we'll get to that later.
So I started working at the University. I met my coworkers, some of the most amazing and understanding people in the world, and got my desk (yeah, I have a desk!!), and got all settled in. I told my bosses about my health stuff, and they were very accepting of it. My job there was completely the opposite from the lifeguarding job in that no one would make me feel bad for things I couldn't control. It was amazing!
The summer went by extremely quickly that year. I focused on working at my new job and getting settled into our new apartment. The one thing that happened that was interesting was I got a call that there was a donor available. I said I couldn't take it because I had just gotten a new job and was on contract for the summer, and was no where near in a good position to get it. In hindsight, I really should have gotten it. But hindsight is 20/20. They said that was fine and that donor was deferred. The summer came just about to a close, and the fateful August 2010 rolled around.
Josh and I decided to go to the mall in about the second week of this month. We were planning a trip to Mexico for the first week of September, so we had a couple things to get. We were walking through the mall, when all of a sudden I felt a ridiculous pain in my right hip. It was so bad that my entire body got covered with a layer of sweat. It surprised me, so I took the weight off it and it went away. Sometimes with my bone disease my joints will do weird things, so I sort of took a deep breath and kept going, because Josh didn't notice anything was wrong. I took another step, and it happened again. This time I squeezed his hand and took a deeper breath, so he stopped and looked at me and asked if I was okay with alarm in his voice. Apparently I had gone white. I said I was okay, because I seriously thought it was just my hip being weird. He asked if he should bring the car around and I said no, I could walk. I wanted to go in Bath & Body Works, so we went in. About every 10 steps it happened again. It got so bad that I decided we needed to go back to the car. It took us about half an hour. It was terrible. When we got home I had to go straight to bed because it was so exhausting dealing with it. It was a little scary, but I've had things like this kind of happen before and I thought I could probably just sleep it off. Just a day in the life of Kelli in my eyes. Josh was terrified because I normally didn't let him see things like this. The most he'd seen was my shoulder surgery from before, so he was used to shoulder injuries.
When I woke up I thought it was better, so I went to work. I drove there and walked to the office. By the time I got to the office it was so sore it was ridiculous, so I rested it. Dad came for lunch and we walked to Mac Hall, then back. We had to go slow as heck, but I insisted I was fine. After Dad left I got through about a half hour of work until I decided I was most definitely not fine, so I started trying to walk back to my car. I made it only about half way before I laid down on the lawn and called Josh to come pick me up. I wasn't as much scared as I was angry; I don't like things getting in my way of work or life, especially my health, and this was starting to look like it was going to. Josh came and got me, but he had to work that night so I had to leave the Opaz there. I wasn't happy about that (they're very strict about their towing here), but we worked it out and everyone started bugging me to call my rheumetologist. Eventually I did, with a sort of embarrassed "something is wrong and I have no idea what" message. Then I had to email my boss and tell him I wasn't going to be able to work for a few days. I wasn't happy.
For the next couple of weeks, I was more or less stuck at home. A couple of great things happened: 1) I got to be able to work from home, which was fantastic!, 2) I got a cane, so I could move around a little better, and 3) I got engaged to Josh. It was really quick for the relationship, admittedly. Oh well.
My rheumetologist got back to me in that time as well, and she got me to call my adult orthopaedic surgeon. They had no idea what was going on with me, but they thought he would be able to help because it was obviously a "hardware problem" (as opposed to a software problem, apparently!), so I gave his office a call. The call went like this. "Hi, this is Kelli, I'm a patient of the doctor. I can't walk. You need to see me." "Why can't you walk?" "...Seriously? This is why I'm calling? My hip hurts, I don't know why." "*sigh* Alright, how's three months from now. He's really busy." "Not good, how's 10 minutes from now." Eventually I managed to get in to see him right before we left for Mexico, literally two days before. Dad came with me.
We rolled in (I was in a wheelchair at this point, courtesy of Josh's grandpa) and I got some X-Rays, then jumped up on one of the beds and waited to see the doctor. I don't remember if Dad had met him before, but this guy, like all my other awesome doctors, is one of the best in Calgary. He is extremely intellectual however, so you need to just let him think. Dad didn't know this though. So for me this appointment was kind of amusing. The doctor came in and I told him what happened and my symptoms, and then he looked at my x-rays and just stared. And then he didn't say a word. Then he looked at me and stared. Dad tried to ask a question, so he turned to Dad and stared. I tried so hard to not giggle. Then he turned around and got another doctor, brought him back, showed him the x-ray, said something, and then stared at him. And the guy stared back. Dad was getting angry at this point and I was trying extremely hard to not laugh. It was just too much. Then he said that I needed to get a bone density test and an MRI, and that he was going to actually refer me to this other orthopaedic surgeon, because he was pretty sure he knew what it was, but he was actually better to work on it. After this was dealt with, I could choose between who I wanted as a surgeon, him or the other guy. This surprised me; I really like this guy as a doctor, and I didn't think I was going to need more tests, I kind of thought it would be a "oh, you just need a shot of this magic medicine and you'll be fine!" because that's how life works for me. But okay. At least I didn't have to laugh now. He also put a rush on it. Gotta love it when a doctor puts rush on tests for you.
So it looked like after my vacation I was going to have some fun tests! But I also had school coming up... or so I hoped.
When I woke up I thought it was better, so I went to work. I drove there and walked to the office. By the time I got to the office it was so sore it was ridiculous, so I rested it. Dad came for lunch and we walked to Mac Hall, then back. We had to go slow as heck, but I insisted I was fine. After Dad left I got through about a half hour of work until I decided I was most definitely not fine, so I started trying to walk back to my car. I made it only about half way before I laid down on the lawn and called Josh to come pick me up. I wasn't as much scared as I was angry; I don't like things getting in my way of work or life, especially my health, and this was starting to look like it was going to. Josh came and got me, but he had to work that night so I had to leave the Opaz there. I wasn't happy about that (they're very strict about their towing here), but we worked it out and everyone started bugging me to call my rheumetologist. Eventually I did, with a sort of embarrassed "something is wrong and I have no idea what" message. Then I had to email my boss and tell him I wasn't going to be able to work for a few days. I wasn't happy.
