Dr. Zapata - words cannot describe how much I respected, trusted, and genuinely liked this wonderful man.
Showing posts with label Dr. Zapata. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dr. Zapata. Show all posts
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Dr. Zapata
Dr. Zapata - words cannot describe how much I respected, trusted, and genuinely liked this wonderful man.
Morphine Hell
Hello, Readers!
Let's get right down to it - Morphine Hell.
NEWSFLASH: Morphine has random side effects on some people. This is all within the normal range and totally unpredictable. One of the random side effects is the inability to pee.
Now, your body feels like you have to pee, and your bladder is telling you to get to the bathroom, and you feel like you might just rock out pee right there on the spot, so you untangle yourself from your covers and painfully sit up, pulling yourself to your feet to struggle to the toilet dragging your IV, your drain and bag, your circulatory wraps drooping and flapping, your bootie flapping in the breeze, you make it over the bathroom threshold, ease yourself gingerly down on the pottie and after all that - no pee. So you hang your head and give a little wail of exasperation and pull yourself back together and do the whole thing backward to get back to the bed, exhausted and still needing to pee.
Where, you lay down and try to sleep for an hour until the urge to pee just becomes nigh unbearable. So you do a repeat of the above routine with the same result - no pee.
By this time, you are starting to suspect that something might be slightly wrong. You don't know exactly what, but you think it's time to check, so you call the nurse. The nurse comes right away, and you point to "No puedo orinar, mi vejiga esta muy llena (I am unable to urinate, my bladder is very full)" on your Spanish translation sheet. The nurse pats your shoulder comfortingly, nods her understanding and leaves the room. For a moment you are nonplussed, but she returns immediately with -TAHDAH - the wonderful Dr. Zapata.
How can I give credit to Dr. Zapata with mere words? He is just so wonderful. I just have such fond memories and feelings about him. If he were here, I would want him to be my primary physician, no question.
ANYWAY - Dr. Zapata knew what was going on immediatley, and explained to me that the inability to pee can sometimes be a side effect of morphine. While not common, it is certainly not strange or unusual, hence the prompt on the Spanish translation sheet. He asked if I had ever had morphine before. I had not. He nodded, letting me know that in any future situations involving morphine I needed to explain my reaction to the doctor so they could either use a different pain medication or be prepared with a !!!CATHETER!!! and he'd just get mine ready now.
Now I'd never had a catheter before, so I was very apprehensive. I am ashamed to say that even after traveling on my own to Mexico to have weight loss surgery, getting the surgery, and recovering from the surgery, even after all that, I balked at the idea of getting a simple catheter. I was in complete misery, my bladder was totally distended and I felt like I was going to explode, but just couldn't face having that thing stuck up there. Dr. Zapata did try to convince me and he was genuinely sorry and concerned that I said no, he knew I was in misery, but I would have none of it. I could tell he thought I was being foolish (which I was), but he finally said, "Lucy, this is really your decision. Do you want the catheter or no?" I peeped out a meek, "No." Dr. Zapata shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "So be it," and said he would check on me soon.
Fast forward to 1 hour later - distended like a giant balloon, I called the nurse, pointed to the Spanish translation sheet, and begged for the catheter. I would have dropped to my knees had I been able. People, let me tell you. I was so miserable as she stuck that catheter in there that it actually felt like a welcome relief. Words cannot express the wonderfulness of it. Release. Nirvana. Bliss. A return to humanity. The world at large seemed like a better place, I'm not kidding. When the nurse was finished and I was laying there in peace, Dr. Zapata came in to check. Despite all my earlier protests, he never once said "I told you so." He just held my hand and said, "Next time, you'll know," leaving me with kind words and a hug.
Long story short - if you get morphine and can't pee, don't mess around. Go for the catheter.
Laters!
Let's get right down to it - Morphine Hell.
NEWSFLASH: Morphine has random side effects on some people. This is all within the normal range and totally unpredictable. One of the random side effects is the inability to pee.
Now, your body feels like you have to pee, and your bladder is telling you to get to the bathroom, and you feel like you might just rock out pee right there on the spot, so you untangle yourself from your covers and painfully sit up, pulling yourself to your feet to struggle to the toilet dragging your IV, your drain and bag, your circulatory wraps drooping and flapping, your bootie flapping in the breeze, you make it over the bathroom threshold, ease yourself gingerly down on the pottie and after all that - no pee. So you hang your head and give a little wail of exasperation and pull yourself back together and do the whole thing backward to get back to the bed, exhausted and still needing to pee.
Where, you lay down and try to sleep for an hour until the urge to pee just becomes nigh unbearable. So you do a repeat of the above routine with the same result - no pee.
