Ruud Remarks

New Post

2009-08-27T16:46:00Z

Amy is Strong Like Bull:

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Are You Still There?

2009-08-21T17:26:00Z

Hope you are checking the new blog site - posts are coming in every day - if you haven't, today is great day to catch up!

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New Blog Post!

2009-08-06T17:29:00Z

Don't Stand Where You Puke: Amy Goes to a Concert

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This blog will soon become inactive and the URL will redirect to the new site, be sure to sign up for the RSS feed on the new site so you don't miss anything!

New Blog Post!

2009-08-05T16:26:00Z

Parked Cards vs. Moving Violations

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New Blog Post!

2009-08-04T16:34:00Z

At Least the Drugs Are Good.

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New Blog Post!

2009-08-03T16:54:00Z

My Life is so Scheduled it Could be Listed on the TV Guide Channel

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New Site is Up!

2009-08-02T16:31:00Z

Friends,

This blog site sucks. It's okay to admit it. I know it sucks. So I am getting rid of it. The new site is now up and running (all old posts and comments have been transfered over) and can be found here along with a much nicer message:

http://ruudremarks.blogspot.com

If you subscribe to this blog, please subscribe to the new blog. This current URL will stay up for a little over a week and I will post a notice here when I post a new entry on the new site. After a week (or so) this URL redirect to the new blog.

Thanks for reading and thanks for all your support - I really appreciate it.

Best,

Amy

Relearning How to Live

2009-07-31T18:38:00Z

Up until a few years ago I was anything but a morning person. I was a night owl. I stayed up until all hours of the night, could barely drag myself out of bed and often times functioned on little to no sleep. My mother tells me I had been this way since I was a baby. When I was in high school, it was not uncommon for me to wake up 10 minutes before I had to leave the house – and a mere 15 minutes before classes started – which was just enough time to throw on my uniform of a button down shirt and plaid pleated skirt, brush my teeth, pull my hair into a pony tail and pray I hit all the green lights in order to make it to school in 7 minutes. This was actually an improvement from my early years of school when my mom would literally dress me while I was still asleep so I wouldn’t miss the bus – my mom must’ve hated me… or loved me… a lot.

And then a few years ago, I learned that I could not continue living this way. I had to drag my own ass out of bed, I had to get to work on time – a phone call from my mom on why I was late was not going to cut it in the real world. I learned to go to bed at a reasonable hour most nights, get up early to work out, shower, eat breakfast and get to work… early. It took a while to get used to this new way of living, but hey, no one every said change was easy.

After temporarily losing my eyesight and having a pretty major surgery, change in inevitable. Adjustments needed to be made. I found myself having to relearn how to do everyday tasks. I found myself relearning how to live.

Sleeping – something I have never had a problem with and something I have enjoyed since infancy – became a choir. I found myself sleeping on my side (normally I am a stomach sleeper), being careful with my movements so I wouldn’t rip out my staples or dislodge the shunt inside my body. In the first few weeks, while my mom stayed with me, I would often call for her in the middle of the night for me more pain medication or even help me to the bathroom. There I was, in my late 20s (shudder) calling for my mom in the middle of the night.

And when you are spending most of your time either in bed or lying on a couch, standing for long periods of time can seem like torture. I’ve heard of Chinese water torture before but I must admit I am not entirely sure what it entails. I can only imagine it is something like my first time showering post surgery. With hot water gushing down on me, my senses seemed to be heightened. Every drop of water felt like a tiny needle. The water was loud and it hurt my ears. The light in the bathroom was bright. And I was even more aware of my incisions then when I slept. I felt like the steam was constricting my airwaves and I was pretty sure I was going to collapse right then and there. The last thing I wanted to do was call for my mom in the middle of my shower. We had already gotten very personal in the hospital, I wasn’t going to let it get any further than that.

My walking – when I did walk - was slow and calculated. I could barely see where I was going and I must have looked drunk to most people with my constant weaving. And I could feel the shunt in my side, tugging slightly. My doctor would later tell me this was normal. To which I would tell him – I wouldn’t say “normal.” Expected maybe, but certainly not “normal.” There is nothing normal about feeling a foreign object inside your body.

Even interacting with people changed slightly. Can I joke with them about my condition? Can I tell them I puked on a nurse? Or that I can only get through my day by popping pills every few hours? Do I sound upbeat and happy? Or sad and depressed? I had been talking about condition and my recovery so much – what else was there to talk about? And do people really want to hear about it?