For the next couple of weeks, I was more or less stuck at home. A couple of great things happened: 1) I got to be able to work from home, which was fantastic!, 2) I got a cane, so I could move around a little better, and 3) I got engaged to Josh. It was really quick for the relationship, admittedly. Oh well.
My rheumetologist got back to me in that time as well, and she got me to call my adult orthopaedic surgeon. They had no idea what was going on with me, but they thought he would be able to help because it was obviously a "hardware problem" (as opposed to a software problem, apparently!), so I gave his office a call. The call went like this. "Hi, this is Kelli, I'm a patient of the doctor. I can't walk. You need to see me." "Why can't you walk?" "...Seriously? This is why I'm calling? My hip hurts, I don't know why." "*sigh* Alright, how's three months from now. He's really busy." "Not good, how's 10 minutes from now." Eventually I managed to get in to see him right before we left for Mexico, literally two days before. Dad came with me.
We rolled in (I was in a wheelchair at this point, courtesy of Josh's grandpa) and I got some X-Rays, then jumped up on one of the beds and waited to see the doctor. I don't remember if Dad had met him before, but this guy, like all my other awesome doctors, is one of the best in Calgary. He is extremely intellectual however, so you need to just let him think. Dad didn't know this though. So for me this appointment was kind of amusing. The doctor came in and I told him what happened and my symptoms, and then he looked at my x-rays and just stared. And then he didn't say a word. Then he looked at me and stared. Dad tried to ask a question, so he turned to Dad and stared. I tried so hard to not giggle. Then he turned around and got another doctor, brought him back, showed him the x-ray, said something, and then stared at him. And the guy stared back. Dad was getting angry at this point and I was trying extremely hard to not laugh. It was just too much. Then he said that I needed to get a bone density test and an MRI, and that he was going to actually refer me to this other orthopaedic surgeon, because he was pretty sure he knew what it was, but he was actually better to work on it. After this was dealt with, I could choose between who I wanted as a surgeon, him or the other guy. This surprised me; I really like this guy as a doctor, and I didn't think I was going to need more tests, I kind of thought it would be a "oh, you just need a shot of this magic medicine and you'll be fine!" because that's how life works for me. But okay. At least I didn't have to laugh now. He also put a rush on it. Gotta love it when a doctor puts rush on tests for you.
So it looked like after my vacation I was going to have some fun tests! But I also had school coming up... or so I hoped.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Dislocating Your Shoulder Is Not Part Of Front Crawl, So Leave That Out
The recovery for my shoulder went pretty well. It was incredibly sore, and the painkillers they gave were not enough by any stretch of the imagination, though we didn't know why. For some reason my elbow and wrist was flaring in pain as well as my shoulder, which didn't seem right, but I didn't want to complain much.
I was able to sleep a lot with the sling on, and it was actually quite comfortable. I sort of balanced on my left and right sides with the sling leaning against the bed holding me in place. It was cozy as heck. Josh was really great in helping us out, when he wasn't working he was at our house. I couldn't shower for a little while, and since you can't sponge bath hair, we put a garbage bag over my shoulders and he washed my hair in the sink.
It was very difficult for me to start taking my arm out of the sling. They had told me to once and a while take it out and move it around a bit, but every time I did it, I was positive I was going to hear the sound of glass shattering and the Super Mario "Game Over" noise would play. Eventually I managed to get it out of the sling though and move it a little, and was quite proud of myself. So proud of myself that I decided my surgeon was probably wrong and nothing happened during my surgery, and everything went right so I didn't have to worry about anything!
So the day came that we had to go back to the surgeon and see him to find out how it went. We loaded up in the car, went to the bar, had some shots, then went to the surgeons office (just kidding, we went straight to the office, it was 8 in the morning and we aren't alcoholics probably). He did all the checks and stuff, showed us the pictures, which were disgustingly awesome, and then told us what went wrong. Once they dug out all the dead bone in my shoulder, there was a divot left that was big enough and in such a position that when I lifted my arm in such a way, the ball of the joint would slide down and kind of dislocate. Fantastic. So there were a few options from here. First, I could take this magic pill that would cure everything! Oh no, wait, that was me dreaming, that didn't happen. First, we could put a metal cap on the joint that would cover it. That would work, but it would wear out the bone and cartilage and would need to be replaced after a little while. The second option is new technology, coming straight from the University of Calgary. It would be bone and cartilage from a live donor, which would mean from a person who had just passed away. They would take it from them, machine it to fit my hole perfectly, and attach it through dowels. The only catch with that is that I would have to wait for the donor to come. My surgeon hadn't done that surgery before because it was extremely new, but he was very excited about me doing it, and was quite adamant about me taking that option. After exchanging looks, we all decided that that would probably be the best option. He told me that once I finished physio I'd be going on the list for donors.
Shortly after I began physio. Though there was nothing wrong with the physiotherapist, this was terrible for me. It's extremely difficult to explain the nature of my dislocations to someone who doesn't understand and who assumes it's like normal dislocations, so most of the exercises ended up making it dislocate. I hated it!
Physio wasn't the only thing that caused it to dislocate. As I finished up my recovery and began to get back to regular life, I found myself dislocating my shoulder more and more. I could get it back in relatively easy, just by relaxing and shrugging (luckily I was quite accustomed to relaxing through pain from my history), so it wasn't a problem, but it hurt quite a bit. I began to get used to it however. It did begin to get problematic, unfortunately.
