No medicine = good medicine?

You might be shocked (or horrified) to find that while I was in the hospital, I had almost no pain meds. Germans take a very holistic and homeopathic approach to treatment. They say that the Germans are excellent diagnosticians, but the Americans are better at treatment. I don't know if this is really true, but I do know that Germans still ascribe to remedy situations with as little drug as possible. People are still sent to spas to treat a variety of conditions and diseases in example - in fact, your medical insurance would cover this. And, many spas don't allow you in without a prescription, no lie.

So, when I was given practically nothing at the hospital, I wasn't surprised. Every now and then a nurse would come it, ask about my pain, then check if she could give me morphine (blood pressure, heart rate, etc.). In the entire time I was in the hospital, I had 2 small doses of morphine, an ibuprofen in the morning and evening that did absolutely nothing, and vitamins. When I was feeling nauseous, a nurse would come in and put on a saline drip. I don't know why this helped, but it did. I was nauseous a lot in the hospital.

Morphine is serious. It, however, also did nothing to treat my pain. I'm notorious for being difficult to treat pain-wise, so this didn't surprise me. I'd had morphine before following a very serious neck injury. I hate it. It's the worst feeling, ice entering your veins and numbing your senses ... but not the pain! Even though I was given a very small amount of medicine, it didn't work. This equals, to me, no medicine. I still had all the pain.

The second day in the hospital was better. My husband came around lunch time again and showered and changed me. I was given high praise for my German skills by a nurse to whom I had done the self-deprecation routine of "Ich spreche nur ein bisschen Deutsch," which means I only speak a bit of German. She didn't think so, but I told her it's hard to communicate in a hospital as opposed to communicating with a neighbor, a restaurant or grocery store. Those are words I know. Hospital words were not words they teach you in German class.

One of the words that I learned while I was in the hospital I sort of already knew, but I suppose it was more colloquialism. Krankenschwester is the term for a nurse. It literally translates to sick sister. Well, they simply refer to nurses in a general term - schwester. This is just like saying sister. It's kind of funny to me, but in a way is comforting. I mean, my sister never took care of me when I was sick. But, back in past centuries, the sisters of the church would be charged with the care of hospital and hospice patients. So it's not only endearing, it's historically significant. But, it's still funny they say sister. I keep thinking my sister, but nope!

Saturday was a bright day. We had a big row of windows in our room, and it was bright all the way up until sunset. Even though our room faced a side street as opposed to the main city square, we still got an awful lot of light. Germans are also excellent architecturally. They are pros at putting in windows that get lots of light. They definitely have an edge over American construction and architecture. Anyway, it was so bright that we didn't need the lights on. I read my school books most of the morning, and then my husband came again after lunch. He showered and changed me again, and we played a lot of Skip-Bo. I actually felt so good; I got out of bed and played at the table in our room. Then we went and walked around the floor that I was on when the doctors came to do rounds on my roommate. The entire hallway towards the middle of the building was a huge row of windows that faced down into the main lobby, and up to the greenhouse ceiling. From my floor, we could see this piece of artwork hanging from the ceiling. It was glass bits hanging on stringy metal rods. It looked like it belonged at the Tacoma Museum of Glass of something. After we walked around the whole hallway, we sat at some comfy chairs and a table just outside my room and played more Skip-Bo.

My husband left early to go order dinner from our favorite restaurant, this little Indian place in the pedestrian zone. They had delicious food and he wanted it bad. Plus, it takes them a long time to make the food because they cook nothing until you order. So, he was going to be down there for a while.

While he was gone and getting is Naan on, I got two visits. First, I got a visit from someone who is a patient liaison for our military insurance. She came down to make sure I was being communicated with basically. It was kind of a pointless trip, but I didn't exactly have anyone come visit me (even though we did have friends in Germany) or call me. So, I didn't mind much. Besides, she had a funny half-British accent. You could tell that she either married an American soldier, or lived most of her career in England.

After the insurance lady left, a doctor came in with a nurse and told me Dr. P. couldn't make it today, so he was filling in. He's the other hand specialist in the orthopedics clinic, and was quite a bit younger than Dr. P. He said they were going to take a look at my arm.