There may have been a moment or two where I thought I would never be able to shower without having a panic attack or sleep through the night without thinking I was doing severe internal damage, but eventually I learned – just like I had a few years ago – that I could not and would not have to live my life this way. And sleeping, showering, walking and talking would all get easier. And I would relearn how to live and no longer need to call on my mom in the middle of the night.

What the Hell Happened to Amy Anyway – Circle Back and Follow Up

2009-07-30T18:16:00Z

For those of you who are confused as to my current status or for those of you who are new to my blog and have no idea what is going on or for those of you who just like to read what I write – this is for you!

In my line of business we use a lot of buzz words like “circle back,” “follow up,” “touch base” and even the ever popular “under a bus.” If you have ever seen me do stand up, I have come up with funny and some what accurate definitions for this corporate jargon. (If you have not seen me do stand up – look for me hitting the stage again in a couple of months – I promise!) At the risk of over using these buzz words outside of the workplace and at the risk of “overusing” quotation marks where quotation marks are “not needed,” I wanted to take a moment to “circle back” with you all on a few things and provide a “status update” as to where I was, where I am and where I would like to be with my condition.

Some of you have seen me around town – doing things like drinking and driving – separately of course, not at the same time and are unclear as to how I can be fresh off of surgery, not showering or wearing pants and yet playing beer pong or dancing at a Dave Matthews Band concert.

The facts are these:

These posts were written not as they were happening, but shortly thereafter. Many of them at the same time and I am just now posting them – one a day until I catch up with myself.

I expect to be posting in “real time” in the next few weeks – probably not every day, but close to it.

Once I catch up with myself, I will be posting not only on my recovery and the challenges I am facing moving to the next step, but getting to the good stuff as well – Writing letters (see the first few posts I did if you want to know what the letters are about), maybe some movie reviews and some new comedy type material – like how I annoy and scare my neighbors – complete with photos.

I started writing posts as they were happening when I returned to work on July 1, 2009. So those posts will be a little more “fresh” since they were written as they happened. When I post them, I will include a “Written on” date.

Here is a quick timeline for you:

End of Feb 2009 – I got a headache. Like, a really really bad headache and they were happening daily. It was around this time I realized that these headaches were not normal and I set up an appointment with my doctor.

March 16, 2009 – Met with my doctor who seemed unconcerned with my headaches but ordered blood tests and an MRI.

March 23, 2009 – First time I realized MRIs are like giant techno music machines. First time I ever removed the piercing I have in that little piece of my ear that protects the hole.

March 30, 2009 – Doctor tells me the MRI and blood tests are all normal. To which I said, “Great! But I am not normal.” Doctor diagnosis’s me with migraines.

For the next 2 weeks, I start to get worse. Headaches are worse and the pain has moved to my upper shoulders and back. Ringing in my ears starts. My vision graying out when I stand or bend over gets worse.

April 10, 2009 – Meet with my eye doctor and go over symptoms. He immediately diagnosis’s me with pseudotumor cerebri (also known as intracranial hypertension).

At this point, I can still see pretty well, though my vision field test shows blind spots in my peripheral vision.

April 13, 2009 – Meet with neurologist who orders a second MRI and a spinal tap.

April 14, 2009 – Second MRI completed. Had to refrain from bringing glow sticks and a pacifier with me.

April 16, 2009 – First spinal tap. First time I saw my brain fluid.

April 18, 2009 – I now have blurry and double vision and decided to stop driving. Amanda becomes my chauffer.

April 20, 2009 – Neurologist calls me back and concurs with diagnosis of pseudotumor cerebri and prescribes a medication for me. I explain my vision issues and the doctor tells me to take the pills and that I’ll be fine.

Noon April 22, 2009 – I go home early from work because I do not feel well – bad reaction to the drugs. Last day of work – unbeknownst to me – for 10 weeks.

April 23, 2009 – Admitted to the ER because I could not keep anything “down” (that’s the nice of way saying I was puking my brains out for 24 hours straight).

April 24, 2009 – Released from the hospital. Told the doctors my vision was worse, they told me to keep taking the pills.

That weekend my vision got even worse, to the point where all I could see were shapes and light and dark.

April 28, 2009 – Go back to the eye doctor who tells me I need to go directly to the hospital for surgery to relieve pressure that is being put on my brain and my optic nerves – causing my “blindness.”

April 29, 2009 – I have surgery. A shunt is placed in my lower back at the base of my spine. The shunt drains fluid from my brain, down my spine, around my side and deposits the fluid into my abdomen. I have 3 incisions from the surgery and about 40 staples.

