Archives For bronchoscopy

The 27th of April.

It’s been a very peculiar sort of day. Started with respiratory clinic, where I had to talk to Dr. Thompson about the bronchoscopy. Curiously, from his perspective, it went quite well. I couldn’t have more sedation because I might have stopped breathing. Apparently when I got down there I was very uptight, anxious and in control. As soon as I had the sedation, all the emotion I’d been holding back came out and actually made everything worse. He also thinks it has been made worse in my brain because I have some sort of PTSD from NG tubes. So would you if you spent six months of your life having them shoved up your nose and down your throat, then vomiting them up along with chunks of your own dead stomach tissue several times a week. Basically, my brain has fucked me up for these sorts of things.

After this chat, we moved on to how I am now. He is not majorly concerned about my cough or CRP, we just need to keep an eye on it. He did send me for a chest x-ray to see if my right lung has inflated any more and it has, so that is pleasing.

 We left the hospital and had a quick trip into town so I could get another jumper, seeing as my fat arm isn’t going anywhere any time soon.

Got home about two, so we ate lunch, then packed up all the stuff we were taking to Mach. Daddy got home from his hearing aid appointment, had his lunch, and we finally left the house about four.

We drove straight here, so it took us only two and a half hours. The house is nice, the only downside is that it has no wifi. We also have the slight issue of the fact that Mommy forgot to put the breakfast foods in the car so she and Daddy have had to go shopping. She is poorly, it’s not her fault.

The 28th of April.

I slept surprisingly well, for not being in my own bed. It’s a novelty to sleep in a single bed that isn’t a hospital one. This morning was pretty quiet, just breakfast and writing about yesterday. I think that’s how this weekend will be done, considering I’ll be out at my normal writing time.

We went into Mach at lunchtime to a) buy me some toothpaste (forgot mine; had to use Mommy’s and it was so minty and painful), b) do some recon on gig venues and c) have some lunch. Well, the only toothpaste they had at the co-op was all minty, so I got one for children that is only mild. We checked out all the venues I’m going to and they should all be fine with the wheelchair. Then lunch! There are many cafés, and we went to one called The Quarry where I had some much needed coffee and some spinach, squash and sweet potato pie. It came with an enormous salad which I was incapable of finishing but didn’t want to waste, so we got a box to take it away in.

We then returned to the house for a little bit before Daddy took me back into town for my first show, Stuart Goldsmith, at 7. I went a bit early so I could get some food (a cookie), then I wanted some wine, but the bar did not seem accessible, so I had to ask a nearby stranger. She was very obliging and came back with a large Grig in a pint mug which I think I was supposed to give back. Oh well, it’s mine now. We had a nice time chatting while we waiting for our respective gigs – she and her friend were going to see Mat Ewins and Fin Taylor, so I wonder if they managed to enjoy both shows. Unfortunately, next to where we were waiting were several fire pits, and once they were lit, my breathing was fucked, and I had to put the oxygen on for the rest of the evening.

I really enjoyed Stuart’s show, very very funny. Could not recommend him more. My next show, Marcel Lucont, was at the school, where Nish had just been doing a show, so I went down there and met up with him and his girlfriend, Amy. Together, we went down to Y Plas because I had 40 minutes to kill and on the way we bumped into many of their friends, all the names of whom I have forgotten, They were all very lovely though. At quarter to nine, I needed to get going, so Nish and Amy walked with me back there, and we said goodbye until tomorrow when I’m seeing him (unintentionally) in two different shows. 

I was one of the last people in, so I was at the back with my oxygen. I didn’t enjoy it as much as the first show, but I think that’s partially because I felt like total garbage. He was good, I just wasn’t up to it.

Mommy and Daddy were seeing Ivo Graham at the same time, so we all went home together. Hope my oxygen levels return to normal tomorrow.

The 10th of March. 

The next several days are going to be much of a muchness, I think. I saw no doctors until this afternoon, so all morning I sat, waiting for them to appear, but for naught. Still, I had quite a pleasant time; I listened to Jimmy Carr’s Desert Island Discs and he chose I Will Follow You Into The Dark as the one song he would take which was correct. The rest of my time, I had Victoria Derbyshire/the news/Daily Politics on while I crocheted. I am very happy that I am able to do it again, now I can bend my left arm without jabbing the cannula needle into my tissue. I am developing some delightful bruises across my arm, it’s very attractive. 

