Titanium and Tears

If you have followed my blog you will know that mostly it's just photos with a bit of a storey, but every now and then I actually have something to say. So stick with me cause I've been meaning to write about this for a while and now seems like the appropriate  time. 

I'd like to dedicate this post to my mother, with nerves of titanium and a heart of gold, as well as any mothers who've had to stuffer through chronic illness or severe injury with their child, this one is for you. 

I'll start by running through some of my health history so you have a bit of an understanding what more poor mother has suffered (I'll try to keep it interesting). These are the ones that come with a storey so I hope you can have a bit of a laugh, they aren't in chronological order.

I've already blogged about my punctured artery, which you can read about here this came with 3 general anaesthetics. 

I've also had my tonsils and adenoids removed, wisdom teeth removed and a LLETZ of my cervix where they scrape off some pre-cancerous cells, so that was another 3 anaesthesia. 

When I was 9, I was on a school camp roller skating, fell, and broke my left arm. Unfortunately for my parents, as they had decided for the first time in ages to have a holiday at the same time. They had literally only just unloaded their bags into their hotel room and poured a rum when they got the phone call, so a hasty repack, checkout and 4 hour drive to Mackay hospital to sign the consent for my operation. (We're up to 7th anaesthetic if you're counting). 

At 16yo I was helping dad to do some mustering on motorbike. My father used to say I thought evil kanevil was a woose and it wasn't because I rode like miss daisy if you follow. Anyhow, I was riding up the road that had newly been graded and I had forgotten about the whoa-boy that was in the road. Needless to say I worked out how appropriately named the bump in the road was because I scored myself 13 sutures into my left eyebrow. Dad initially took me to our GP surgery where mum came in with me while they gave me a local and tried to scrap some of the gravel out of my wound. But, the local anaesthetic wasn't good enough and I could feel them digging around. The nurse asked Mum if she was alright and I was about to tell her to "get real, mums a nurse, she's right", but when I turned to see mum, she was white as a sheet. So off to theatre for anaesthetic number 8. 

Anaesthetic number 9 also come with a bit of a storey but I think I've got it fairly concise now. I was helping my father in-law with some cattle work when a big heifer pinned me against the rail. After I worked out I wasn't winded, Justin drove me to Sarina (I think an hour away) and they decided to send me to Mackay "just in case". So after being out in a back consult room for an hour a doctor eventually came to see me and things moved a bit more hastily after that (he decided I should be in a monitored bed). I had a CT that showed my pancreas was split and a lacerated liver. So 7 attempts later I had an arterial drip as well as a veinous drip (that was literally the size of a drinking straw) and a catheter. Meanwhile my darling husband was making a mad dash to swap utes, get clothes and get back to me before the RFDS collected me to go to Brisbane at an unknown ETA and he just made it back to me in time. The injury happened at 3pm Thurs, I left Mackay at 2am Friday and from Brisbane airport, the ambulance took us with flashing lights to the emergency dept. There I waited until that afternoon with many doctor reviews debating whether to operate until the head pancreatic surgeon arrived and said "you have to operate, she has digestive enzymes leaking into her abdomen". So at 6pm, as I was starting to go downhill they operated. I came out of surgery at 11pm with half my pancreas removed and 7 tubes going in and out of me. Saturday morning, Mum and Justin came to visit and I said "I've got dirt in my bed". Mum told me I'd had too much morphine but I reached under myself and pulled out a handful of dirt!!!! I was still on the same sheet that I had been in Sarina and it was now over 24hrs and goodness knows how many bed transfers later. Luckily for me I had a nurse as a mother, because that afternoon when they took me to the ward, I insisted on a shower before going into a fresh bed. As you may imagine after working cattle all day and then not having a shower for 2 days, I was disgusting. So she handled my catheter bag, my wound drain, my fluid drips x 2 and my local anaesthetic 'bomb' that was going into my wound for pain relief, to get me in and out of clothing and give me a shower which included washing my hair! I've left out a few details but that's the bulk of the saga. 

As you may imagine by anaesthetic number 10, I was pretty damn nervous! As I said this isn't chronological and my 7th, 8th and 9th anaesthetics were actually where I nearly died with my artery puncture. But my 10th anaesthetic was for my egg harvesting that led to the birth of my baby boy! The anaesthetist spoke to me prior to the operation and I explained my fears. As it happened, she knew me! She was called in for the surgery where I nearly died and lost 7L of blood and assured me that this time would be very pleasant and she was right! 