By this time, you are starting to suspect that something might be slightly wrong. You don't know exactly what, but you think it's time to check, so you call the nurse. The nurse comes right away, and you point to "No puedo orinar, mi vejiga esta muy llena (I am unable to urinate, my bladder is very full)" on your Spanish translation sheet. The nurse pats your shoulder comfortingly, nods her understanding and leaves the room. For a moment you are nonplussed, but she returns immediately with -TAHDAH - the wonderful Dr. Zapata.
How can I give credit to Dr. Zapata with mere words? He is just so wonderful. I just have such fond memories and feelings about him. If he were here, I would want him to be my primary physician, no question.
ANYWAY - Dr. Zapata knew what was going on immediatley, and explained to me that the inability to pee can sometimes be a side effect of morphine. While not common, it is certainly not strange or unusual, hence the prompt on the Spanish translation sheet. He asked if I had ever had morphine before. I had not. He nodded, letting me know that in any future situations involving morphine I needed to explain my reaction to the doctor so they could either use a different pain medication or be prepared with a !!!CATHETER!!! and he'd just get mine ready now.
Now I'd never had a catheter before, so I was very apprehensive. I am ashamed to say that even after traveling on my own to Mexico to have weight loss surgery, getting the surgery, and recovering from the surgery, even after all that, I balked at the idea of getting a simple catheter. I was in complete misery, my bladder was totally distended and I felt like I was going to explode, but just couldn't face having that thing stuck up there. Dr. Zapata did try to convince me and he was genuinely sorry and concerned that I said no, he knew I was in misery, but I would have none of it. I could tell he thought I was being foolish (which I was), but he finally said, "Lucy, this is really your decision. Do you want the catheter or no?" I peeped out a meek, "No." Dr. Zapata shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "So be it," and said he would check on me soon.
Fast forward to 1 hour later - distended like a giant balloon, I called the nurse, pointed to the Spanish translation sheet, and begged for the catheter. I would have dropped to my knees had I been able. People, let me tell you. I was so miserable as she stuck that catheter in there that it actually felt like a welcome relief. Words cannot express the wonderfulness of it. Release. Nirvana. Bliss. A return to humanity. The world at large seemed like a better place, I'm not kidding. When the nurse was finished and I was laying there in peace, Dr. Zapata came in to check. Despite all my earlier protests, he never once said "I told you so." He just held my hand and said, "Next time, you'll know," leaving me with kind words and a hug.
Long story short - if you get morphine and can't pee, don't mess around. Go for the catheter.
Laters!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Surgery 2
Okay, picking up where I left off. It seemed like I had just gone poof! into blessed lah-lah land when I was waking up in recovery. I was attended by not 1 but 2 yes that's 2 very kind and gentle nurses. This was very helpful when I needed to use the restroom as the nurses supported me on each side and helped me limp along until I made it. In a nutshell they were just very helpful in every way. I had a slightly embarrassing bout of belching on the way to the restroom. A side effect (if you could call it that) of laprascopic surgery is really intense bloating and gas - they really blow you up like a balloon during that surgery. Anyone who's doing this type of surgery can expect to toot and burp like a son-of-a-gun when there finished. I knew this going in, but I didn't realize that I would belch with each step - that's right with EVERY SINGLE STEP. The first belch - a big one - popped out of me as I took my first step to the restroom. I remember gasping in horror and covering my mouth with my hand. The second belch popped out of me as I moved my other foot forward, hand still at my mouth, a literal belching machine. Boy, was I embarrassed until the nurses pulled my hand away and said, "No, no, good, good!" Apprently, the only way to get rid of that gas is to move it around by walking and belch or toot it out. The faster you get rid of it, the more comfortable you are and the better off you are on the inside.
So back to the bathroom - I made it to the bathroom only to find that I couldn't go, so back to the recovery bed I went. I don't know how long I layed in recovery, it's pretty blurry. I do know there was pain. This is normal and to be expected with the sleeve, but I had not mentally prepared myself for this as I had planned to get a lap band up until my arrival in Mexico, so it was a bit disconcerting. (Lap band pain, from what I hear, is actually more of a discomfort than pain). My pain was concentrated on the left side right below the rib cage, I would call it sharp. Any movement at all made that side of my body feel as though part of me could tear loose. I remember thanking god for the leftover effects of the anesthesia as well as the pain medicine, to be without those would have been pure misery.
Now things get interesting. In the bed next to mine - this is still in recovery, not in my hospital room which was private - they wheeled a Spanish-speaking woman who had just gotten a gastric bypass and was also recovering. Our recovery strategies seemed to be a bit different. While I, a product of my midwestern hayseed background, attempted to bite down on the pain and crunch it all in, this woman was of the school of letting it all out: "Dios mio! Ohhhhhh, dios mio, dios mio, ahhhhhhhhh, ayy, ayy, then Spanish words which I am sure were something akin to "Dear god, the pain, the pain, Oh my god I can't take it this is torture," and so forth. I have to tell you, in my mind I was saying Amen, sister. If my sleeve was hurting the way it did, I can only imagine what she felt with her bypass. Then, something unusual happened. Somehow, in my hazy state, I felt my inner resolve slipping. It was like all the emotions of the next door dios mios and ayayay's became contagious to me, and I started to feel a little melodramatic myself, some sort of post-surgery suggestive state. All this built up in me and a rocked out a little "Ohhh!" of my own only to find - taadaa! Dr. Zapata immediatly swooping back the curtain and sitting down to hold my hand and reassure me with kind and loving words none of which I can remember. The Mexican patient's doctor also sat with her and reassured her in a lovely deep Spanish voice. How long was this episode? I have know idea. It felt like forever, but was probably 10 minutes at most from start to finish.