I went back to work, teaching lessons only because I didn't feel comfortable lifeguarding when my shoulder have a chance to dislocate during a save. We decided to stick to relatively low level classes so I could stay in the shallow water or hold the kids while swimming with just my legs, so I wouldn't have to worry about my arms. My first day teaching my first set of lessons, I had a private lesson, a little girl who was terrified of water. I love lessons like this because I usually have them super comfortable by the first day, and then we can spend the next seven classes playing. I walked around with her on my back until she could touch by standing on her toes, and then got her to hang on the wall (she was already doing quite well). I reached back to grab a noodle, which was a normal motion for me, and my shoulder dislocated. Still not used to the pain, I pulled a face. Unfortunately, she saw the face, immediately got more terrified, and scrambled out of the water, crying as hard as she could. I felt terrible. Once the lessons were done, I went into my boss's office and quit. There was lots of tears, but I didn't see another way. After six years, I was no longer employed as a lifeguard, shift leader, or swim instructor.
As always, given a choice, I wouldn't have changed anything in regards to getting this surgery, nor do I think my surgeon would have changed anything in regards to how he would have performed the surgery. This was just the first of a series of disappointments that my shoulder has given me. However, my shoulder has also brought some happy points as well.
I was able to sleep a lot with the sling on, and it was actually quite comfortable. I sort of balanced on my left and right sides with the sling leaning against the bed holding me in place. It was cozy as heck. Josh was really great in helping us out, when he wasn't working he was at our house. I couldn't shower for a little while, and since you can't sponge bath hair, we put a garbage bag over my shoulders and he washed my hair in the sink.
It was very difficult for me to start taking my arm out of the sling. They had told me to once and a while take it out and move it around a bit, but every time I did it, I was positive I was going to hear the sound of glass shattering and the Super Mario "Game Over" noise would play. Eventually I managed to get it out of the sling though and move it a little, and was quite proud of myself. So proud of myself that I decided my surgeon was probably wrong and nothing happened during my surgery, and everything went right so I didn't have to worry about anything!
So the day came that we had to go back to the surgeon and see him to find out how it went. We loaded up in the car, went to the bar, had some shots, then went to the surgeons office (just kidding, we went straight to the office, it was 8 in the morning and we aren't alcoholics probably). He did all the checks and stuff, showed us the pictures, which were disgustingly awesome, and then told us what went wrong. Once they dug out all the dead bone in my shoulder, there was a divot left that was big enough and in such a position that when I lifted my arm in such a way, the ball of the joint would slide down and kind of dislocate. Fantastic. So there were a few options from here. First, I could take this magic pill that would cure everything! Oh no, wait, that was me dreaming, that didn't happen. First, we could put a metal cap on the joint that would cover it. That would work, but it would wear out the bone and cartilage and would need to be replaced after a little while. The second option is new technology, coming straight from the University of Calgary. It would be bone and cartilage from a live donor, which would mean from a person who had just passed away. They would take it from them, machine it to fit my hole perfectly, and attach it through dowels. The only catch with that is that I would have to wait for the donor to come. My surgeon hadn't done that surgery before because it was extremely new, but he was very excited about me doing it, and was quite adamant about me taking that option. After exchanging looks, we all decided that that would probably be the best option. He told me that once I finished physio I'd be going on the list for donors.
Shortly after I began physio. Though there was nothing wrong with the physiotherapist, this was terrible for me. It's extremely difficult to explain the nature of my dislocations to someone who doesn't understand and who assumes it's like normal dislocations, so most of the exercises ended up making it dislocate. I hated it!
Physio wasn't the only thing that caused it to dislocate. As I finished up my recovery and began to get back to regular life, I found myself dislocating my shoulder more and more. I could get it back in relatively easy, just by relaxing and shrugging (luckily I was quite accustomed to relaxing through pain from my history), so it wasn't a problem, but it hurt quite a bit. I began to get used to it however. It did begin to get problematic, unfortunately.
I went back to work, teaching lessons only because I didn't feel comfortable lifeguarding when my shoulder have a chance to dislocate during a save. We decided to stick to relatively low level classes so I could stay in the shallow water or hold the kids while swimming with just my legs, so I wouldn't have to worry about my arms. My first day teaching my first set of lessons, I had a private lesson, a little girl who was terrified of water. I love lessons like this because I usually have them super comfortable by the first day, and then we can spend the next seven classes playing. I walked around with her on my back until she could touch by standing on her toes, and then got her to hang on the wall (she was already doing quite well). I reached back to grab a noodle, which was a normal motion for me, and my shoulder dislocated. Still not used to the pain, I pulled a face. Unfortunately, she saw the face, immediately got more terrified, and scrambled out of the water, crying as hard as she could. I felt terrible. Once the lessons were done, I went into my boss's office and quit. There was lots of tears, but I didn't see another way. After six years, I was no longer employed as a lifeguard, shift leader, or swim instructor.
As always, given a choice, I wouldn't have changed anything in regards to getting this surgery, nor do I think my surgeon would have changed anything in regards to how he would have performed the surgery. This was just the first of a series of disappointments that my shoulder has given me. However, my shoulder has also brought some happy points as well.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Surgery Went Well... And I Got Pictures!
A few weeks before the surgery, I was laying in bed after hitting snooze on my alarm clock and I went to pull my left arm from being under my pillow to at my side. In the process, I heard a very loud crack and my shoulder started hurting extremely bad. I eventually worked my arm down to be at my side and ran downstairs to tell my dad. We called the surgeon, who booked us in for an appointment at 1pm. I decided to try and nap while I waited (one thing I've learned through all this is to get all the sleep I possibly can) and laid down on the couch. I dozed for a while, and I noticed that the more comfortable I was, the less my shoulder hurt and the more I could move it. Finally, it was almost back to normal, except for some residual pain. I decided to go to the doctor anyway to see what happened.
