Even after all the discussions about what her system could and couldn't tolerate, there was a snag right before surgery. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Bush, refused to allow the surgery under local anesthetic. He insisted she had to be put all the way out so he could insert a breathing tube. When my brothers and I replied that we'd been told by the cardiologist this wasn't safe, Dr. Bush threw up his hands exclaiming, "Then call him!" and theatrically started to stalk away. He did this three times during our conversation, but we managed to extract from him and Dr. Burke, the surgeon, that they'd still be using the least possible anesthetic and the surgery might even go more quickly this way. In spite of Dr. Bush's temper tantrums, we were persuaded that we needed to give our approval to go ahead. The final decision was mine - it's my name on the medical power of attorney - but the three of us were in agreement.
Back in the waiting area, my brother Bill immediately called the cardiologist, who said he had been consulted and was okay with the change in anesthetic. Why the hell Dr. I-Think-I'm-God didn't just tell us that, I can't imagine.
And Dr. God wasn't through with us yet. When he and Dr. Burke came out to where we were waiting, he announced, "There's a problem." As panic hit all three of us bang in the chest, he went on, "She thought she was going to feel better right away, and she doesn't."
We were too relieved to smack him. She was fine. Everything had gone smoothly. Dr. Bush smirked and departed, and kind Dr. Burke stayed to answer all our questions fully.
Bill went home a few days later, and Mom was released from the hospital on October 26th. As a condition of her release, we had hired a full-time home healthcare worker, and as well, a visiting nurse and a physical therapist would be stopping by the house several times a week. I was relieved to have this level of assistance, as the one thing I absolutely hadn't been able to do was learn to care for the colostomy. I lasted through maybe 40 seconds of the first training session and had to bolt out of the room. The smell was unbearable. Mom would just have to learn to deal with it herself.
Through this entire experience the study medications were a great blessing. Although I'd lost the uplifted feeling of a couple weeks earlier, still I was able to sleep without difficulty, I wasn't experiencing any back pain, and I made it through Mom's hospitalization and surgery without collapse, hysteria or depression.
The 8-week "acute" phase of the Seroquel study came to an end on November 4th. Now the future depended on a random pick by the computer that would determine what meds I'd get for the continuation phase.
I wasn't lucky.
