Life at Home

     I escaped from the hospital yesterday.  On Sunday they discontinued my epidural and my IV narcotics and switched me to all oral medications.  In a span of three hours my day spiraled out of control, and I became convinced that there was a small demon lurking directly beneath my incision.
    The surgery residents grew tired of my complaints and loaded me up with a Fentanyl patch which is a 1 inch plastic sticker that contains 3 days worth of narcotics.  You slap the magic stamp on your arm and over the next hours your body starts to get used to a steady stream of medication.  Apparently the surgeons overestimated my metabolism because by the time Monday morning rolled around I had pinpoint pupils, slurred speech, and a very loose grasp on reality.  Luckily my dose was reduced before leaving, otherwise I'd probably be stumbling down Congress street wearing Maine Med Issued grippy socks.
     Sunday was also notable, as yet again my bladder declined to participate in my recovery.  An unforeseen benefit of my bladder failure has been that I've become a real expert in the management of foley catheters, and have even learned how to rig up a foley and collection bag with duct tape so that I can walk freely throughout the house.
   We're still waiting on the pathology report, so we can figure out exactly what is growing in my pelvis.  All signs point to this being a Mesothelioma, which would be a super rare diagnosis.  Since there are only ~150 reported cases of this type of tumor, its hard to find robust information in regards to treatment and outcome.   I've been harassing the Surgeon in hopes of getting an answer but at this point we seem to be at the mercy of the hospital pathologists.

     It feels great to be home.  It's strange to be in such a familiar environment, yet have my activities so severely limited, but even at the worst moments, I find its better to hurt in the privacy of your own home, rather than in a stale wing of the hospital.
   Hopefully one day soon my bladder will awaken and I can be free of all tubes, wires and hoses, but thanks to the miracles of modern analgesia and the loving care of family and friends; life continues to be pretty darn good.

MCD