When we got there, I got an x-ray done again and we found that there was a chunk of bone that had lifted up from the head of the joint and was catching, like a tab. He said more than likely it was going to catch a lot, but once I get the surgery he'd smooth it out and it would be fine. He also said there were some chunks that were floating around and were getting caught. The reason it worked itself out after I napped was that I relaxed and it was able to work itself out when the muscles calmed down. Dad and I were satisfied with the response, thanked him for seeing me so quickly (it was really nice of him), and went on our way. Between that day and the surgery, that happened quite a few more times, but I was able to relax enough to unlock it myself and didn't need to go back to the surgeon.
The day of the surgery I got very little sleep. This was the first surgery I had in an adult hospital, and I wasn't going to be able to stay overnight, so I was terrified. We had to get up very early to check in (we got there for 6:30am or something) and get my day surgery bed, so by the time we left I'd only slept a couple of hours. In the morning, Mom, Dad, and I rolled into the Peter Laugheed hospital and went to the check-in area. I remember we sat there and giggled about random things until we got called, which we usually do when we're nervous. Finally I got checked in and got to go upstairs to the waiting bed. I could only have one visitor at a time, which was stupid because the waiting period of the surgery could be forever, and no one wants to be healthy sitting in a hospital bed with one visitor standing awkwardly over you (we didn't have a chair for a while). Kyle and Josh got there pretty soon into my day, and they all rotated in seeing me, making it extremely hard for me to play pokemon on my DS. Not that I'm complaining.
I ended up laying in the bed waiting for surgery until 3:30pm. I guess he was late with another surgery. I actually ended up having a nap during my wait, which was nice. When it was finally time to go in, they took my glasses and wheeled me into the other waiting area (I got to stay in my bed the entire time, woot) where I got to wait for another half hour or more. This part had the added bonus of me only seeing blur for the whole time, causing me to sit there and stare into space (or at someone, with no glasses I couldn't tell the difference). Finally, my shoulder surgery came over and chatted with me a little, telling me how nice of a surgery it was going to be, and asking how my day is going and such. The he signed my shoulder (to make sure he didn't cut open the wrong one) and left me alone again. Then the anesthesiologist came by and asked me if I have anything he should know about, like a removable face or something like that, and then left again. Finally it was time!
You always get a nurse that's the one who takes care of you during the surgery, and calms your nerves and stuff. The nurse let me walk from this point, which was nice. I got to the operation room, which was cold as heck! I asked the nurse why it was so cold and she asked if I would prefer the surgeon sweating on me, which was a good point. She introduced me to the other nurse in there, and we all joked around for a bit before I got in the chair. Then I sat down on the "table" which was a chair about four centimeters wide (or six inches... close enough) and started getting strapped in. The blood pressure cuff went on, and I started getting the anesthetic drugs put through the IV. And then I was out!
Once again, if you're squeemish, don't read this part. They made two small incisions, one on the front of my left shoulder, and one on the back. They stuck a camera and a vacuum and a drill like thing in, and then got rid of all the bone that was floating around. Then they smoothed out the joint and sewed me up by putting a stitch inside the incision, leaving no thread on the outside.
When I woke up, I was in a sitting position on the bed with a massive sling around my neck and my left arm strapped tightly in. To be honest, it scared the crap out of me. I didn't expect it to be that big! But I guess I should have expected that from the Slingmaster 2000. There was a nurse beside me, and I asked her if it was okay if I had a nap. She chuckled and said of course and continued on her work. Then my shoulder surgeon walked up. I could barely see him because I didn't have my glasses on, but I recognized his hilarious doo-rag. He asked me how I was feeling, and then said those dreaded words: "It didn't go well." He wouldn't tell me why exactly, and just said to focus on recovery. Then he went running off.
They rolled me back to the day surgery area. I remember hearing "oh, there she is" and seeing Kyle leaning against the wall waving at me as I rolled by. Then they all crowded around me in the tiny room (which was very against the rules, those rebels) and chatted a bit until I got tired and wanted a nap. When I woke up, people were usually there, which was really nice. Then I got to go home! Getting ready to leave is one of the worst parts. If you disagree, try putting on a tight tank top with a completely immobile arm that's strapped to your side. It's not fun! The car ride is difficult too. Mom, Dad, Josh and I got in the Jeep, with me and Josh in the back. I was quiet most of the way home with a blanket cuddled around me, until I started feeling very sick. We got to the street that my house was on before I told them I needed to throw up when we got home (I was very good at controlling my stomach at that point), and Dad started pulling over until I was like 'no, at home!' So we got home and I hustled in.... and immediately felt better. At least I got in the house in record time.
We were all a little down about the surgery not going well (even though we didn't know why at that point), but we were pleased that I had gotten through it with my left arm still attached. It was time to start the process of healing... again.
When we got there, I got an x-ray done again and we found that there was a chunk of bone that had lifted up from the head of the joint and was catching, like a tab. He said more than likely it was going to catch a lot, but once I get the surgery he'd smooth it out and it would be fine. He also said there were some chunks that were floating around and were getting caught. The reason it worked itself out after I napped was that I relaxed and it was able to work itself out when the muscles calmed down. Dad and I were satisfied with the response, thanked him for seeing me so quickly (it was really nice of him), and went on our way. Between that day and the surgery, that happened quite a few more times, but I was able to relax enough to unlock it myself and didn't need to go back to the surgeon.
The day of the surgery I got very little sleep. This was the first surgery I had in an adult hospital, and I wasn't going to be able to stay overnight, so I was terrified. We had to get up very early to check in (we got there for 6:30am or something) and get my day surgery bed, so by the time we left I'd only slept a couple of hours. In the morning, Mom, Dad, and I rolled into the Peter Laugheed hospital and went to the check-in area. I remember we sat there and giggled about random things until we got called, which we usually do when we're nervous. Finally I got checked in and got to go upstairs to the waiting bed. I could only have one visitor at a time, which was stupid because the waiting period of the surgery could be forever, and no one wants to be healthy sitting in a hospital bed with one visitor standing awkwardly over you (we didn't have a chair for a while). Kyle and Josh got there pretty soon into my day, and they all rotated in seeing me, making it extremely hard for me to play pokemon on my DS. Not that I'm complaining.