I am now in the hospital where I throw up on a nurse, am convinced my roommate is trying to kill me, don’t like the food and am doped up on all sorts of drugs.

May 2, 2009 – I am released from the hospital and head home.

At this point the headaches are pretty much gone, so is the ringing in my ears and my vision is already starting to improve.

May 4, 2009 – First follow up with eye doctors – miraculous improvement.

May 8, 2009 – I have my staples removed by something that actually looks like a staple remover – weird.

Over the next few weeks I am at home recovering. My days are spent either in bed or laying on the couch. I am going to see at least one of my three doctors about once a week. I am on all sorts of drugs and eating very little. Friends and family are visiting with me and I am relearning how to live a normal life. All of this will come up in future posts.

July 1, 2009 – I return to work after being gone for 10 weeks. I have 25000 emails. I erase all but 3 of them.

My eye sight is better, but not 100% recovered. I still have blind spots in my peripheral vision and some dark spots, but it is manageable.

July 16, 2009 – I am given the all clear to start driving again. My eye doctor informs me that the swelling of my optics is completely gone and he expects my sight to continue to get better – though slowly – over the next 9 months.

Today – July 30, 2009 – Things are good. I am getting back into the routine of life. I am going out – without freaking out – I am working and even working out again, and of course I am back to some of my old hijinx. Physically I feel really good, though I have some aches and pains here and there. My vision is still recovering, though everyday I think it is getting better and better. Or I am just getting used to it.

My recovery – of my eyes especially – is going to be long. I need to be patient and I need to focus on getting myself physically healthy – which will help my condition overall as well as my vision.

So there you have it – there is my “status update” for you. Feel free to “follow up” with me in person if you want to discuss it any further. Otherwise, I will continue to post something daily and eventually we’ll all be at the same place in time.

In the meantime, thanks for reading and be sure to keep reading. I will try and keep things light and airy and funny.

And look for a new site design coming soon! Yay improvements!

Curiosity Doesn’t Always Kill the Cat… Or Shred Your Fingers

2009-07-28T16:26:00Z

WhenI was in the fourth grade curiosity got the best of me. I wish I could say this was the first and thelast time, but it wasn’t and i won't be. Anyway, mycuriosity about the inner workings of an uncovered manual pencil sharpener gotthe best of me and a couple of my fingers. I will spare you the gory details, but let’s just say my teacher freakedout at the amount of blood pouring out my fingers as she abandoned the rest ofthe classroom and rushed me down the hall to the bathroom yelling, “Why onearth would you stick your fingers in the pencil sharpener!?” Needless to say, I spent the rest of the daywith my hand above my head in the principal’s office – which was also thenurse’s office, only we didn’t really have a nurse. Two of my fingers were torn to shreds and Iwas slightly disappointed they didn’t look more like a pencils once thebleeding stopped. It didn’t take longfor my fingers to heal and I have no scars from that experience – except maybean irrational fear of uncovered manual pencil sharpeners. There are two points to this story – yes,sometimes my stories have a point or two. There is nothing wrong with curiosity – just be careful where you stickyour fingers; and wounds – scrapes, bumps, bruises – heal. Most of the time, pretty quickly. The same is true of surgery incisions,headaches, ringing in the ears, palsy and swollen optic nerves.

Duringmy first week home from the hospital, I had follow up appointments with mydoctors. I was only home for 3 daysbefore I saw my eye doctor in his office for the first time. I was still on copious amounts of drugs andnot moving very quickly, so leaving the house was a bit of challenge. And I was pleased when I didn’t have to puton real pants, which, as you know, I believe are totally overrated, but Idigress.

Oncewe were seen by my doctors – I had more than one because they all wanted tohang out with me... Well, maybe because they were astounded at my condition andhow severe it was. But once we were seenby my doctors I was told that there had been “Miraculous improvement.” My headaches were pretty much gone, thewhooshing sound in my head was gone, the palsy was gone and the swelling of myoptic nerves was subsiding. The doctoractually said “Miraculous improvement.” I think it was at this point that I knew – like, really knew – that Iwas going to be okay and that I would eventually be back to normal – well, asnormal as I can be, anyway.