Mommy came with coffee and lunch, and I was very happy for caffeine because I had none yesterday and I had a bad sleep because people kept doing things to wake me up. I think there should be some sort of rule that if I have not opened my curtains or buzzed you to open them then leave me the fuck alone in the morning. Bah. 

The doctor who has been wanting my blood all week came to see me this afternoon while my bed was being changed (she does have a name, it is Maria, and she did get some blood once I had the line) and she had some results from my tests. Bronchoscopy hadn’t grown anything specific yet but there is definitely infection, although she started by saying “There are no malignancies, no cancer” and I just thought WELL GOOD like I was not aware we were even looking for that but great news, thanks. My CRP has come down to 85 from 164 on Saturday, but it should really be less than 5, so I have a way to go. But the infection is responding to the antibiotics, so now we just have to keep going until it goes away. She asked about bringing down my oxygen, and I tried to explain how it feels when I take it off, but everyone seems unconvinced when I tell them while I am wearing the oxygen. She suggested I try taking off the oxygen for a little while then having my sats measured, just so they can see what they are. There was a period this afternoon while I was just sitting crocheting, no great exertion, so I took the oxygen off for 45 minutes, so my sats would definitely be only measuring the oxygen levels in my blood when I was breathing just normal air, no extra oxygen to prop them up. We got a nurse to come and check them, and they were 86%. 94% is probably the lowest that doctors would deem acceptable, so when the nurse went to report back what mine were, I was told to put the oxygen back on and to not try this again. I felt pretty triumphant because even though I was not breathing brilliantly, I was right and that was most important. When I breathe, I can’t get all the air out before I need to take the next breath in, unlike a normal person, so when I exert myself, it gets worse, which is part of why I get breathless so easily. At the moment, without oxygen, it feels like I am slightly exerted all the time, and if I don’t control myself, I might start to hyperventilate. 

Anyway. We have been watching some Crufts which is such fun. So glad I did not get tickets because I would be so annoyed that I couldn’t go because I’m poorly. Definitely going to be here until at least Monday, probably escape towards the end of next week if my CRP continues going down at the same rate. 

The 11th of March. 

So, same again. Except no doctors at all today. 

I had a late night, partly because I didn’t get my meropenem until just after half past eleven, and because there was a man calling out for a nurse for ages, and not using his buzzer like a courteous wardmate. Eventually, I closed my curtains and hoped he would eventually stop. Shortly after, I heard a loud crash, and the emergency buzzer. It emerged that there was something actually wrong with the loud man, and he wasn’t going to be making any more noise that night. He didn’t die or anything, but he was not well. Still, somebody probably would have attended to him earlier had he used his buzzer. If you seem to have the energy to call out without any real sense of urgency for a long time, it sounds like you’re not that ill. Well, in my opinion. I did feel a bit bad for being irritated but I am sure he is fine. That is what I’m telling myself anyway. 

This morning I managed to get the staff to pretty much leave me alone after my first set of obs, so I didn’t keep getting woken up. I set my alarm for 9 so it’s not like I’m having enormous lie-ins but I need a lot of sleep, especially now when I am poorly. Being woken up for breakfast at half past seven when I have my own and will eat it when I choose to is not going to help me get better. When I did get up, I listened to Radio 4 and just sat and crocheted all morning. My friends Vicky and Laura were going to come visit, but Vicky had a migraine so we have rescheduled, and I texted Mommy to ask her to come in earlier, as she was going to come at 4 instead of lunchtime as usual. Becky was going to come with her, so we let her know the change of plan and she was having lunch with her parents in the Jewellery Quarter so got dropped off after that, and they actually arrived within minutes of each other. She has been on a residential with school this week, so I told her about the exciting/upsetting events of the past few days, and she then told us all the stories of her week. As a pupil on a residential, you cannot imagine the amount of responsibility and pressure on the shoulders of the teachers looking after you. I don’t think people realise that as a teacher on a trip, there is not really any time that is a holiday because you are stressed about the kids in your care for the entire time. I could not do it. 

