At the end of October, and just days after a good friend of mine had a full on seizure in my living room, I was back in the hospital for another Cholangiogram. My labs over the past few weeks had shown in increase in my key liver enzymes, which meant possible blockages. They had already done another liver biopsy, ruled out rejection and given me a dose of steroids for good measure. The Cholangiogram went fine, though it did show blockages, which the doctors relieved through ballooning the bile ducts as usual. After each cholangiogram, it is standard to be monitored for an additional two hours. For me, this was usually an uneventful two hours. However, this time, my temperature spiked, tremors came over me, and I began to vomit. I think I remember asking, "what the hell did they do to me?"
I was admitted to the hospital, submitted blood work, and waited for the doctor's conclusion. The next day, a Tuesday, Dr. Tzakis informed me that he was going to surgically fix my bile ducts, since simply ballooning them was not working. This surgery would take place the next day. I was nervous, a little upset about having my nicely healed incision cut open a second time, but all around optimistic that this surgery, which was minor and the doctors could do in their sleep, would put an end to waking up in the middle of the night with fevers, sweats and stomach pains. My state of mind was much improved over my last hospital stay.
It is interesting to hear Trine's viewpoint regarding this last surgery. She was terrified that this surgery would be like my original Kasai procedure when I was a baby in that it would be a temporary fix and a bridge to a second liver transplant. She asked the doctor point blank what my chances were, post op, and he was confident that it would work out just fine.
The surgery went well, and they removed a lot of scar tissue from around my bile ducts, which is said to be the cause of the strictures. Even my aforementioned hepatic artery (see Part 3) had good flow, so the scar tissue may have been responsible for that was well. I was incredibly sore and the pain associated with recovery seemed more intense and vivid than with my transplant. They gave me morphine, which caused me to vomit and did not do much for the pain. So, I was reacquainted with my good friend, dilaudid, but only for a few days until his well meaning, but annoying cousin percocet showed up. Soon, I was all but off pain meds.
Walking is one thing the docs always bugged me about after abdominal surgery. It was imperative that I get out of bed and walk around to heal, prevent sores, and it is good for mental health as well. They also ask a lot about farting. Seriously. They needed to make sure that my bowels were in check so every once in a while a doc would pop in and ask the status of my ass. I had not eaten for almost five days, so I did not exactly have a whole lot of fuel to burn. By the end of the week, I was walking laps around the Transplant floor and farting away. Life was good…until—actually, it's still pretty good.
Life has been nice since the surgery, with a few minor hiccups. My liver enzymes peaked a bit so the docs put me on a higher dose of anti-rejection medication and reinstated the steroid. The anti-rejection meds were causing major stomach irritation for a while, so I had to make some adjustments regarding the acid reducing medication I was on, but otherwise, it's all good.
I am seven months post transplant.
No comments:
Post a Comment