AndI guess curiosity got the best of my parents too, who at one point during theappointment pulled out what seemed like a shopping list for a small army butwas actually a list of questions for the doctor. Looks like Big Jon has been on the internetlately, Googling his little heart out about my condition and my recovery. My condition, to him, was like an uncoveredpencil sharpener to me (I would like to thank those little vocab. books I hadto fill out for years in school for that analogy). Luckily, my amazing doctor sat therepatiently and answered all of my parent’s questions – all 187 questions. Apparently my doctor is much more patientthan a pencil sharpener. At one point mydad asked if I had something specific – I don’t even remember what – and mydoctor said yes, I did have signs of whatever it was he was asking about. My mom turned to my dad and said, “What isthat again?” To which my dad answered, “I don’t know, but she has it.” Thank God with all the limitation with my eyesI still had the ability to roll them.

Aftermy parents were done, my doctor turned to me and asked if I had any questionsto which I said, “Um, no I think my parents covered everything – and thensome.” It’s good to have curious andinformed parents, I guess. I wouldn’thave thought to ask 90% of the questions they did – but put a cylinder of razorblades that move in a circle in front me and I have no problem sticking myfingers in. I am sure they didn’t needto ask 50% of the questions they did. Butat the same time, I probably could have gotten a good idea as to how a pencilsharpener worked by looking at it as opposed to sticking my fingers in it, buthey, now I know.

"Real" Pants and Showering are Overrated: Amy Comes Home

2009-07-27T16:23:00Z

On April 27, 2009 I was admitted to the hospital. On April 28, 2009 I had surgery and 4 days later on May 2, 2009 I went home. I was excited and nervous. Happy to be leaving the hospital, my crazy roommate, the terrible food, the bed alarms, the 2AM blood pressure checks, the smell of... sterile. Nervous to not have doctors checking in on me, nurses at the call of a button, drugs to be injected for instant relief, putting pants on again. But everyone felt it was time to go home. So armed with half dozen prescriptions for everything from Oxycontin to steroids, I went home.

I decided I wanted to stay at my house instead of shacking up with my parents during my recovery. After all, I have a 50 inch flat screen TV, every movie channel, countless DVDs and an over-sized super comfortable couch. I did have to ask Amanda to “parent proof” the house. Not that we had anything that bad in there, but still, you don’t want your mother to find anything… questionable.

It was also decided that I would not be sleeping in my bed – which is on the second floor of the house – but instead in Amanda’s room – on the main floor. My mom – at her request – slept on the couch... Yes,it is that comfortable. And we were one big happy family.

I was on a lot of drugs. Two different pain pills everyone 4 hours, steroids, and two other medications specifically for my condition. I was still in some pain and not quite “with it.” I basically slept and ate. When I wasn’t in my (sister’s) bed, I was on the couch. If I wasn’t in either of those places I was in the bathroom and that was about it. Everything I did was slow and delayed – including interacting with people. I didn’t move much. I was just kind of present. And I slept. A lot. Like, 18 hours a day. I was like a small child or cat. Except I don’t poop myself or lick myself clean – well, most of the time, anyway.

I also was never alone for very long in the first few weeks I was home. My mom had taken time off of work to stay with me. My dad came over and my older sister – who worked from home – stayed with me as well. Amanda even stayed home a few times to sit with me. A few friends came and saw me while I was recovering and I always felt bad I wasn’t more entertaining. Though, I am sure some of the things that came out of my mouth on all those drugs were probably entertaining.

There wasn’t much to be happy or excited about while I was home – except that I was home. But there was the fact that I wore sweat pants all the time – which is pretty much a dream come true for me. And I didn’t really shower much – I couldn’t quite muster up the energy to stand for that long. But when you are going from the bed, to the couch and back to bed with a few pit stops to the bathroom, there isn’t much need to wear real pants or wash yourself. Besides, real pants - the kinds with zippers and buttons and back pockets - and showering - the kinds with water and soap on a rope - are overrated. And I was more than happy to take comfort in that.

It Pays to Know the Nurse

2009-07-25T13:40:00Z

Nurses are really great people. I know a few personally and they really are great people. The nurses I had during my hospital stay were all really amazing people – so kind and easy going – they always made sure I was comfortable even when I was in some of the most uncomfortable of situations.

What upsets me a little bit about my time in the hospital, my condition and my nurses is that I never got to actually see them. If I were to ever run into them I would have no idea who they were. I am sure I didn’t make much of an impression on my nurses – except maybe the one I puked on and even then probably not - but they made an impression on me.

We discovered that the nurse I had on my last day in the hospital went to high school with my younger sister. While she was more than accommodating before we discovered this fun fact, she was even more accommodating after. And this put me – who was nervous about leaving the secure - albeit nerve-racking – hospital environment and go home.

She went over all of my medications and answered all of my questions – even the ones that may have seemed repetitive or even dumb. And best of all, she gave me my last shot of morphine before leaving. This is something she technically wasn’t supposed to do, but it was going to be at least an hour before I would official leave and I was obviously in pain.