So that's the storey of my 10 anaesthetics! But there have been other accidents! I've been unconscious more times than I can recall but some of the ones I do remember:

The worst of which was when I was about 5 or 6 and I went upstairs in our two storey house to show Mum a drawing. She was vacuuming and I decided to have a jump on the two mattresses that were stacked against the window, not realising the window was open..... mum thought to herself 'jeez that kid left quick' and got a gut awful feeling and looked out the window. There I was in a silent, mangled heap on the ground. By the time she reached me, I started to cry. Dad was away at the time, so Mum had no vehicle. She rang 000 and I hurled all over us, so while we waited for the ambos, we had a shower where I hurled again. On the dirt road to town our ambulance got a flat tyre. While we changed it and waited for another ambulance, I recall coming too and feeling as though I was blindfolded, I must have damaged my vision centre somehow. But once in hospital I had nothing wrong and after an overnight stay I went home, only to have a black bruise come out around the base of my neck two weeks later and I also had a patch of hair missing of the front of my head where I must have hit the cement head first.

After that I think maybe it made it easier for me to get knocked out because it seemed to happen any time I hit my head and until I became a nurse myself, I didn't realise that it wasn't common. 

I got bucked off a horse, as a dog ran under it and while I was coming down, she kicked me in the head! Another KO! 

Mum was leading me off her horse and talking to dad on the two way. I said "Mum", "Mum", "muuuum". 

"Yeh, yeh, hang on love I'm talking to dad".......

Whack!!! The branch of the she oak tree that was at saddle height, knocked me off my horse. I woke in my bedroom with big swipe marks across my face. 

My brother had a beautiful creamy horse that I was dying to ride and after begging for ages he finally relented! So I eagerly jumped of my pony and they threw me onto this beautiful big horse! However, he failed to hold the reins. Leo was his name and he bolted!! The 5km back to the yards might not have been too difficult for me if I had reins and stirrups to hold onto, but I had neither. I had nearly made it and was only a couple hundred meters from the yards, but there was a creek, that was a 2-3ft jump down and jump up. I made it down, but on the way up, not so good! I recall my feet going over my head and once again woke up in my bedroom feeling very sorry for myself.

On another occasion I was about 11, a friend and I decided it would be fun to race across a paddock! A paddock that I knew was full of rabbit warrens and pot holes! Apparently it was a pretty frightening fall according to my friend, but she had to tell me about it about 100 times on the way home as I slipped in and out of consciousness. 

I think because I still function when I've been knocked out, people don't always realise I've been knocked out, even though I recall nothing. On another occasion I fell off my bike and dad had to come and help me to kick start it and get home (I have no recollection), but 'woke' eating breakfast with no idea how I got there. 

I had a cow kick me in the head and I was very distraught because it knocked out my loose tooth and I couldn't find it in the dirt.

I accidentally run a Stanley knife up the length of my thumb while trying to use it to peel the label off a container.

I burnt my shoulders at the beach that severely that I had to have dressings on them for 3 weeks with a blister that completely covered my shoulders and down my back a bit on both sides. 

I accidentally stuck a garden fork through the side of my big toe. 

I was feeding lengths of a tree onto a stump for my brother to chop with an axe when he took part of my thumb off. An area from the corner off the moon on my thumb to the opposite corner of my fingernail. Luckily he just missed the bone. On the four-wheeler ride home, I held my thumb away from the bike, so as not to get blood on it. As we arrived home, Stew called to Mum that I had cut my finger and he put it in a Tupperware container with some dettol. Once Mum had finished her sewing (obviously not realising the severity), she came and tipped out the dettol water that now had a couple of inches of blood in it. Again no vehicle and by the time the storey circulated the grape vine, I had lost my whole thumb and we had some lovely neighbours who arrived to take us to town. My poor brother was sent back down the paddock, by the orthopaedic surgeon (over the phone) to collect the piece of thumb off the stump in case it required to be sutured back on. Fortunately and you wouldn't believe it, but it grew back!!! I only have a slight scar now. 

I was alway in trouble for leaving my bridle and saddle at the house and on this particular occasion we were going mustering and so was in a hurry to cart my bridle back to the yards. On the only strip of gravel my bridle got stuck in the back spoke on my two-wheeler motorbike and it seized. My knee took the fall, but I'd not noticed as I was too concerned about the bike. I started walking home and run into my brother who said dad was coming behind.

I asked him to try and fix my bike, and by the time dad collected me and we got back to the bike, he had the bridle out and bike upright. Dad said "show me your knee", and I said "no it's fine, let's just get going"! But he insisted and I had still not looked. He took me back to Mum who donned her nursing cap to patch my knee which had been shredded to the bone in an area about the size of 4 x 50c coins. I still went mustering and after 5 hours in the saddle I was pretty darn sore. It eventually healed but I still have the scar.

I've been bitten by a 'lesser black whip snake' which was only a foot long and the anti venom is the same as for a brown snake. Luckily though I wasn't envenomated but my leg did swell up to the knee. I had to wait 4 hours for the RFDS to collect me and then take me to Mt ISA hospital where I had to spend the night in ICU. 

I must have been about 13 and Mum had just renovated the house with new paint, polished floors and fly screens on the windows. I was in my bedroom on the second storey and decided it would be a good idea to light a whole packet of sparklers at once (it may have even been two packets I can't recall)! This was a great idea until they burnt down to my hand and as I had nowhere to throw them, as the windows were blocked and floors were new I held onto them until I had third degree burns to my thumb and index fingers before I eventually dropped them, burning a hole in the floor! 