I ended up laying in the bed waiting for surgery until 3:30pm. I guess he was late with another surgery. I actually ended up having a nap during my wait, which was nice. When it was finally time to go in, they took my glasses and wheeled me into the other waiting area (I got to stay in my bed the entire time, woot) where I got to wait for another half hour or more. This part had the added bonus of me only seeing blur for the whole time, causing me to sit there and stare into space (or at someone, with no glasses I couldn't tell the difference). Finally, my shoulder surgery came over and chatted with me a little, telling me how nice of a surgery it was going to be, and asking how my day is going and such. The he signed my shoulder (to make sure he didn't cut open the wrong one) and left me alone again. Then the anesthesiologist came by and asked me if I have anything he should know about, like a removable face or something like that, and then left again. Finally it was time!
You always get a nurse that's the one who takes care of you during the surgery, and calms your nerves and stuff. The nurse let me walk from this point, which was nice. I got to the operation room, which was cold as heck! I asked the nurse why it was so cold and she asked if I would prefer the surgeon sweating on me, which was a good point. She introduced me to the other nurse in there, and we all joked around for a bit before I got in the chair. Then I sat down on the "table" which was a chair about four centimeters wide (or six inches... close enough) and started getting strapped in. The blood pressure cuff went on, and I started getting the anesthetic drugs put through the IV. And then I was out!
Once again, if you're squeemish, don't read this part. They made two small incisions, one on the front of my left shoulder, and one on the back. They stuck a camera and a vacuum and a drill like thing in, and then got rid of all the bone that was floating around. Then they smoothed out the joint and sewed me up by putting a stitch inside the incision, leaving no thread on the outside.
When I woke up, I was in a sitting position on the bed with a massive sling around my neck and my left arm strapped tightly in. To be honest, it scared the crap out of me. I didn't expect it to be that big! But I guess I should have expected that from the Slingmaster 2000. There was a nurse beside me, and I asked her if it was okay if I had a nap. She chuckled and said of course and continued on her work. Then my shoulder surgeon walked up. I could barely see him because I didn't have my glasses on, but I recognized his hilarious doo-rag. He asked me how I was feeling, and then said those dreaded words: "It didn't go well." He wouldn't tell me why exactly, and just said to focus on recovery. Then he went running off.
They rolled me back to the day surgery area. I remember hearing "oh, there she is" and seeing Kyle leaning against the wall waving at me as I rolled by. Then they all crowded around me in the tiny room (which was very against the rules, those rebels) and chatted a bit until I got tired and wanted a nap. When I woke up, people were usually there, which was really nice. Then I got to go home! Getting ready to leave is one of the worst parts. If you disagree, try putting on a tight tank top with a completely immobile arm that's strapped to your side. It's not fun! The car ride is difficult too. Mom, Dad, Josh and I got in the Jeep, with me and Josh in the back. I was quiet most of the way home with a blanket cuddled around me, until I started feeling very sick. We got to the street that my house was on before I told them I needed to throw up when we got home (I was very good at controlling my stomach at that point), and Dad started pulling over until I was like 'no, at home!' So we got home and I hustled in.... and immediately felt better. At least I got in the house in record time.
We were all a little down about the surgery not going well (even though we didn't know why at that point), but we were pleased that I had gotten through it with my left arm still attached. It was time to start the process of healing... again.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
I'm A Little Worried About Your Guarding, Because I Don't Think You're Smart Enough To Close Your Mouth When You Jump In
I went into my second semester of that year in a really good place. I was now dating a really great guy, Josh, and my classes were extremely interesting. I'd also made a friend in three of my classes, Ian, and had my other good friend, Mike, in another. I had my surgery planned for reading week, and was hoping it would turn out well.
Josh and I progressed in our relationship extremely quickly. I was shocked at how easy it was to talk about my health problems with him, because he really seemed to understand and sympathize with me. We almost immediately began seeing each other daily, and told each other we loved each other in only two weeks. Leading up to February, we even started talking about moving in together. He'd lived in Vancouver previously, and so he was ready to leave his parents house again. I'd never lived without my parents, and I knew that it was way too soon, but everything seemed right, so it was looking like a good idea.
One day I had to get an MRI on my shoulder, the MRI that would show my orthopedic surgeon exactly what he was going to have to deal with when he went in there. Dad drove me to the hospital and went in to wait with me. This MRI was a lot different; I needed to have dye in the joint so he could see exactly what was going to show up. So we went it, and I changed into the hospital clothes and answers the zillions of questions to the MRI technician guy. Then I went into the room where they were to insert the dye. I really had no idea what was going to happen here, and am happy I didn't, because otherwise I'd have freaked out beforehand. I laid down on the table, and the put a bunch of sterilizer over my left shoulder. The doctor who got to deal with inserting the dye came in. He was a pretty nice guy, very funny, which is always nice. They put the freezing into my shoulder first, which involved a massive needle going into my shoulder, and local anesthetic being put in. If you've ever gotten a needle put in your arm, it was kind of like that, but the needle was about a foot long and you couldn't look anywhere without seeing it. After that, we started up the xray machine that would show him where the needle was the entire time. I decided to stare at the room and chat with the man, so I only got to see tools when the guy lifted them high up (which did happen a couple of times). I did get to see a few images of my shoulder with a giant needle going into the joint, which I considered making my Christmas card, but other than that it just looked like there was a huge hole in my shoulder that he was shoving needles in and out of, like a bunch of straws into a really thin glass. My shoulder got filled up with dye, and it really did hurt. Keep in mind, I still had raw bone in this shoulder, and there was needles bumping against it and foreign liquid caressing it. Anyway, once that was over, we had to wait a little while, and then got the MRI. On the way home, I told Dad that Josh and I were thinking of moving out, expecting a bit of anger. Dad told me I just needed to think things through, and that he wouldn't be mad at me and loved me no matter what. Best dad ever.
