#5-A Christmas Eve Tale

After being released from my initial shunt surgery last December, my stomach gradually began to hurt. From near-OCD research on websites and group forums, I expected my gut to occasionally hurt due to the new junk being introduced to my perineum (stomach lining). Probably needlessly reminding you that a shunt acted as a long straw from a brain hole, that had too much fluid, to my stomach lining where large amounts of fluids could be absorbed. Another end source for a shunt is the heart which is called a VA shunt (Ventricular Atrial). When the VP shunt was originally suggested, I was highly relieved. The idea of connecting two of my most significant organs (brain and heart) with a piece of man made tubing seemed a bit out of my safe zone.

I was happy that I didn't feel the described burning sensation when the shunt released extra CSF (brain juice) down my water slide of a catheter. Then 6 days out, a general stomach discomfort began. It felt like I ate one too many Hostess cupcakes. The next few days the stomach status moved from "belly ache" to "possible organ exploding". Nausea was also making things worse. I called the neurosurgeon and left a message. The next morning I am awakened at 8am by a call from Dr. Basta himself. He  neglects to even say hello before he starts blasting question after question at me: Is your stomach incision raised? Is a fluid sack under the incision? Are you vomiting? Do you have a fever? I say no to all questions while I hear him literally pass the phone to his nurse. The RN comes on the phone and tells me to go to Lee's Summit Medical Center to have an x-ray done. I follow up with "what could be wrong?" She said she didn't know, and that is why the x-ray was ordered.

We got the x-ray completed and the nurse called me the next day on Christmas Eve saying Basta could not see anything wrong on the x-ray. However, an x-ray wasn't the best image for possible fluid collection (so, why was an x-ray ordered to begin with?). I needed to have a CT done back at Research. She had also worked me into the schedule so Basta could "lay eyes on me." At this point, I was a bit alarmed; there had to be something wrong to warrant a phone call from the doc himself and an x-ray and CT to be ordered. I downed an anti-nausea pill, called a grandma to watch the kids, and canceled on a friend who was visiting in order to make the trek back to Research. The CT was performed and we headed up to Basta's office. Unfortunately, since we were a schedule add-on, we had to wait almost two hours to see him. Once we were in a patient room I noticed my hands were shaking and my breath quickened; I was nervous to be there on that exam table. Unknowingly, my panic trigger was beginning to morph from my pre-motherhood insomnia to this particular office.

As he opened the door and walked in, he announced that I needed to "clean my pipes out." Was that a medical term? Was the catheter blocked? Did that involve a hospital stay? Why is he smiling? These were all the questions going through my head.  Seeing I was confused, he emphasized "you need to POOP!" My face turned red and I began to incessantly apologize for wasting his time. In some kind of weird way I felt like a failure as a patient because there wasn't anything wrong with me. When we arrived back home, Kyle's mom asked if everything was ok; I looked down and said that I was fine. When she asked for more details, I quietly muttered that I was only constipated.  In Liz Lemon fashion I wanted to yell,  "I worried a bunch of people, had 2 different medical tests done, and made a last minute Christmas Eve neurosurgeon appointment because I couldn't POOP. Yep, I am the idiot. Blerg!"

In fact I hadn't had a BM since the surgery. So while the kids poured milk into a glass for Santa's visit, I was shooting Milk of Magnesia in the other room. Ironically, my stomach pain disappeared after my pipes were cleaned.