We had a great time watching things out of my window today – I have a very good view of the helipad, the car park of the old hospital, and all the floors of the middle third of the hospital, so we can watch everything that’s going on. The helicopter came down today (as it does most days to be honest) and I noticed for the first time all the people in the other wards looking out of their windows. It felt like we were a little community. Later on, just as Becky was about to leave, there was drama with what appeared to be a drunk man and three security guards, who would not let him into the car park. He was eventually taken into A&E, where I assume he had come from, and we saw no more. 

Mommy left a little earlier than usual, and I am going to spend my evening watching Crufts, then Room is on Channel 4 at 9 and I never got to the end of the book, so I thought I may as well watch it while I am here and have the time! 

The 8th of March. 

In total contrast to yesterday, many things have happened today! Last night I got told I needed to be nil by mouth from midnight because endoscopy were probably expecting me to go down for my bronchoalveolar lavage (or bronchoscopy for short) in the morning. 

Ben came to see me first thing and we had a very brief chat, which concluded with the decision that I would indeed have the bronchoscopy. There were only two other people on the list so I wasn’t waiting long until my turn. 

Dr. Thompson was doing the list, so when I went down to endoscopy, we had the chat about what he would be doing and I signed the consent form. As he explained the process, I realised that it was going to be horrific and I would never have agreed if I knew what I know now. I was unable to have any effective sedation because my sats were too low, so I was awake for the entire thing. Here is what happened:

Firstly, I had to do a deep “Ahhh” and he sprayed the back of my throat with lidocaine (local anaesthetic) which stung like crazy and numbed the back of my throat, which made me feel like I couldn’t swallow. Oh and I’ll say now that I coughed intensely throughout, to the point where I nearly threw up multiple times. 

Then another “Ahhh” to spray the vocal chords, so then I was coughing, in pain and couldn’t speak. I was able to signal that I could not tolerate having it go up my nose – if you imagine, the camera is about 4mm in diameter, and I could barely cope with the thinnest NG tube available, so having an endoscope up my nose and down my airway was not an option. 

One more spray, then I lay down, but then he sprayed me again and I had to sit up to cough more. He gave me 2mg of midazolam which my liver gobbled up immediately and did absolutely fuck all, so I was completely conscious, eyes screwed shut, biting down on the plastic guard that was in my mouth to stop me biting through the scope. He put the camera down my throat and into my windpipe, then deeper into my lungs, where he squirted some water which was then collected to be tested for all the bugs. I was coughing and coughing, unable to move because another doctor was holding me down, telling me I was okay and to “Just breathe” (which is really NOT FUCKING HELPFUL), honestly feeling like I might die from the strain of it. Finally he pulled it out and I had an even worse coughing fit and nearly threw up again, and he sort of patted me on the shoulder and told me to breathe. I couldn’t speak because I didn’t want to cough any more, then I was brought up to the ward, where I had to have my obs done every fifteen minutes and remain nil by mouth for another hour and a half, and I just wanted a hug and to have a cry. It is the literally worst fucking thing I have ever had done to me.

Mommy came in early, and I had a little cry when I related the experience to her. She gave me lots of hugs and thankfully the nurse who was doing my obs was amusing. 

Sometime before midday, a vascular nurse called Donna came to see me to talk about lines, and she said that they’d talked to Andrew Willis and he’d agreed that the mid-line was the best plan, so she’d come back after one o’clock with another nurse called Caroline and an ultrasound machine and she’d put one in. 

I ate some food and drank some coffee, and it wasn’t long before Donna returned with all the gubbins. She found a nice vein using the ultrasound, and I actually could understand which black blobs were veins and which were arteries. Basically, if she could squish it and it went away, it was a vein, and if it pulsed, it was an artery. She and Caroline got gowned up and covered me in various sheets, and put some lidocaine in my arm. She got started, and it was all going okay until she tried to feed the wire into the vein for the line to follow, but something seemed to be getting in the way. Caroline picked up the ultrasound, and we could see the vein, but then there was a large black blob that wasn’t a vein or an artery, and it was stopping anything going any further up my arm. She couldn’t try any more for fear of seriously damaging the vein which would leave us with no options, so the next option is that I have to go to interventional radiography for them to use dye to find good veins. And of course I am allergic to the standard dye. Donna and Caroline went down to talk to Andrew, but he wasn’t here this afternoon, so Tracy (the appointment coordinator) has booked me in for a line, but I don’t know when that’ll be, and Andrew and Dr. Hopkins who has also been involved have been emailed. 