The MRI ended up showing a little tab on my bone, which could get caught and lock ever so often, and also a big bit of bone hovering around the joint, which would cause pain and a fun clicking noise. The last thing I asked the doctor in the appointment before the surgery was "Can you give me the pictures from inside the joint?"
School was going great at this time! I had told my teachers that I would be away for a little while, and they all really understood and were willing to help in any way I needed. Ian and Mike both were very willing to help me with anything I missed or didn't understand while I was gone, which was really nice of them. They're both VERY good people.
Work wasn't going so well at this time. I was a Shift Leader at this time, and another Shift Leader decided to start telling everyone that because of my health problems, I couldn't save anyone and was unreliable. This was a ridiculous statement; I've always been very careful about how much I can do, and if for some reason my health was bad enough to make saving someone difficult, I would ask someone to cover for me. However, word got around and I looked like an unreliable idiot. I ended up pulling the Shift Leader into the First Aid room and told him there was obviously some problem, and that if he felt that he should confirm it with me instead of telling everyone else about it. I asked what he was concerned about and shot all the issues down. However, he enjoyed being a massive drama queen and continued to spread the lie. This got me very upset, as I really liked working there. I was a good lifeguard, and it hurt me to think that people thought otherwise. Since then, I've vowed to not work in a place that was primarily women and catty men, as it seems to cause problems, and I'm an easy target. Being a computer scientist, this is going to be a pretty easy vow to keep, kind of like vowing to breathe. The place I work in now is amazing, full of supportive and fun people (all men!) and I don't really ever want to leave. Anyway, I digress. I had my leave time planned with my boss for when I was going to get surgery. I wanted to be back pretty soon, as soon as I could, because I did like it, and I needed the money. Everything was working out quite well.
I went into the start of reading week feeling very confident that things would turn out like they should. I felt like I'd have enough bad luck, and it was about time things went my way.
Josh and I progressed in our relationship extremely quickly. I was shocked at how easy it was to talk about my health problems with him, because he really seemed to understand and sympathize with me. We almost immediately began seeing each other daily, and told each other we loved each other in only two weeks. Leading up to February, we even started talking about moving in together. He'd lived in Vancouver previously, and so he was ready to leave his parents house again. I'd never lived without my parents, and I knew that it was way too soon, but everything seemed right, so it was looking like a good idea.
One day I had to get an MRI on my shoulder, the MRI that would show my orthopedic surgeon exactly what he was going to have to deal with when he went in there. Dad drove me to the hospital and went in to wait with me. This MRI was a lot different; I needed to have dye in the joint so he could see exactly what was going to show up. So we went it, and I changed into the hospital clothes and answers the zillions of questions to the MRI technician guy. Then I went into the room where they were to insert the dye. I really had no idea what was going to happen here, and am happy I didn't, because otherwise I'd have freaked out beforehand. I laid down on the table, and the put a bunch of sterilizer over my left shoulder. The doctor who got to deal with inserting the dye came in. He was a pretty nice guy, very funny, which is always nice. They put the freezing into my shoulder first, which involved a massive needle going into my shoulder, and local anesthetic being put in. If you've ever gotten a needle put in your arm, it was kind of like that, but the needle was about a foot long and you couldn't look anywhere without seeing it. After that, we started up the xray machine that would show him where the needle was the entire time. I decided to stare at the room and chat with the man, so I only got to see tools when the guy lifted them high up (which did happen a couple of times). I did get to see a few images of my shoulder with a giant needle going into the joint, which I considered making my Christmas card, but other than that it just looked like there was a huge hole in my shoulder that he was shoving needles in and out of, like a bunch of straws into a really thin glass. My shoulder got filled up with dye, and it really did hurt. Keep in mind, I still had raw bone in this shoulder, and there was needles bumping against it and foreign liquid caressing it. Anyway, once that was over, we had to wait a little while, and then got the MRI. On the way home, I told Dad that Josh and I were thinking of moving out, expecting a bit of anger. Dad told me I just needed to think things through, and that he wouldn't be mad at me and loved me no matter what. Best dad ever.
The MRI ended up showing a little tab on my bone, which could get caught and lock ever so often, and also a big bit of bone hovering around the joint, which would cause pain and a fun clicking noise. The last thing I asked the doctor in the appointment before the surgery was "Can you give me the pictures from inside the joint?"
School was going great at this time! I had told my teachers that I would be away for a little while, and they all really understood and were willing to help in any way I needed. Ian and Mike both were very willing to help me with anything I missed or didn't understand while I was gone, which was really nice of them. They're both VERY good people.
Work wasn't going so well at this time. I was a Shift Leader at this time, and another Shift Leader decided to start telling everyone that because of my health problems, I couldn't save anyone and was unreliable. This was a ridiculous statement; I've always been very careful about how much I can do, and if for some reason my health was bad enough to make saving someone difficult, I would ask someone to cover for me. However, word got around and I looked like an unreliable idiot. I ended up pulling the Shift Leader into the First Aid room and told him there was obviously some problem, and that if he felt that he should confirm it with me instead of telling everyone else about it. I asked what he was concerned about and shot all the issues down. However, he enjoyed being a massive drama queen and continued to spread the lie. This got me very upset, as I really liked working there. I was a good lifeguard, and it hurt me to think that people thought otherwise. Since then, I've vowed to not work in a place that was primarily women and catty men, as it seems to cause problems, and I'm an easy target. Being a computer scientist, this is going to be a pretty easy vow to keep, kind of like vowing to breathe. The place I work in now is amazing, full of supportive and fun people (all men!) and I don't really ever want to leave. Anyway, I digress. I had my leave time planned with my boss for when I was going to get surgery. I wanted to be back pretty soon, as soon as I could, because I did like it, and I needed the money. Everything was working out quite well.