If I ran into her at the store later today – I would never know. The same is true for all of my nurse and even my doctors (with the exception of the doctors I would continuing seeing – pun intended - as I recovered ).

It took a while for me to officially leave the hospital, but when I finally did the fresh air felt nice, and it was off to home I went. I was happy and scared at the same time. Thank god for that last shot of morphine – I may have freaked out right then and there – I guess it really does pay to know the nurse.

Hospital Diet: Facebook Should Give Me a Weight Loss Ad

2009-07-23T18:02:00Z

When I was in grade school our “hot lunch” program was served to us in little paper containers covered in plastic. I had never been on an airplane at this point in my life, but this is what I imagined airplane food was like. In high school the cafeteria food was… well an improvement (I still dream of pizza sticks – which were essentially 12 inch long pizza rolls – but better!). And in college the cafeteria – which I only ate in maybe twice (I commuted to college)- had food served by a company that supplied food to prisons. After years of being subjected to what I can only consider to be food product (not quite real food but not quite fake food either) I was right back to somewhere between the airplane food and the prisonfood: hospital food.

I thought I was getting lucky when I actually got amenu in my room from which to choose my next days meals – like a fancy hotel –until I actually got the food. Couplethat with the fact that I was totally doped up on morphine and that my mom hadto spoon feed me and I was reaching for the IV bag fast than the pizza stickssold out in high school!

And what made it worse? The fact that everyone who spent any decentamount of time with me in the hospital (i.e. my parents) all raved about thegreat food court/cafeteria the hospital had. And here I was stuck eating something described as turkey but tastinglike tires. Needless to say after a fewspoon fed bites I was done: "Nurse? Can I get another shot of morphine so I canpass out and let the hunger subside? Andfill up my IV bag while you are at it – I still need nutrients after all."

By the time I left the hospital I had dropped 15pounds. Let me remind you I was in thehospital for a total of 7 days (2 days the previous week and 5 days for thesurgery). And that was the best diet Ihave ever been on. Facebook should give me an ad: "How to drop 15 pounds in 5 days - guaranteed!" Not the healthiest ofways to lose weight and I felt a little guilty when someone said that I lookedgood or that it looked like I lost weight. I mean, it’s not like I did anything to contribute to it – expect refuseto eat and ask for more drugs. OH! So that’s how models stay so skinny…

When Life Gives You Lemons – Grab a Bottle of Vodka and Take Some Shots

2009-07-22T16:23:00Z

Let me tell you a true story… I was on a job interview once for a job that I really really really wanted – mostly because it wasn’t in retail, which is what I had been doing for some time. During the interview, the potential employer asked me what my “dream job” would be. I answered – in all seriousness – "I want to be a boat captain in the Caribbean." The interviewer looked at me like I was a total nut job and responded with, “How is this job going to get you there?” Well, lady, it’s not, but just like the commercial in the 80s that said, "No one says I want to be a junkie when I grow up," I am going to bet no one says, “I want micro manage 10-15 employees at a mid-size direct mail marketing company when I grow up,” either.

Was this the best time to make a joke or make light of the situation? Maybe not, but you know what, I got the job. Thus proving that it is never a bad time to make a joke or make light of a situation. Well, almost never, but you get the gist of what I am saying.

Making jokes and being able to make people laugh is probably one of the most important things that got me through this entire ordeal. From criticizing people in the ER waiting area, to cracking jokes with my nurses and doctors – after my surgery one of my nurses asked if my vision was getting any better and I said, “Yeah, I think so. I can tell that you have blond hair.” She responded with, “Amy, I’m black.” I did know this, but it was funny nonetheless. Most of my doctors got my jokes too… most of my doctors… most of my jokes. And most of what you are reading here has been told at least once - just for a laugh.

A couple of days after surgery I was given a hearing test – which was kind of a joke because I could hear just fine. I had just received a dose of morphine a few minutes earlier so I was a bit sleepy during the test and I may have fallen asleep in the middle of it. The nurse had to wake me up to finish. I apologized and explained that I hadn’t fallen asleep during a test since I took the SAT. I don’t think she appreciated the joke as much as I - or my mother - had.

If I wasn’t laughing about something – the fact that I had to have help “emptying” my bladder (I’ll spare you the details, but trust me, it isn’t enjoyable); my bizarre roommate; being given an extremely powerful pain killer; falling asleep during a test; getting flowers from a client I can only barely stand; the backless gown; and mesh underwear (yes, hospital issued mesh underwear – don’t ask, because I won’t tell), the hospital food (if they can even call it that); the fact that I couldn’t see, that I had staples in my back, side and stomach… if I couldn’t laugh about these things I was just going to cry – and I am not a crier.