As they were finishing, a porter came to collect me for my chest x-ray that I probably should have had on Monday after the drain was taken out. That was not very interesting, and I’m sure the results will just show that my lung has re-inflated. 

Upon my return, I found Philippa and Kirsty from the liver team in my room, talking to Mommy, so they cheered me up from my shitty day. 

I am exhausted, and I would really like some more progress. My breathing has improved – I’m not getting as breathless when I talk, for example, but moving is still a huge struggle. And somehow I think that I am not going to recover very quickly. 

The 9th of March. 

Oh, frabjous day, I have a line!

At eleven o’clock last night, the cannula site started bleeding. My immediate thought was “Oh, fuck.” but I was pleased because it meant that my need for a line was even more urgent. Thankfully, the cannula itself was still working, so I was able to have my meropenem through it. The nurse doing IVs last night offered to put another one in my right hand and I was able to warn her off, but she was quite keen. Last time I let people cannulate my hands, they were destroyed. 

We had no idea what time I might be going down to angio to have my line put in, if at all, but I knew they would want me to have been nil by mouth, so I elected to starve until we knew what was happening. Plus, the nursing team were not thrilled that I wasn’t eating or drinking, so they made extra effort to find out what the plan was. I was effectively on hunger strike, but it was directly related to the outcome, because I knew if they called me and I had eaten, they wouldn’t be able to necessarily do what was needed. 

I stayed hungry all morning, and I saw all of the respiratory and haematology doctors. Ben and his team are just waiting for results from my bronchoscopy, so hopefully tomorrow we might know something from them. The haematology chaps just pretty much wanted to know why I was still here, as if it’s my choice. It’s just that we (the doctors and I) need to know that if I’m discharged, I’m not going to be back in 48 hours complaining of other symptoms. So we do the tests, get back all our results, and if something needs treating, it gets treated. If not, I suppose it just means I am still recovering from the pre-Christmas pneumonia and my right arm still needs deflating. Fingers crossed there is news in the morning. 

I was told by the nurse in charge that she had agreed with the booking coordinator that they would talk at 12, then I would know if I was going down this afternoon or whatever the plan would be. However, at 12, the nurse here rang and got no answer, then she had to go to a meeting, so we knew nothing. Two hours passed, and I was getting increasingly irate and hungry. Mommy went and hovered about for me, and found the nurse had returned and was in the office on the phone. Whether it was about me, I don’t know. But about half past two, a porter came to take me to angio! He didn’t have any oxygen, so had to go and get some (you would think that for respiratory patients it would be a requirement), then he and a student nurse took me downstairs. Then we had a problem down there because nobody had done a theatre checklist on the ward, so we did one in recovery, then the nurse had to go back upstairs to get my nurse to fill in her half of the checklist, and she came back (after getting lost) with my checklist and a red wristband to tell people that I am allergic to things. 

I had a chat with a few people I now know down there, including Mark who has done a venoplasty on me before. Turns out the reason Andrew hasn’t been around yesterday and today is because he’s off sick, which is frankly unacceptable, but I suppose even doctors get poorly sometimes. Still, one of his “senior colleagues”, Dr. Hicks, was looking after me, and had been there when my case had come in on Tuesday. He decided that we were going to do a PICC, not a mid-line, and I thought I’d let him because if he fucked up my veins, he’d just have to fix them, and he would be in trouble with Andrew. I had not got the energy to argue. He also felt that dye wasn’t going to be necessary, and he could do it with just the ultrasound. Rather defeated the purpose of me going down there in the first place but OH WELL. It didn’t go swimmingly to begin with – he started on one side of my arm, didn’t seem to find a vein there, so had me flip it over. He found one there, but something caused a problem because he had to take out the wire and line he’d got in, then have me put my arm back the way it was originally. He finally got into a vein and it was all going to work, when I heard him say “Oh, I’ve done it wrong” which is not what one wants to hear on the table. He just meant that he’d cut the wire in the wrong place, so it was too short and he needed another one, thank god. When he got to the final bit, when the end of the line is being positioned very close to the heart, the x-ray machine came out and this time I could see what was happening! He was working on my left side and the screen was on my right, so I could watch my chest rise and fall, and the line thread across the screen into the dark mass that was my heart. It was slightly unnerving when I could feel the tip poking inside me, and I swear my heart jolted in my chest when it got prodded. 