I went into the start of reading week feeling very confident that things would turn out like they should. I felt like I'd have enough bad luck, and it was about time things went my way.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I'm Sorry, I'm Busy Being A Vampire
I'm going to quickly switch back to my education, specifically in the start of the second year of engineering. I had tried to get into Mechanical Engineering (to make cars), Civil Engineering (to make buildings), or Train Engineering (because trains are important too guys). I didn't get into them. Instead, I got into Software Engineering. At the time, I was pretty upset by it. Even though it was high on my list of concentrations to go in, I had spent the first few years of my life wanting to make cars or buildings. However, once I got going on Software Engineering in my second year, I found I actually really liked it. Software Engineering got to take classes with people in Computer and Electrical Engineering, so I was in classes with Mike, another one of my good friends, and another guy who I hung out with sometimes. There were a couple of classes that I had to take because of Engineering that I really didn't want to, such as Differential Equations. Seriously, what software engineer ever has to know differential equations? Since that class, I've never even had to use math.
It was around this time that my boyfriend of the time started being kinda mean to engineers. He kept saying that everyone was in it solely to get the iron ring at the end, and you could do any engineer's job with any different degree (ie. Chem degree instead of a chemical engineer, architect instead of a civil engineer, etc.) This is pretty wrong, otherwise they wouldn't have an engineering degree. However, with software engineering, there is an equivalent degree in computer science. He was taking an equivalent class to what I was taking at one point, and he was learning a lot more theory and things that I actually wanted to know compared to what I was learning. I decided to look into it, and I found that there were a lot more classes in computer science that were applicable to software engineering, such as computability. I started asking a bunch of professors in both engineering's software engineering and computer science's software engineering. Basically, the best response I got from the head of engg's software engineering as a reason to not switch is "but you won't get your ring." I was annoyed, and so I switched. Best decision I ever made, and one of the best things that came out of that relationship. After I did that, my interest went higher and higher, and my grades went up accordingly.
In my second year, I found out I had to get my wisdom teeth out. It seemed like a good time, since I was having a lull in health issues, so we agreed. I got my teeth x-ray sent to this guy by market mall (he was crazy as a bat) and we went to see him. We told him all about my health problems, and he was all like 'oh yeah, no problem, this will go fine, I'm crazy' and stuff, so we felt good about it. We scheduled it for reading week of my second year, and I was all ready to go. Two days before reading week, I got a phone call. It was the nurse in the guy's office, telling me that I needed to go for an appointment with the anesthetic guy before my surgery. This was Thursday, and my surgery date was on Monday, so I was like 'well, can I get into an appointment tomorrow?' and she said 'no.' This got me so mad. I said it was ridiculous, that was the only time I could go get it because I had to work over the summer, so I couldn't get it for another year, and this was stupid. She's was like 'whatevs, sorry, bye' and that was it. I called my parents in a rage. Then I called the guy's office back and told them it was extremely unprofessional, if they wanted me to go for an appointment with the guy they should have called ages ago after I had the appointment with the surgeon, and they were obviously just frightened of my health problems and so didn't want to do it. I told them again they were unprofessional and asked them to send my xrays back to my dentist, because I would never let this surgeon touch me, and I planned on telling not only my dentist but everyone I know about this stupid situation. It was so stupid. So then I found this other place in the south of the city I live in (I'm in the north) who wouldn't even need to see me before the surgery, I just had to tell them about my health problems on the site and they would know. It was great, I had a date booked for right after school (because I could actually do it then). I went to an appointment with my rheumatologist and told her about it. She told me I couldn't get it. I asked why. She said that if I get oral surgery while on the infusions, I could get the bone disease in my jaw. I was super upset, so she called the surgeon for me and told him. He then told her that he was planning on giving me a steroid after, a steroid called Decadron, the one that gave me the bone disease in the first place! She basically said 'like hell, stay away from her!' and my appointment was cancelled.
Around this same time, I stopped getting my infusions. My rheumatologist looked at my bone density tests and MRI's and decided that the bone disease had stopped killing more bone, and some maybe even grew back a little bit! But we were at a point where it wouldn't help anymore, so there was no reason to get it anymore. At that time, I was no longer getting kidney stones quite so much, so that was awesome! I was quite happy to not have to get two blood tests and an IV every month, so that was great.
In 2009, I went back to my rheumatologist, and I got an MRI of my shoulders, just to check up on things. It still hurt in that weird, pinchy way, but I wasn't concerned because it'd been doing it for a year and I was kind of used to it by now. However, when I went into her office and we looked at my MRI results, she started reading it and said "oh no. This isn't good. This isn't good at all." It turned out that the feeling of pinching in my shoulder was actually the feeling of a collapsed joint. The dead bone and some cartilage around it had burst apart, leaving a super raw point in my shoulder exposed. I needed to get it fixed. I was pretty upset by this, because I had had a good run of a few years with no health problems. I got a referral to a shoulder surgeon, and a "that sucks, sorry!" in the nicest way possible (she really is a great rheumatologist). I got in my car in the parkade and called my parents, and then my boyfriend, bawling my eyes out. I remember a car waiting behind me in the parkade, and I didn't notice for a while, so he just patiently waited for me to leave. After a few minutes, I shut my car off because I wasn't going to drive while on the phone and crying like an idiot (that seems a little distracted driving-y), and he got all mad and drove off angrily. I was very upset.
