The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Anybody Get The Number of That Bus?

The surgery is over, and I'm home sitting up in a chair (and that...was a serious challenge at first!). Looking at all of the comments posted to both Tuna's and my own blog, not to mention the people that called or visited or sent me flowers and cards...I'm overwhelmed. Seriously overwhelmed. Unfortunately, my not posting exactly what I was going through worried people a bit more than I would have liked.

The past:
In 2000, I was diagnosed with esophageal cancer because I had such severe acid reflux. At the time, my Lower Esophageal Sphincter (LES) was opening too often, and letting stomach acid rise into and damage my esophagus. The resulting damage developed into a cancer that is very rare in people under 50, and has an extremely high mortality rate (90%). I had hit the unlucky disease lottery, and thankfully survived. Something I never forget or try to take for granted.

Back in early August, I had decided to go ahead and participate in the HIV vaccine program that is going on in NYC. The vaccine was in a stage 2 testing and the research gained from the results could be valuable. Maybe in 20 years, we can have a workable vaccination for HIV.

It was while going through the process of entering the study, the attending physician wanted me to go to a gastroenterologist and obtain a clearance, as a way to insure that I still remained cancer free.

I scheduled the appointment, and discussed my post cancer symptoms with my doctor (including extreme difficulty in swallowing because of scar tissue from having cancer and surgery). The key item that I told the doctor that had him raise his eyebrows what that even liquid was difficult to swallow.

Thus I became the lab rat and had several tests run. The end results showed three different problems, each hindering my swallowing.

The Diagnosis:

The first was scar tissue in my esophagus (which slowed solid food down). I had already known about this and up until last month, thought this was my only reason for difficulty in eating and drinking. I looked at it as a trade off from not having cancer anymore.
The second was a bone spur I had growing on my spinal discs from a injury (thanks dad). This also slowed solid food progression.
Lastly, the strangest discovery was that I had developed was a neurological disorder of the esophagus called Acahalsia. At this point, only 100,000 cases are diagnosed worldwide each year. In simple terms, the disorder causes the esophagus muscle to fail, and the Lower Esophagal Sphincter no longer relaxes. As Crash put it, "I never thought I'd hear that you have a tight sphincter!"

The doctor recommended surgery as the best way to solve all three problems at one time. The surgeon who agreed to do it is an expert in laparscopic surgery, and the concensus was that I had a 50-50 chance of this becoming an open surgery (meaning a 14 inch slice down the center of my chest and a rib spreader)

The Day of Surgery:
My clock went off at 6:00 am and I left the house at 6:45. I walked across the park and text messaged Tuna the following text:

Dead homo walkin'

Joke went poof. She was not happy with me. Especially since she wasn't up yet, and when she woke, that was the last text she thought she'd get from me.

I arrived at the hospital and after arguing with an admissions representative, I was ushered into the pre-surgery area, and placed into room 8, where I would wait until called for surgery. I know Tuna and others thought I was alone, but I knew people were with me in spirit.

They ended up taking me at 10:00 am, an hour earlier than I thought. The nurses agreed to hold my bag (with my cell phone) and I walked into the Operating Room. Yes, I walked. The anesthesiologist felt it was better to not give me anything prior to going in the room, mainly because by the time it took effect, I would be going under the general anesthesia. He would later regret that decision.

I walked into the room and each of my doctors, about 12 residents, their interns, and millions in equipment were all surrounding the metal table covered in blue surgical cloth. I saw the arm extension and stirrups, the two television monitors and at that point I couldn't breathe. In full panic attack, the anesthesiologist picked me up and put me on the table, and placed the IV into my arm. He pushed something to relax me and I got to stare at my reflection in the ceiling. This was my last thing I would see until I woke up.

What was done?
Using 5 incisions on my abdomen, they inflated my entire torso with gas, and then went about performing three surgeries. Going under my heart and lungs, they reduced the bone spur on my spine.

They then removed the scar tissue, as well as three inches of my esophagus that they felt needed to be removed. None of this tissue was cancerous, but it was severely damaged.

Lastly, they cut my LES in half, basically rendering it useless and wrapped my stomach around my esophagus. Total time in surgery was about 6 hours.

I woke up in recovery and was given percoset immediately. Within the next hour I was also given Demerol and Morphine. If you've never had those babies...I recommend them whole heartedly!

I had one surprise visitor while recovering in ICU. Someone who told the front desk he was my brother. As for who it really was...well...he knows who he is, and that's all that matters.

I was visited by David once I got to my room and spent the evening sucking on ice chips, before finally getting my bag at 8:40 pm. My bag had my cell phone in it, with all of my contact numbers, which is why it took me so long to text people. Although I don't remember texting that much.

My nurse called my doctor around midnight, mainly as I was having one complication. I had to get a catheter. The nurse, seeing the panic on my face, quickly injected me with a little extra morphine and I woke with the tubing in place. She did the same when she removed it the next morning. I secretly love her.

Friday was spent sucking on ice chips, having an endless stream of visitors from 1pm on, and receiving a beautiful flower arrangement from GBM. I can't thank you enough, and although the nurses took them away from me (I was on the transplant floor), I was able to take them home. The look incredible in my window.

Late Friday night, the hospital admitted a new patient, who would be my roommate. His incessant moaning and wailing kept me up enough that I asked to be discharged Saturday morning.

Thus why I am home.

Today, I'm sitting in a chair. It's a big step seeing I've been spending most of my day laying or sitting up in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. These pain killers pack a serious punch. It's my first time in a few days that I'm trying to focus my energy on completing a task (blogging in this case), and this post has been quite a long one.

For those of you who called me, or sent me cards, or just kept me in your thoughts, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.

Tomorrow, I'll have to tell you about the sponge bath from hell.

Patrick - 4:45 PM -