Showing posts with label convalesence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label convalesence. Show all posts

Wednesday 13 November 2013

Pain

It is now four weeks since Tim and I were operated on St Georges; the time seems to have flown past and I have healed well, while Tim is also doing very well. Most people I have spoken to seem to have an expectation of kidney donors suffering some considerable pain for a long period.  I suppose in a way that was my understanding, although I think that possibly people are just preparing you in case you suffer such pain; then, when you don't, you feel happy about the situation.

Whilst I was training in the RAF (a very long time ago), the often-heard mantra was that "pain is only in the mind"; an alternative was that "pain is for wimps". When younger, I used to endure the dentist without an anaesthetic as I found that the pain of some b*****y great needle being stuck in the roof of your mouth was far worse than suffering the treatment without anaesthetic. (NB Yes, I know things have improved since and yes, that old dentist was an absolute thug and an awful dentist to boot.)

Today, I mentioned my almost complete lack of pain in the last four weeks to a friend who told me of an anaesthetist he knows who, like the RAF, also believes that pain is genuinely in the mind. I have to say that I think I agree. Over the years I have learned to relax in the dentist's chair. You start with your neck and work down through every part of you, consciously relaxing the tight muscles; when you reach your feet you start again, as those ones will have tightened up again by then!

One fairly recent experience of severe pain was when I had a small growth removed from my upper lip. This was done as day surgery under a local anaesthetic which was administered by the surgeon. He said "short sharp scratch" and proceeded to stick a needle in my upper lip for the next two or three minutes! I lay there trying to relax myself and became aware of the absolute streams of tears flowing down the side of my face to my ears and thence to the back of my neck. I have never before or since experienced anything remotely so painful - there are, I am told, a vast number of nerves in your lips, and I believe it.  After the operation I said "You lied!" and he replied that he had to as if he told the truth then every patient would leave the theatre before the operation!

So, using the scale of my lip pain, I have been re-assessing the pain I have suffered in the last four weeks. Really, the worst pain was when my stomach generally objected to the whole idea and started acting up. The expanded stomach pressed on the largest wound which caused a significant awareness of its presence, but compared to my lips I don't think it even classes as pain, more just as severe discomfort. In the same way, in hospital I itched (a reaction to the morphine?) and couldn't sleep because I just couldn't get comfortable.  There were times on the first day when any movement seemed to require care and many movements were impossible, but I suspect that this was as much due to my brain simply stopping me from trying as opposed to actually experiencing pain. Even when I sat on the edge of the bed and then stood up for the first time, it wasn't painful but rather I was afraid of being rushed when I felt very delicate.

I have no doubt that I have been very blessed in this experience. I would not like to give Potential Living Donors the idea that donating a kidney is always as pain-free as my experience, as I am sure it is not. I know that I could even now suddenly find myself doubled up, especially if attacked in my midriff by some wayward child, and I am not even going to try to touch my toes!  We all react differently to pain, and I sympathize with those who suffer more than their fair share. However, I am sure that having a positive mental attitude to pain could be a solution for many people in a similar situation.

Monday 21 October 2013

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

Before this operation, I have only really been concentrating my thoughts about my brother and what this would do for him.  After my discharge on Friday I have been back on both Saturday and Sunday to see him, and he is literally "in the pink"! I have not seen him looking so well for several years. He was discharged today and now will have a lifestyle change to cope with the anti-rejection drugs.

Kidney donation is called "The gift of life" by many people and it really is. Instead of hardly being able to work, and going home too tired to do much at all other than sleep, Tim will now be able to live his life; each day was simply survival but I think he now has sparkling eyes and an obvious energy. I had hoped and prayed that this would happen and it has, and I am so glad to have been able to help him.

However, the thing which I had not really thought about at all was the effect on the rest of his family.  This hit home to me last Thursday afternoon/evening as four of his adult children came to see him just over 24 hours after the op.  Then, one by one, they popped in to see me in a separate bay. Without exception they were smiling broadly and just delighted to see the colour of their father restored to something pinker and less stressed. One by one they each thanked me for what I had done - they really didn't need to do this as I could already see it in their faces.  After they had all gone I wept as I thought about what had I actually done? In effect, I have given them their father back, and I honestly did not realise that the gift of life was almost as much to them as to him.

There's a song from long ago (when I was a teenager) sung by The Hollies, which has been reverberating through my mind for the last twenty months. It's called "He ain't heavy, he's my brother" and I think it got to No 2 in the charts in 1969 (I said it was a long time ago).  See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jl5vi9ir49g.  It's got a lot of good phrases, some of which I have used as titles of these entries; it also summarizes fairly well the reasons why I've done this:

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows when
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
If I'm laden at all
Then I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another
It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother...

(B. Scott and B. Russell)

Saturday 19 October 2013

Update after Discharge

Well, the headline news is that all has gone extremely well ("textbook" operation) and both Tim and I are fine. I knew that things had gone OK when he was wheeled into Recovery beside me with this enormous bag full of urine attached to his bed.  His creatinine was measured at less than 200 immediately after the op and he told me that he had NEVER known it that low before - it was above 200 when he was first diagnosed six years ago and was about 400 before the op.  It was down at 140 at the last count which was, apparently, less than mine which was 154!

I was mobile by Thursday afternoon and then was discharged on Friday at around 1pm, exactly 48 hours after being taken from the operating theatre to the recovery area; I don't think this could have happened more speedily - even the most optimistic guess beforehand was for a Friday late afternoon discharge, with Saturday being more likely. I have had a couple of bad night's sleep but there has been remarkably little pain or discomfort, and a lot of mobility has already been restored (but I AM still being careful).

We are now spending a few days with Duncan (next elder brother) and Diana. They live less than 30 minutes from the hospital and he happens to be a retired GP, so the hospital knew that I would be in good hands with Jane and Duncan around.  Nevertheless the Renal Team emphasised that I should contact them or even just turn up AT ANY TIME if I had any issues at all.  I am scheduled to see the surgeon and have a few tests on Tuesday; if all is fine then I will return to home in the countryside, and be in the care of my local transplant centre.

In the next few days I intend to tell a more detailed story of my time in hospital but right now I would just like to express my thanks for the care I received in hospital; from the surgeon Sarah to the lovely Olga who served our meals, everyone was absolutely wonderful and I thank them from the bottom of my heart. 

Both Tim and I have been amazed at the support given from friends all over the place. It is truly humbling to know that so many people are supporting you in prayer, and that support includes lots of people who I don't even know. We are so grateful for this and I am sure it has eased my path through this process.