Shortly after this, in the summer between my third and fourth year, my boyfriend broke up with me. I'm very ashamed that I'm not the one who terminated the relationship, but oh well. He told me that for the entire past year, he didn't love me, he was just sticking around because he didn't want to hurt me. I was really upset. I had just spent a month helping him get through a cold or something, and then pneumonia because he didn't go to the doctor when it got really bad, and he didn't even care. Another reason he broke up with me was that, and I quote, 'how can I know that you're a good girlfriend if I've never had another girlfriend? I need to date someone else to know if you're actually good or not.' So yeah. A very long story short, this chapter of my life is closed. For now. I've learned that things in life are never quite what they seem, and this entire relationship is one of those situations. But once again, more on that later.
A few months after this, I ended up meeting a guy at work at Cardel and we started dating.
It was around this time that my boyfriend of the time started being kinda mean to engineers. He kept saying that everyone was in it solely to get the iron ring at the end, and you could do any engineer's job with any different degree (ie. Chem degree instead of a chemical engineer, architect instead of a civil engineer, etc.) This is pretty wrong, otherwise they wouldn't have an engineering degree. However, with software engineering, there is an equivalent degree in computer science. He was taking an equivalent class to what I was taking at one point, and he was learning a lot more theory and things that I actually wanted to know compared to what I was learning. I decided to look into it, and I found that there were a lot more classes in computer science that were applicable to software engineering, such as computability. I started asking a bunch of professors in both engineering's software engineering and computer science's software engineering. Basically, the best response I got from the head of engg's software engineering as a reason to not switch is "but you won't get your ring." I was annoyed, and so I switched. Best decision I ever made, and one of the best things that came out of that relationship. After I did that, my interest went higher and higher, and my grades went up accordingly.
In my second year, I found out I had to get my wisdom teeth out. It seemed like a good time, since I was having a lull in health issues, so we agreed. I got my teeth x-ray sent to this guy by market mall (he was crazy as a bat) and we went to see him. We told him all about my health problems, and he was all like 'oh yeah, no problem, this will go fine, I'm crazy' and stuff, so we felt good about it. We scheduled it for reading week of my second year, and I was all ready to go. Two days before reading week, I got a phone call. It was the nurse in the guy's office, telling me that I needed to go for an appointment with the anesthetic guy before my surgery. This was Thursday, and my surgery date was on Monday, so I was like 'well, can I get into an appointment tomorrow?' and she said 'no.' This got me so mad. I said it was ridiculous, that was the only time I could go get it because I had to work over the summer, so I couldn't get it for another year, and this was stupid. She's was like 'whatevs, sorry, bye' and that was it. I called my parents in a rage. Then I called the guy's office back and told them it was extremely unprofessional, if they wanted me to go for an appointment with the guy they should have called ages ago after I had the appointment with the surgeon, and they were obviously just frightened of my health problems and so didn't want to do it. I told them again they were unprofessional and asked them to send my xrays back to my dentist, because I would never let this surgeon touch me, and I planned on telling not only my dentist but everyone I know about this stupid situation. It was so stupid. So then I found this other place in the south of the city I live in (I'm in the north) who wouldn't even need to see me before the surgery, I just had to tell them about my health problems on the site and they would know. It was great, I had a date booked for right after school (because I could actually do it then). I went to an appointment with my rheumatologist and told her about it. She told me I couldn't get it. I asked why. She said that if I get oral surgery while on the infusions, I could get the bone disease in my jaw. I was super upset, so she called the surgeon for me and told him. He then told her that he was planning on giving me a steroid after, a steroid called Decadron, the one that gave me the bone disease in the first place! She basically said 'like hell, stay away from her!' and my appointment was cancelled.
Around this same time, I stopped getting my infusions. My rheumatologist looked at my bone density tests and MRI's and decided that the bone disease had stopped killing more bone, and some maybe even grew back a little bit! But we were at a point where it wouldn't help anymore, so there was no reason to get it anymore. At that time, I was no longer getting kidney stones quite so much, so that was awesome! I was quite happy to not have to get two blood tests and an IV every month, so that was great.
In 2009, I went back to my rheumatologist, and I got an MRI of my shoulders, just to check up on things. It still hurt in that weird, pinchy way, but I wasn't concerned because it'd been doing it for a year and I was kind of used to it by now. However, when I went into her office and we looked at my MRI results, she started reading it and said "oh no. This isn't good. This isn't good at all." It turned out that the feeling of pinching in my shoulder was actually the feeling of a collapsed joint. The dead bone and some cartilage around it had burst apart, leaving a super raw point in my shoulder exposed. I needed to get it fixed. I was pretty upset by this, because I had had a good run of a few years with no health problems. I got a referral to a shoulder surgeon, and a "that sucks, sorry!" in the nicest way possible (she really is a great rheumatologist). I got in my car in the parkade and called my parents, and then my boyfriend, bawling my eyes out. I remember a car waiting behind me in the parkade, and I didn't notice for a while, so he just patiently waited for me to leave. After a few minutes, I shut my car off because I wasn't going to drive while on the phone and crying like an idiot (that seems a little distracted driving-y), and he got all mad and drove off angrily. I was very upset.
Shortly after this, in the summer between my third and fourth year, my boyfriend broke up with me. I'm very ashamed that I'm not the one who terminated the relationship, but oh well. He told me that for the entire past year, he didn't love me, he was just sticking around because he didn't want to hurt me. I was really upset. I had just spent a month helping him get through a cold or something, and then pneumonia because he didn't go to the doctor when it got really bad, and he didn't even care. Another reason he broke up with me was that, and I quote, 'how can I know that you're a good girlfriend if I've never had another girlfriend? I need to date someone else to know if you're actually good or not.' So yeah. A very long story short, this chapter of my life is closed. For now. I've learned that things in life are never quite what they seem, and this entire relationship is one of those situations. But once again, more on that later.
A few months after this, I ended up meeting a guy at work at Cardel and we started dating.
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