I've done so much work on health care in Senegal, so here is a chance for me to write about health care in the US, specifically New York. Of course I thought it was pretty awesome, since all I've really seen are cancer wards in Dakar and geriatrics in Taiwan.
On September 25th, I went in for surgery. I had to push back my plans to go to Africa due to a sudden and urgent medical issue with some ovarian cysts. While I had had cysts for some months, normally they would go away on their own. This time however, I had two abnormal cysts that grew significantly larger over time--one was a cyst with septations, the other was a dermoid. I began having more pain, and other symptoms like nausea and occasional vomiting. Smells on the street, especially in the morning, would make me dizzy. The week before I was supposed to fly to South Africa, I found out that the cysts had grown to 7.5 cm and 3 cm. Considering that I am a fairly small person (5'3" and 120 pounds), they were taking up a lot of space in my body and were in danger of causing my ovaries to twist--in which case I would lose my ovaries unless I got to an ER in time.
As a result, my doctor advised me to cancel my trip to South Africa and postpone my work in Senegal so we could remove the cysts. I was really sad because I have never been to South Africa before, and am always excited to add a new country to by blog. However, I have first hand knowledge of how bad hospitals in Senegal are, and could not risk having an emergency while in Dakar, or during the long flights.
My mother flew in to help me out. Before the surgery, I had to drink this awful beverage that cleans out the body by inducing massive diarrhea. It tasted so bad, even with the flavor packages. I guess my stomach is not so big, so I ended up feeling too full and being unable to drink it--the instructions said to drink a half gallon every hour and a half. However, I missed the part about not eating any solid food 4 hours before taking it, so I got a really bad stomach ache. I drank about 3/4 of it and then poured away the rest, while my mother squawked and swore that she too would throw her medication away later just to spite me and make me worry.
On the day of the surgery, some emergency happened at the hospital, so everything was moved back significantly. My surgery, which I thought would be at 12, was going to be moved to 9:00 pm. As we were in the waiting room, I started to feel dizzy because I hadn't been allowed to eat or drink anything since taking the diuretic at 6:00 pm the day before--there had been nothing in my system for almost 24 hours. Luckily, a girl who had a surgery for the 6:00 pm slot was willing to switch with me since my case was more severe than hers. I went in at 6:00.
I was a bit nervous since the room was cold, and there were bright lights over head. However, I lay down on the table and a large, friendly eastern European doctor grabbed my arm and jabbed a needle into it. "Now you fill nothing more," he announced. Sure enough, I passed out.
When I woke up, I was in the recovery room. I had a panic attack because I was in more pain than I had expected to be in, and was still really cold. The nurses wrapped me up in heated blankets, and allowed my mom and friend to come in and see me. The surgeon had made four incisions in my belly to remove both cysts. I ended up having two more panic attacks, which is strange for me since I've never had any. In general, my pulse is low, but my blood pressure dropped to the 40s and my heart rate was in the 50s, and I began thinking I was having an asthma attack. I ended up being perfectly fine.
I got excellent palliative care in the hospital, with fentanyl and oral opiates to take home. I think I am now in a place to better appreciate palliative care, even more than I did before, simply because I was in so much pain even with my medication, to go through the process without pain relief would have been gruesome.
Today I went to have my stitches taken out, and am recovering at home; my mom has been helping me out a lot. Will go to Senegal in late October!
On September 25th, I went in for surgery. I had to push back my plans to go to Africa due to a sudden and urgent medical issue with some ovarian cysts. While I had had cysts for some months, normally they would go away on their own. This time however, I had two abnormal cysts that grew significantly larger over time--one was a cyst with septations, the other was a dermoid. I began having more pain, and other symptoms like nausea and occasional vomiting. Smells on the street, especially in the morning, would make me dizzy. The week before I was supposed to fly to South Africa, I found out that the cysts had grown to 7.5 cm and 3 cm. Considering that I am a fairly small person (5'3" and 120 pounds), they were taking up a lot of space in my body and were in danger of causing my ovaries to twist--in which case I would lose my ovaries unless I got to an ER in time.
As a result, my doctor advised me to cancel my trip to South Africa and postpone my work in Senegal so we could remove the cysts. I was really sad because I have never been to South Africa before, and am always excited to add a new country to by blog. However, I have first hand knowledge of how bad hospitals in Senegal are, and could not risk having an emergency while in Dakar, or during the long flights.
My mother flew in to help me out. Before the surgery, I had to drink this awful beverage that cleans out the body by inducing massive diarrhea. It tasted so bad, even with the flavor packages. I guess my stomach is not so big, so I ended up feeling too full and being unable to drink it--the instructions said to drink a half gallon every hour and a half. However, I missed the part about not eating any solid food 4 hours before taking it, so I got a really bad stomach ache. I drank about 3/4 of it and then poured away the rest, while my mother squawked and swore that she too would throw her medication away later just to spite me and make me worry.
On the day of the surgery, some emergency happened at the hospital, so everything was moved back significantly. My surgery, which I thought would be at 12, was going to be moved to 9:00 pm. As we were in the waiting room, I started to feel dizzy because I hadn't been allowed to eat or drink anything since taking the diuretic at 6:00 pm the day before--there had been nothing in my system for almost 24 hours. Luckily, a girl who had a surgery for the 6:00 pm slot was willing to switch with me since my case was more severe than hers. I went in at 6:00.
I was a bit nervous since the room was cold, and there were bright lights over head. However, I lay down on the table and a large, friendly eastern European doctor grabbed my arm and jabbed a needle into it. "Now you fill nothing more," he announced. Sure enough, I passed out.
When I woke up, I was in the recovery room. I had a panic attack because I was in more pain than I had expected to be in, and was still really cold. The nurses wrapped me up in heated blankets, and allowed my mom and friend to come in and see me. The surgeon had made four incisions in my belly to remove both cysts. I ended up having two more panic attacks, which is strange for me since I've never had any. In general, my pulse is low, but my blood pressure dropped to the 40s and my heart rate was in the 50s, and I began thinking I was having an asthma attack. I ended up being perfectly fine.
I got excellent palliative care in the hospital, with fentanyl and oral opiates to take home. I think I am now in a place to better appreciate palliative care, even more than I did before, simply because I was in so much pain even with my medication, to go through the process without pain relief would have been gruesome.
Today I went to have my stitches taken out, and am recovering at home; my mom has been helping me out a lot. Will go to Senegal in late October!
Oh Angela, take care! I'm glad you're recovering.
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