In Response to a Meltdown

I had a small procedure yesterday. Okay, I’ll say it, I had a colonoscopy. I know, gross. I know, the worst part is the prep. It’s not like I’ve never had one before. This is my 4th colonoscopy. I’m nothing but safe and preventative. And, praise God, there wasn’t anything wrong. Yes, I have diverticulosis but so does almost everybody else. Other than that, my colon was nice and pink and free of polyps and other evils that lurk in intestines. But I had a major meltdown and I need to be able to say why.

This is my 3rd trip to the hospital in the last two months. Something was going on and I wanted to get to the bottom of it. So, I had an endoscope. I’ll take one of those any day because there is no prep. They thought I had an ulcer. Nope, that all came back pink, except for my esophagus. That was inflamed. No problem. I can take this little pill and be just fine. I didn’t have a meltdown that day, but I had some anxiety. Why? I’ll tell you why I have issues each and every time.

I had to have an IV.

An IV you say? Why would that cause you anxiety? I will tell you why. Every time they come in the room with that IV bag I am thrown back to when I was in college. I was home on spring break my freshman year. I got into town on Friday night. My dad had been in the hospital for weeks and I didn’t get a chance to go see him because he was in intensive care and there were only certain times we could go in and only two people could go in to see him and that was always Mom and Grandma. We were all up early on a Sunday morning. Mom was getting ready to go to the hospital when we got the call. We were all told to get to the hospital. And so we did.

I remember going into his ICU room with Mom. I’m sure that Kim, Kerry and Grandma were there too. I remember Mom climbing up in bed with Dad and putting his head on her lap and just holding him. I remember crying unmercifully. So much so that a nurse suggested that I go with her. But one of the things I remember more than most of that is Dad’s hand was swollen up like a balloon. The IV had backed up in his hand.The nurse took me to an empty room that was reserved for occasions such as these. I think I knew that Dad was near death but I don’t think it dawned on me that this was it. All I could ask the nurse was what was the matter with Daddy’s hand? She explained that the IV had backed up into his hand and all of the fluid that was supposed to be going through his veins was in his hand. I obsessed about that. I remember being in that room for a very long time by myself. I was so confused and so sad and so worried about Daddy. At the funeral home Daddy’s hand was still swollen and black and blue. I made sure everyone that came to his casket knew that the IV had backed up into his hand. Daddy had been sick for over two years; in and out of the hospital. He had been on dialysis and ended up having a kidney transplant back when transplants were brand new. But Daddy was diabetic and that disease wouldn’t allow the kidney to heal to his body. They took the new kidney out of Daddy on Friday. He died on Sunday. We knew that he would never get better. But who would believe that of their daddy who was only 41 years old.

When I was pregnant with my son, Jay, I had never been in the hospital. But Daddy’s illness and death were pretty fresh on my mind. I went through nine months of a pregnancy, and Lamaze training not having a clue what I had gotten myself into. I remember telling everyone that I was going to have a natural birth because I didn’t want any drugs, etc. What I really didn’t want was an IV. On the day that Jay was born I went to my doctor’s appointment. He was concerned that I was two weeks overdue. He did a non-stress test in his office. Jay was not interested in moving. So, the doctor decided to send me to the hospital to do a stress test. We went over and got all set up. They put the straps around my belly and then the nurse came in with the IV bag. I told her that I didn’t need an IV because I was going to have a natural birth. She bluntly told me that since they were doing a stress test they had to do an IV in order to get the medicine into me. I told her that I didn’t want that. She told me I didn’t have a choice. I became very anxious and knew that IV was going to do to me what it had done to Daddy. Once they got it in and going Jay’s heartrate began to flip-flop. It went from 50 to 250 and back again. They called the doctor immediately who came over and said that he was inducing labor. I told him that the baby was upset because his mother was upset but the doctor didn’t pay any attention to that. I was on the pit drip for 8 hours. They had it wide open. And my wonderfully planned delivery turned into a nightmare of a c-section.

When Carilynn was 15 days old she had RSV. At that time it meant a hospital stay while the antibiotics kicked in. They put this cake-top over her head when they were giving her breathing treatments. I truly believe that is one of the reasons if she gets a cold it automatically turns into bronchitis. Anyway, we went to Kosair Children’s Hospital, which is a teaching hospital. I felt we couldn’t be in a better place. But we had a couple of “new” doctors who were intent on getting all of their procedures in. When they told me they had to put an IV in her, I told them that was fine, but please, I asked them, don’t put it in her head. They searched all around for a good vein and then decided they were going to put it in her head because they could “tick” that off of their procedure list. I got so upset they sent me out of the room. I walked to the other side of the hospital floor but could still hear her scream. When I came back the IV was in her foot. It seems that a very good nurse convinced them that she didn’t have to have the IV in her head. I never liked those two guys.

Fast forward to when I was pregnant with Katie. I kept going into labor, so I would end up in labor and delivery quite a bit. They would start an IV on me and pump me full of magnesium and the contractions would calm down and I would be fine, and they would send me home. I don’t know how many times I went into the hospital. It wasn’t as much as when I had Carilynn. But it was enough to remember. There was this nurse that I really liked but really hated in the same breath. She was the queen of IV’s and I was not the queen of veins. She was always determined that she was going to stick me one time and by gosh she would not miss. I can still see her coming at me with that IV bag and she lowered my bed as low as it would go. She made me put my arm down, trying to touch the ground. She made me keep it like that for a long time. Then she would get down on the floor, with my hand in her lap, and find a vein that would work. She was determined. Most of the time it was not a big deal but this one time she must have been down there for an hour. And she was true to her word: she was only going to stick me one time. But she dug for most of the time because she was not going to fail.

Jimmy had to go to Louisville to have a hernia repaired. He’s not a baby like I am. Nothing fazes him. We were in this pre-op area and they were looking for a vein to put the IV in. They couldn’t find anything. They stuck him over and over again. Finally, they went and got the anesthesiologist. Not the anesthesiologist nurse, the doctor. She couldn’t find a vein either. They were even looking in his feet. I was over in the corner hyperventilating. They finally found something they could work with but when he came out of surgery I found out that they ended up putting the IV in his neck but didn’t want to do it in front of me. It didn’t ease my anxiety.

So yesterday, when I was having the colonoscopy, I told the nurse right away about how I had to get stuck 4 times when they did the endoscope a few weeks ago. She told me that she was going to do a really good job. And to her defense she was very sweet. It was good that the anesthesia guy came in while she was sticking me for the IV because I was distracted. And I was really trying to be nice. But she decided to stick me on my wrist and she was hitting bone. And she was hurting me. When she decided to give up on that spot I had a mini-meltdown that turned into a huge meltdown. All of my IV horror stories came back. I decided that I must have a case of PTSD because I couldn’t function, I couldn’t quit crying. And how do you explain to someone who puts in hundreds of IVs a week that you are traumatized each time you have one? All of my horrors came back and made themselves known.