From the desk of Karla May

Well, I don't even know what day this is of my captivity. Total (trip 1 and trip 2)? Nineteen days. Just this go-round, I've been here since the 6th. To say I am frustrated, exhausted, and ready to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE is a massive understatement.

This whole experience has humbled, humiliated, saddened and tortured me in ways I never knew imaginable. The long and short of it is that I came in for a (relatively) simple surgery on 8/30 (Trip 1). It went fine except there was the unforeseen complication of having to remove about a 10" portion of my colon. This sucked, mind you, but I was told that since you have like 750 feet of intestine/colon-y stuff in there, a missing foot or so was no big whoop.

So I get released from Trip 1 on Labor Day. I'm doing fine for a day or so, then WHAM! 104.2 degree fever and intense abdominal pain that literally defied description.

So they send me back to the ER at this place--my blood pressure is alarmingly low, I can't sit up or walk on my own, my fever's out of control--and re-admit me on 9/6. And I've been here fighting the infection of a lifetime since then. I've had some progress, but these moments are almost always followed by some ridiculously disappointing set back. Victories have been too few and too spread out to really see them. (Although, I suppose avoiding surgery that would've left me with a sick-as-hell temporary colostomy for 3-4 months should be considered a pretty big deal).

The food has sucked. My room has become like a prison cell, and my IV tower is like a literal ball and chain. The nursing staff on this floor--all of whom I've had as my caretakers at one point or another--vary wildly in skills and abilities. Thankfully, about 75% of them are good to very good, but that other 25% should look for something new to do because nursing is clearly not their gig.

Right now, it's 6:30 AM on Monday 9/18. I'm writing on a yellow pad the wonderful Mama Malcontent brought me for just such an occasion. (She also brought me a collage she made of Justin Timberlake pictures, with JT urging me to "get my sexy back and get well!")

I have two drains coming out of my abdomen, draining out icky, infected fluid. I'm hooked up to an almost constant supply of antibiotic fluids and (thankfully) painkillers that go in through a central PICC line in my upper, inner arm. I run a fever at least a couple of times a day.

My sides and back hurt immensely because of the amount of time I simply spend lying in bed. My legs haven't been shaved since late August. My back and chest are broken out in an ugly, itchy rash. I haven't gotten to hang with The Geej for more than 30 minutes at a time in weeks. And that promotion at work that I worked so hard for? THIS is how I'm spending my crucial first month. Damn, I hope my health insurance is good because there is seriously no imagining how much all of this fun is going to end up costing.

I am miserable, Internets. And I have no idea when I'm getting out of this place (this week, surely) or how long it's going to take me to be back to normal again. I don't have any recollection of what "normal" is anyway.

So even though I'm not there to moderate them, and post them right away, please feel free to post some comments. It'll give me something to look forward to reading when I finally get home. And please keep me in your thoughts. I just keep repeating the words "WELL," "STRENGTH," and "HOME" in my head over and over with hopes that somehow their positivity will impact what's going on.

Until next time--

Peace and health,
Karla May

P.S. Mad props to Mama Malcontent for doing these guest posts for me. Thanks gal!!