The next step was being wheeled down to my room, and what a room it was! A private room with a sitting area. A comfortable chair and couch which could be pulled out into a bed. Two televisions, one for the sitting area and one for the hospital bed. There were louvered doors between the sitting area and the hospital bed area so that one could have as much privacy as one needed. The bathroom was tiled in marble with beautiful fixtures. There was a walk in shower, also marlbe-tiled, with a built in bench and rain-drop style shower head. Very nice!
The hospital bed itself was very comfortable. The sheets and bedding were high quality cotton and velour, nothing synthetic, itchy, or "thready." The pillows were down, nice quality, very comfortable. Boy was I relieved to get situated in that comfortable bed in that nice room and get the first doses of pain med, anti-nausea, and antibiotic shot into my IV by my very professional, competent and caring nurse. I remember my nurse apologizing to me because she did not speak English! This nearly brought a tear to my eye. I tried to communicate as best I could that she should not be sorry, that I should be sorry for my horrible Spanish. I remember her giving my should a reassuring pat and then I drifted off to sleep.
Next installment - morpheine hell.
So back to the bathroom - I made it to the bathroom only to find that I couldn't go, so back to the recovery bed I went. I don't know how long I layed in recovery, it's pretty blurry. I do know there was pain. This is normal and to be expected with the sleeve, but I had not mentally prepared myself for this as I had planned to get a lap band up until my arrival in Mexico, so it was a bit disconcerting. (Lap band pain, from what I hear, is actually more of a discomfort than pain). My pain was concentrated on the left side right below the rib cage, I would call it sharp. Any movement at all made that side of my body feel as though part of me could tear loose. I remember thanking god for the leftover effects of the anesthesia as well as the pain medicine, to be without those would have been pure misery.
Now things get interesting. In the bed next to mine - this is still in recovery, not in my hospital room which was private - they wheeled a Spanish-speaking woman who had just gotten a gastric bypass and was also recovering. Our recovery strategies seemed to be a bit different. While I, a product of my midwestern hayseed background, attempted to bite down on the pain and crunch it all in, this woman was of the school of letting it all out: "Dios mio! Ohhhhhh, dios mio, dios mio, ahhhhhhhhh, ayy, ayy, then Spanish words which I am sure were something akin to "Dear god, the pain, the pain, Oh my god I can't take it this is torture," and so forth. I have to tell you, in my mind I was saying Amen, sister. If my sleeve was hurting the way it did, I can only imagine what she felt with her bypass. Then, something unusual happened. Somehow, in my hazy state, I felt my inner resolve slipping. It was like all the emotions of the next door dios mios and ayayay's became contagious to me, and I started to feel a little melodramatic myself, some sort of post-surgery suggestive state. All this built up in me and a rocked out a little "Ohhh!" of my own only to find - taadaa! Dr. Zapata immediatly swooping back the curtain and sitting down to hold my hand and reassure me with kind and loving words none of which I can remember. The Mexican patient's doctor also sat with her and reassured her in a lovely deep Spanish voice. How long was this episode? I have know idea. It felt like forever, but was probably 10 minutes at most from start to finish.
The next step was being wheeled down to my room, and what a room it was! A private room with a sitting area. A comfortable chair and couch which could be pulled out into a bed. Two televisions, one for the sitting area and one for the hospital bed. There were louvered doors between the sitting area and the hospital bed area so that one could have as much privacy as one needed. The bathroom was tiled in marble with beautiful fixtures. There was a walk in shower, also marlbe-tiled, with a built in bench and rain-drop style shower head. Very nice!
The hospital bed itself was very comfortable. The sheets and bedding were high quality cotton and velour, nothing synthetic, itchy, or "thready." The pillows were down, nice quality, very comfortable. Boy was I relieved to get situated in that comfortable bed in that nice room and get the first doses of pain med, anti-nausea, and antibiotic shot into my IV by my very professional, competent and caring nurse. I remember my nurse apologizing to me because she did not speak English! This nearly brought a tear to my eye. I tried to communicate as best I could that she should not be sorry, that I should be sorry for my horrible Spanish. I remember her giving my should a reassuring pat and then I drifted off to sleep.
Next installment - morpheine hell.
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