I'm weirdly excited. I was the freak who liked the day in chemistry class when our teacher showed us an autopsy - in fact, for 2 years I wanted to be a pathologist or a coroner. I also was the freak who liked watching those medical shows on body part reattachment. They used to have this exhibit at the Seattle Science Center that my dad took us to, and I would sit there and watch them reattach fingers, hands, toes, ears...

So the nurse cuts the bandages in half and peels them outward. I have a huge cut from my wrist to halfway up my arm. It's about 6 or 7 inches long. There are no stitches, and you can see these huge black scabs that have crystallized over the large gaps between the skin. I ask what they secured my wound close with. It was glue, he said. Cool. Off to the side of the bottom of my scar, there's a tube sticking out. What's that? It's to drain the wound he says. In fact, he says because there's been so little bleeding that they're going to take it out. Cool.

I'm not normally bothered by things like needles and shots. I'm not very squeamish. I can eat dinner though an episode of Bones or Hoarders and not even bat an eyelash. So, when the nurse tells me to look away, I kind of wrinkle my eyebrows. What? And miss this? Heck no! The doctor puts on gloves, and just yanks the little tube out. I didn't really feel anything except a weird sensation. I suppose it would be akin to removing a ring from your ringer, but inside your skin. It didn't hurt and just felt plain bizarre.

Some blood welled up and the nurse swabbed it away. The doctor then poked and prodded my arm and fingers. He tried to get me to grasp his hand. He said that the fact that I still couldn't feel anything or move my hand much was unusual. He asked if I was doing my exercises. I told him I was. I tried to remember to do them every hour, but I got tired a lot and napped before my husband showed up. So, I suppose I did it about 8 times the day before, and a few times today already. He suggests trying to do it every half hour. Okay, I guess. I really am not going to remember that recommendation much better, but whatever. I'll try.

I think because the doctor called him, the anesthesiologist shows up. He checks my nerves and sensory by poking and prodding too. He has me explain to him what I feel, if anything. I honestly can't feel much and can tell my nerves are deadened to a strange point. He says this is uncommon. He explains that in order to do the join leveling procedure, the doctor had to cut me open, pick up all my nerves, muscles and tendons, and move them to the side. It is possible they have not settled from this dramatic experience. He thinks I'll regain most of my sensory in the next month.

The doctors leave, and the nurse re-bandages me up. She also leaves to go get a new ice pack. I hated that thing to begin with, but I sort of am hooked now. I actually asked her for a new one ... oy!

My husband came back when I had almost finished dinner. It was a fish dish, and because he's allergic to fish, he couldn't have any. But, I ate about half my food this meal. I remember also that there was a dessert cup. I think it was quark with forest berries. There were Heidel berries and blue berries, and himmel berries ... it was delicious. I usually am very very picky about my fruit, and I'm lactose intolerant, but for some reason I ate it all. I felt bad when my husband showed up because he really should have tried it because he would have loved it. But, he brought his Indian food. He had chicken nurani and garlic Naan. It was so good. I ate a bite. I didn't feel bad about the smell either, because my roommate was sort of oddly obnoxious. She was always having visitors and being loud enough to keep me from napping or sleeping, her doctors kept kicking us out of the room, she had been leaving the window wide open all day and all night because of the heater in the room, and she never spoke to me except that one time she called the nurse when I was puking. So, I hope the smell either made her tummy hurt, or annoyed her.

My second day in the hospital wasn't too bad. It would have been nice to have had some actual medicine. The entire day was spent in excruciating pain but no one would have known it. I worried though. The pain was bad. I didn't know how I would make it through the next 1-2 years with this stupid bar and screws in my arm. I could feel them even though the doctor said I wouldn't. I could feel the wrongness in my bones. I could feel the sawed bone's tenderness. The pain was an enormous burden.

That night was my worst night of sleep. My roommate had guests until almost 11, and I spent the entire night rolling back and forth on my bed in pain, slamming the nurse's button. They'd come in, check my blood pressure and heart rate, give me a drink, and tell me to try to sleep. The pain that night was the worst I'd endure post-surgery. I think my body finally realized what had happened.