In the end I think most people I encountered enjoyed my sense of humor. I mean, it did get me an extra shot of morphine on my last day and even 2 months after we met, the first doctor who saw me in the ER (the one I told that I go big or I go home) recognized me during a follow up appointment with another doctor – to which I said, “Wow, it is really nice to actually SEE you.” So when life gives you lemons, don’t make a sour face, grab some vodka and start pouring some shots.

Semi-Private Room/Take That White Girl

2009-07-21T15:37:00Z

A semi private room is not private at all. It’s a room with a curtain that separates you from your roommate. My roommate in the South wing of the 8^th floor – neurology - was Jamie Lee. An elderly woman who did not – or could not - talk. I do not know what was wrong with her, but I imagine it wasn’t much fun.

During my hospital stay, if I had to get up to say, go to the bathroom (and really that was the only reason I ever left my bed), I had to call for a nurse to help me. I’m pretty sure Jamie Lee wore a diaper, but she was in the same situation as me. If she wanted to get up, she had to call a nurse. Only Jamie Lee didn’t talk so how was Jamie Lee to call for a nurse? I learned the first night that Jamie Lee called for a nurse by simply getting out of bed and setting off her bed alarm – which was a terribly loud beeping sound. Sometimes they came right away to tend to Jamie Lee and sometimes they didn’t.

On the day after my surgery – when I was a total mess – I puked on a nurse and I felt terrible about it. I think Jamie Lee secretly thought I was trying to one up her so that night when she got out of bed and set off her alarm, before the nurses came in, Jamie Lee started to pee… on the floor… right were she stood. One point Jamie Lee.

Jamie Lee got up and set off her bed alarm at least once every night during my stay. I, of course, would wake up when this happened. Because it was a semi private room and I was still somewhat blind, I couldn’t see what was going on – nor did I really want to. I could only imagine what Jamie Lee was doing. Actually, a few times I was convinced she was coming over to my side of the room where she would clench my gown in her fists and whisper sternly in my ear, “Get me the hell out of here!” Or maybe she would try and smoother me with a hositpa; grade pillow – really, it could’ve gone either way.

I was also convinced that Jamie Lee was not as out of it as everyone thought she was. I imagined she was in there laughing at all these young folks yelling at her to get back in bed and asking if she can hear them. Peeing on the floor, Jamie Lee was thinking, “Take that, white girl.” I also believed that Jamie Lee could talk, she just chose not to talk.

Most importantly I imagined Jamie Lee planning a great escape. One of the nights Jamie Lee got up and set off the alarm it took a while for the nurses to come in and get her back to bed. I thought, “Jamie, you old bat, you did it, you got them at the right time! Make a run for it, Jamie!” I imagined Jamie Lee getting to the elevator and out the front door, her diapered ass hanging out for all to see. Maybe she would make it all the way to the road before someone got her. Maybe not. Either way, she gave it a go. You go Jamie Lee, I thought, you go.

I didn’t see Jamie Lee the day I left the hospital. I am not sure where she is now. But I'd like to think she is waking someone up every night while trying to either attack or make a run for it or just pee on the floor to get back at a nurse who talked to her wrong. As much as I believed Jamie Lee was still in her head somewhere, I believe Jamie Lee is still out there now – laughing at all us white girls.

Mighty Morphine Power Ranger

2009-07-20T16:24:00Z

So I am mostly blind and I’ve just had surgery. I have a contraption in my body draining fluid from my brain. And I have bruises all over my arms from various blood tests and ports to administer drugs – including one in my left arm and another in my right hand for my doses of morphine and steroids – I felt a little like Neo from the Matrix. Yeah, it’s all weird. It could have been a lot worse, I know this, but it still weird. So let me just recap you real quick…

By the time I got to the hospital I was mostly blind. My headaches were so bad I could barely move and they had moved into my upper back. I had a whooshing sound in my right ear. And in doing additional tests we found out I had palsy on the right side of my face. For those of you who do not know, palsy is the paralysis of a specific body part. In my case, it was the right side of my face. My right eye could not close fully (since I couldn’t see much anyway, I didn’t notice) and the right side of my mouth was droopy – which, in turn, caused me to droll while sleeping – which was so awesome! The funny thing is that my friends and I have a bit of running joke about a condition called bells palsy – a condition which affects the face specifically. So when I heard I had palsy on the right side of my face I could not wait to tell my friends. Pretty sick and twisted, huh? Yeah, just wait until you here what I did next… to my mom.