When I came back to the ward, I pretty much shoved a sandwich into my face, then I was wondering when I might get my afternoon dose of mero, because I wasn’t here when it was supposed to happen. Just when it looked like it might be coming, somebody in the bay across from my cubicle crashed, so everybody charged in there with trolleys and machines, so I didn’t get my drugs until half past six. I don’t mind, obviously I understand that my antibiotics are not quite the priority when that sort of thing happens, but I am going to be very tired when I finally get my night time dose. I may try to go to sleep and just leave my arm available. It has been a long day.  

The 6th of March. 

Good news: my lung has re-inflated and the chest drain is out. Bad news: my breathing is still very poor. I had about eight doctors round my bed this morning (Ben Sutton from respiratory, Sridhar Chaganti from haematology, and all their minions) to discuss what might be wrong with me and what we should do about it. My input was that a) if I’m going to need IVs for much longer, I’m going to need a PICC putting in, and b) I will not have systemic steroids because they make me suicidal. Thankfully, Ben knows Bryony because she is an asthma patient of his, so he was going to talk to her about a line, which made that easy enough. The steroids were to do with treating whatever is causing the inflammation, but I absolutely refuse to have them, especially at the doses he was talking about. Swabs won’t really help in diagnosing the problem apparently, so I’m going to have a bronchoalveolar lavage, which is when an bronchoschope is put down the airway, into the lungs, they squirt a bit of fluid in and then collect it to examine. I will be sedated for that. Ben said he has a list tomorrow and someone else has one on Wednesday but it hasn’t been mentioned again since this morning so I’m not sure when that will be. 

I had a really bad night, so when Mommy arrived with coffee, I was very grateful – such a sleepy bear. We had our lunches, then we had another lovely afternoon with a visitor because Philippa from the liver team came to see me, so she was here for a couple of hours, keeping us amused. However, when it came to be time for chest drain removal, she took her leave. 

That part was far less dramatic than its insertion. I had to do some deep breathing, and on an exhale, the doctor just pulled it out, then put a lot of pressure on to stop air getting back in and to help seal the gap. So far, it seems to be staying up. I have the most ridiculously enormous dressing, but at least tonight I can sleep on my side, the way I am actually comfortable, instead of on my back like a flipped over tortoise. If I get a PICC tomorrow, I will be back to full arm function!

I’m down to one litre of oxygen tonight, and I don’t feel good, but I don’t feel as bad as I did. Back to one day at a time.  

The 7th of March. 

Today has been one of conversations and making plans. No PICC or lavage but I’ll explain about that later. 

I had a very boring morning, and was about to bunker down for a nap (now I can lie on my side it is so much easier to sleep) when Ben poked his head in and asked if it was alright if he brought his medical students in, to which I replied absolutely yes I love furthering the education of baby doctors. A troupe of seven students came in and lined up along the back wall, facing me, and Ben had them try to work out what was wrong with me. Not the whole story, that would be impossible, but the answer they needed to get to was the pneumothorax. They could ask me loads of questions, and I did have to give them some background information so they weren’t completely baffled by some of my answers. Ben also asked them general medical questions that were not entirely related to me which probably did not help them on the right path. At the end, one of them had to examine me, at which point she found the dressing from the drain, and then they guessed pneumothorax! Then Ben got me to show them my liver scar except he was expecting me to have a Mercedes when I actually have a hockey stick but hey, they still learned something. 

This afternoon’s visitor was Bryony! She had seen my name on the referrals list and was like MINE THIS ONE IS MINE because I am too complicated. Basically, I can’t have a PICC because they go into one of my veins that is already trashed from lines, so she’s liaising with Andrew and Ben, because if they put in the kind of line she is thinking of, there are certain drugs I won’t be able to have because they won’t be within the pH range that will work. I may or may not be having the lavage, depending on my oxygen requirement, but at the moment it isn’t improving. 

I had a shower this afternoon, or rather, I sat on the shower chair with the oxygen on and Mommy essentially hosed me down with the shower and I scrubbed myself with a loofah. It was a very dignified exercise. It is nice to feel clean.

As it is now gone eight o’clock and Bryony hasn’t come back to me with a plan yet, I expect to hear from her in the morning. Unless the nurse tonight has some information that I don’t know about. Either way, I may have to delay my breakfast until I know what’s happening.