I was hit by a gate in a calf race, after a calf had kicked it and it smashed half of my front tooth off. 

Contracting for a friend and cantering across a paddock when the wire from and old neglected (not working) electric fence got caught up in the flank of the horse I was riding. As the horse was 8yo and didn't seem too upset, I decided to get off and help the horse. As he took fright and lunged forward, I became trapped under the wire. He stood on my thigh and I ended up with a massive bruise on my whole thigh, a wire burn mark across my back, my shirt ripped to threads, a black eye and a cut across my nose. Aaaand no horse, my poor darling husband who was my boyfriend at the time must have got such a scare when he first saw me and realised that I wasn't Cooeeing because I had cattle but because I had no horse. 

So that's pretty much it, I've have had many bruises, in fact before I became a mother It was rare for me not to have a bruise of some kind! Many fat lips and bung knees. I even stuck my hand on a nest of caterpillars once. Not to mention burns and cuts that have no storey to warrant a mention! 

Although there was one time that I was using my leg to stop the sparks from a drop saw from hitting a welder and my jeans caught fire. Was a third degree burn but only the size of a 50c piece. Funny though! I said to myself "gee that's a bit hot, oooh crap I'm on fire"! 

I asked Mum to help me to recall anything I missed. With tears of laughter rolling down her face, all she could remember was the time I went to drop the bottom slip of paper off my drumstick out the car window, but instead lost my ice cream and kept the paper! Apparently it was priceless! She's not much help! 

Sooooo I told you those stories to give you a grasp for this one! 

The most precious thing in my life fell onto a torn dog dish and cut his hand.

I had often wondered how I would handle his first serious injury and fortunately the Mum switch turned off and the nurse switch turned on. First aid was applied and my baby was calmed. I had a fair idea for the amount of blood that had run down my arm while I was applying pressure as dad ran to get the first aid kit, and by the quick glance I'd gotten that it would need to be sutured. So we all washed and packed for town. As it was already 5pm we weren't rushed as I knew there wouldn't be any GPs available anyhow.

I phoned ahead and they said it was a good idea not to give him dinner in case he needed to go to theatre. We waited and finally saw a Dr at 9pm (Bub was not impressed to be woken up and have his dressing removed). This doctor had to get her superior and then he had to go and get his which all took time and they decided that he needed a review by an orthopaedic surgeon and as they weren't out of theatre until 1:30am, it would be best if we all went to bed. So at 10:30pm we gave Bub a bottle and went to mums in town. 

We returned as instructed at 8am for the review and they decided that rather that suture it in the emergency dept as we original thought, that he would need to go to theatre. After more waiting we discovered that we weren't first on the list as promised and by 11:00 with no food or drink since the night before my baby was none too impressed to be woken again and taken to theatre.

As he had to be in bed, I stayed there with him and helped to hold him while they gassed him. Now, up until this point, I had been pretty calm and collected. But when his little body went limp and he made the god awful grunt/snore/last gasp for air that can only be understood how awful it is by people who have heard it before, I had to get out. My baby's life was now in the hands of a bunch of strangers and I was all too familiar with how a simple procedure can go horribly wrong! Except now I had no control and the shoes were definitely on a different foot. You see it's easy to be the patient! I mean yes, it's painful at times and frustrating, but it was my pain and I could suffer it! But now, this was a whole new level of pain that I knew nothing about. MY baby! And I would do anything to be able to swap places! Of course I imagined the worst and after my darling husband nursed away my tears I paced, until a nurse informed me that they had the drip in and a good airway secured and he was fine. So I settled a bit. But then a nurse came and ushered us away and into a waiting room! This did not help me and the pacing continued for the next 45mins of eternity until I got to go and see my baby again. The relief was hard to explain of just holding him again. The cut had gone right to the bone, but fortunately missed the two tendons and nerve. 

Just waking from the anaesthetic

Meanwhile, if my husband had seemed to be a little flustered at the time the injury happened, while in hospital, he was cool as. "All too familiar" he told me. Something I hope like hell I never have to feel. He had 5 sutures and is currently having a great game of pulling off any sort of covering that dad tries to put on it! 

Before he went into surgery, the anaesthetist asked if he had, had anaesthetic before and I said no, he then asked if I had, had any and I said, 10 (gasps) and if dad had, had any and he said 1. So it seems an unhealthy competition has begun between my son and I but I'm hoping like hell that I win by a long shot as I'm not sure I'm made of the same stuff my mother is and I don't wish to find out! 

Now I'm sure there are plenty of mothers out there with even more horrific stories than I, and people out there with more anaesthesias than I and I reckon they are made of some pretty tough stuff! 

I'm happy to report that my baby is well on the mend and I will now return to my usual blogging. Although a day late, I still managed to get to Maleny for the show and I will have some photos soon. 

Do you have any horror stories?