After the surgery and I after I finally regained full consciousness, I was back in my room. I felt great. I am guessing this is due to the massive amount of drugs in my system. But the day after the surgery I was a mess. I mean a mess. I couldn’t move, I was in excruciating pain and I was sick to my stomach the entire day – I couldn’t keep anything down. I am pretty sure everyone – including the nursing staff felt bad for me. I was such a mess even the amazing effects of morphine weren’t doing it for me.

Now, I must mention that the entire time I was in the hospital and even on morphine I was always lucid, always aware of everything that was going on. As a matter of fact, my parents were getting slightly annoyed with me because of it. More than once I would close my eyes and my parents would think I was knocked out from the drugs and they would whisper to each other only to have me interrupt a few minutes later with a, “I can hear everything you’re saying.” This went on the entire time I was there – and even when we got home. You would think they would have eventually realized I could hear them and at least the leave the room! But I digress…

So there I was in terrible pain and it was getting late in the evening. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep. Finally, the nurse got permission from a doctor to administer dilaudid – which is a pain killer ten times more powerful than morphine. They give me the shot and it starts working within a few minutes. Even with this powerful drug, I was never loopy or out of it and I heard my parents discussing staying overnight (in a small chair in my semi-private room and/or the waiting room) or going home.

Always wanting to make sure my parents – specifically my mom – is as comfortable as possible, there was no way I was going to let my parents stay overnight in the hospital and sleep in a chair or a couch in a waiting room. So I very quietly told my mom to go home and that I would be fine through the night.

My mom leaned over me, very concerned and said, “If you need anything, you just have the nurse call us, we’re only a few miles from here and we’ll be right over.”

I, being sick and twisted and always looking for a laugh or to at least lighten up the mood a bit, said, “Okay… and who are you again?” Assuming, of course, that my mom knew I was kidding. Apparently, she didn’t know I was capable to joking around while a drug ten times more powerful than morphine is pumping through my veins.

If only could have seen the look on her face when she said, “I’m Mom and Dad is in the hallway.” At this point a devilish smile spread across my face and I am pretty sure my mom was ready to smack me.

Later, my mom would make me retell this story and she would tell me that this little prank is the only reason she left and the only reason she actually slept that night. So I guess sometimes laughter can really be the best medicine – even if you are not the one who is sick.

Blackout Backlash

2009-07-18T18:47:00Z

I drink… a lot. Well, I used to. I miss it. Not gonna lie. But in all my years of drinking – and trustme, I have been drinking for years, I have been fortune enough to have never everblack out. Not an experience I thinkever want. And now I know why.

On Tuesday, April 282009 at 10AM I scooted mymostly blind arse onto a gurney and headed to a prep area for my surgery. My mom came with me. I was in the prep room for what seemed likeforever. I finally met theanesthesiologist who told us the surgery would be 3-4 hours. While I was waiting to get knocked out, I gota healthy does of morphine.

Now, I am not sure if you have ever had morphine, butit is… powerful. When given through anIV it shoots through your body and you feel it immediately – at least Idid. But I was always lucid and aware nad nmostly "with it"while on all my pain meds. I will blame years of drug use for this one - just kidding... sorta.

When it came time to take me to the OR I receivedanother shot of something… I remember getting the shot. I remember seeing my mom – well, as much as Icould see her and that is about it. Iremember nothing after that. And thisdisturbs me – to this day it disturbs me.

Being knocked out is not like sleep. Not at all like sleep. It is like… nothing. Like a void. Like… 8 hours of my life that are just lost and gone forever, I cannotaccount for this time. There were no bizarre dreams, no tossing and turning, no drunk texts - like when I normally sleep - it was just nothing. I was told thatin this time I had surgery. I have scarsto prove it, so it must have happened, but I do not recall any of it. I have no recollection of this timewhatsoever and I have a problem with that.

At least with sleep you know you are sleeping. There is a routine to it, there are dreams about Edward Cullen or Shia LaBeouf (and now you know my guilty pleasures), there are drunk text messages from Jess, drunk dials from Sam, some tossing, some turning and an alarm goes off when it is over. The entire time I was knocked out there was none of this. Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld when Jerry goes to the dentist and he wakes up withhis shirt untucked?

