There is a phenomenon in the human condition where the brain purposefully suppresses or “forgets” the trauma or physical pain of an event. If we let our brains remember the exact sensations of a painful experience just by thinking about it, then we would never engage in those types of experiences again, even when necessary, i.e.-child birth, surgery, etc.
I knew how painful a lumbar fusion is. Read: KNEW-past tense. I spent the last 1.5 years trying to process the stress and trauma of my L4/L5 fusion. The inpatient recovery was excruciating. Unfortunately the only bed available the night of my surgery was on a regular med floor. This means that instead of getting the nurses, MAs, CNAs, etc who understood the nuances of a neuro surgery or appropriate pain management, I got care from a more generalized set of medical professionals who don’t often deal with neurosurgeries. It was pure hell. I spent the first two nights with woefully inadequate decision making regarding which pain meds I should be taking. The nurses seemed confused and uncertain. At one point the overnight nurse asked me which IV I wanted my medication in (I had one in each arm). I said “I guess this one” pointing to my left arm. She replied “that one seems pretty irritated”. “Ok”, I said, “then you tell me which arm, you’re the nurse”. Without much thought, she went ahead and put it in my left arm anyway. It was extremely painful. The intense burning sensation along with a puffy, swollen, greenish appearance told me this IV needs to be taken out. But I shouldn’t have had to be the one to determine that. Ultimately, the medical staff should pay close attention and monitor when something like an IV needs removal or changing. I was deeply unhappy with that nurse’s care and asked to speak with the Charge Nurse. The Charge Nurse came in, asked me what my concerns were, and then stepped a few feet away to speak with my nurse. I distinctly heard my nurse say “she MADE me put the medicine in her left arm”. I went ballistic (well, as ballistic as one can get on heavy pain medication, post-major surgery, at 3:00am in a hospital bed). It was clear to me the nurse thought I was too out of it to catch or respond to her comment, as she was genuinely surprised when I said loudly, “I did not MAKE you do anything. YOU are the professional medical staff and YOU are the one who made the decision to use my left arm. Do not tell the Charge Nurse something entirely false”. Although she immediately tried to retract her statement, stumbling on her words, “I didn’t mean you made me, I just meant, uh, I…”, it didn’t matter. It was obvious I wasn’t getting appropriate care on any level.
All of this culminated in a fiasco the next afternoon when both of my IVs had required removal and not one nurse on the floor could get a new one in. With my mother present, one of the nurses announced “we need to wait for the IV specialist from radiology. She might not be available until tomorrow”. My mother lost it. She had watched my care decline and my pain become insufferable. I was actively prescribed IV pain medication and the nurse acted as though waiting to have any of the medication until tomorrow was no big deal. It’s not entirely clear to me the sequence of events, but somehow in her (justified) rage, my mom was able to get the neuro team to come rescue me. I do vividly remember the part where two neuro floor nurses came in, stated “we’re taking her”, and pushed my bed out the door without another word. The med floor nursing staff stood in shock as I was whisked down the hall. Now, I’m not one to make a scene or big fuss even when I am in a lot of pain or discomfort. However, even I couldn’t control the reaction to how much affliction I was experiencing as the blurry hallway went racing by in my peripheral vision. I was actively moaning out loud and unable to lay still. They quickly got me to the tiniest hospital room I have ever seen, but thank the Lord, I was finally in the neuro unit. Two nurses worked to put the brakes on my bed, and prep some sort of strong narcotic pain medication. The specialty IV nurse from radiology, unavailable until the next day, magically appeared at my bedside. My mom watched in agony as one nurse held my legs, one nurse held the syringe with the painkiller as close as humanly possible to my vein, and the specialty IV nurse yelled “Candice, I know you are in a lot of pain, but you must keep still and you must do it now!”. I have never seen an IV go in so quickly and the push of medicine as soon as the needle and catheter hit the vein. A rush of relief came over me in a way I can’t quite put into words. It still amazes and scares me to this day how powerful narcotic drugs are. I’ll get to the seriousness of opioids in another post where I discuss coming off them. My switch to the neuro unit literally turned my care around 180. By the next morning my pain was under control, I was being looked after meticulously. To everyone’s surprise, I was actually ready for discharge by that afternoon.
Fast forward to 7/22/21. One day after my L5/S1 fusion surgery and I lay in “bed” (I can’t bring myself to give that hospital issue plastic mat the designation of actual bed) and things were under excellent control. After advocating many, many times (thanks, Mom) that I needed to be on the neuro floor, that is indeed where I ended up. Even with appropriate care and pain management, it hit me like a freight train all over again: Pain management and pain free are two very different things. If you’ve never experienced something like a lumbar fusion it’s very difficult to describe the type of post-op torture you feel trying to move even one or two inches. They cut through the muscles in my back, put in all the hardware, and sutured things back together. I had completely forgotten that the point of pain medication was to get you to the very edge of tolerable. There were moments I thought that sitting up, or rolling over, or trying to scoot a few inches to the right would actually kill me, or at least cause me to pass out. The pain is so searing it takes your breath away. I would use all the upper body strength I had in addition to pulling on the rails of the bed so hard I was certain it would break in order to remember that I HAD to go to the bathroom, I couldn’t just hold it in. Certainly the second and third day after surgery are the worst. That first day tricks you. You still have anesthesia and the numbing agents they used during surgery along with the narcotics. You think, “hey, this time it’s not so bad”. But when day two and three set in, it comes flooding back. The whole part where I KNEW how painful a lumbar fusion is had been tucked away deep in the recesses of my brain.
It’s funny how the human body works. It has a lot of measures in place to self-preserve and protect. If I could conjure up the physical feelings and memories of that pain from my first surgery, I’m honestly not sure I could have gone through with it again. I’m eternally grateful I got great care this time from the right team of specialists. But I’m especially thankful for suppressed memories. May they forever remain in the Pandora’s box of my mind locked tight.
-C
Not your mother's 30s 