The next thing I remember is possibly putting up a fight. I am not sure. But there may have been a struggle. While I was blacked out - presumably having surgery - I had a breathing tube down mythroat, so the struggle could have been the removal of this tube. Again, I’m not sure. Maybe I was pissed because my shirt was untucked - just kidding... sorta. I do remember being wheeled around. I remember thinking I was being wheeled around my office - with lots of twists and turns. I remember thinking 3 things: Does my momknow I am okay? Does my sister Amandaknow that I am okay? Do my coworkersknow that I am okay? (I did, after all, believe I was being wheeled around myoffice). I remember slowing coming to –not being able to see – and being really really thirsty. I kind of wanted a beer.

Needless to say, I was totally freaked out after Irealized the last time was conscious was 8 hours prior and I had norecollection of this time. I can onlyimagine this is same feeling countless college kids have after a night of bingedrinking. Or how Jerry Sienfeld felt after the dentist. I am glad I have never had either of those experiences, nor do I ever want to. All I know is that if I ever need to be knocked out again, I am going to get drunk first so at least I have an excuse... and I'll keep my shirt untucked.

I Thought Hospitals Were All About Privacy?

2009-07-17T18:38:00Z

My parents, I love them dearly, are veryinvolved. They show up toeverything. I am pretty sure the firsttime I was going to talk to a client they wanted to be on the phone. So naturally they did not leave my side thatfirst day in the hospital. They wereright there. And when I saw “rightthere,” I mean like, “rightthere.” And,I guess, since I didn’t put up any sort of fight with them being there thedoctors, nurses and administrative folks at the hospital assumed that myparents were more than welcome to listen to and receive updates regarding mycondition – which, of course – they were.

But… this does not mean they are more than welcome tohear about every minute detail of my life. When you are in the hospital there are a lot of people asking you a lotof questions. A lot of very personalquestions. And I am not sure why SO MANYpeople had to ask me the same questions over and over and over again. And the whole time there were mom anddad. Only one nurse and later one doctorwho actually made my parents leave the area before re-asking me these personalquestions about my life and lifestyle. And to them I say, thanks, but they already know everything. And when I say, “everything,” I meanEVERYTHING.

By the time I was admitted to the hospital for surgeryI had pretty much quit smoking (again, that is, since I had quit for 6 monthsin early 2008). I mean, I was in thehospital for 2 days the previous week and my mom pretty much moved in with meover the weekend, so there was no smoking since before the first hospital stay(quick back story: I have never smokedin front of my parents – except when my dad caught me smoking when I was 18. While it was obvious I was a smoker – and howcan it not be obvious – it was never formally discussed except for theoccasional mini lecture on the dangers of smoking). So there we were in the little curtained offarea and the nurse firing away question after question as if this were theSpanish Inquisition (I have no idea what that means, by the way). Name, age, height – I can handle. Weight – Ugh, fine. Last bowel movement – really? You really need to know this? Alrighty, you’re the one who asked. Last menstrual cycle – slightlyuncomfortable, but whatever that is fine. Level of sexual activity – oh gawd – followed by a list I had to choosefrom. Can I just tell you there is noway I am pregnant since that is what you are most concerned about? Do you drink? Yes. Do drugs? Um…. No? Smoke? Um… not anymore? Please elaborate. Here it goes…

Me: I quitsmoking.

Nurse: When?

Me: Last week.

Nurse: And howlong did you smoke before you quit?

Me: (Deep breath) 10 years.

Nurse: How much did you smoke?

Me: Half a packto a pack a day.

Big Jon Ruud: Jesus, AMY!

Mama Rose Ruud: Jon, please.

Me: Dad, notreally the time or the place.

Nurse: Good for you for quitting.

Me: I wasforced into it.

Big Jon Ruud: GOD DAMNIT, AMY!

Mind you, we went through this at least half a dozentimes in the 5 days I was in the hospital. Looking back on it now I can think of 4 things:

1. Since I couldn’t actually see the look on myfather’s face (who is what I would consider a self righteous non-smoker) I canonly imagine the look and I am sure it was priceless.

2. Being laidup in the hospital while admitting that I have been a full time smoker for thepast 10 years was probably pretty genius since it really is neither the timenor the place to get into it with my parents. And it has not been discussed since. I also have not smoked since (almost 3 months now – go me).

3. Being laidup in the hospital and receiving morphine every 4 hours is a great way to quitsmoking… and lose 15 pounds – trust me I know.

4. If I had todo it all over again – and God I hope I never do – I will request everyone toleave the room when the interrogation begins. I suggest you do the same, unless you don’t care who knows when the lasttime you pooed or got a piece was.