Draining Of Fluid Under Ultrasound

Draining Of Pleural Fluid Under Ultrasound 

It won't come as a surprise to anyone reading this blog, that after all I'd been through with the open-heart surgery - especially as my chest had to be opened for a second time just 6 hours after the first operation, and I ended up being anaesthetised for 24 hours, and having a transfusion of 6 units of blood; followed by another 5 days in a different hospital - taken there by ambulance as an emergency, with sirens and the blue lights flashing! - to get the atrial fibrillation settled, the thought of yet another complication did not thrill me one bit. And yet ... and yet ... in a funny sort of way, feeling so ill and not being able to breathe properly, and suffering from a severe lack of sleep, it was also a relief to know the fluid was going to be drained. 

I was really nervous about the whole thing. Everyone assured me it wasn't much worse than having a cannula fitted in a vein in my arm (even though it would be a bit bigger!), and once it was in, the  pressure would cause the fluid to start draining, and I'd soon begin to feel better. I didn't know how long it would take, either, because I didn't know how much fluid was in there in the first place.

Just when I could have done with a few half-decent nights' sleep to prepare me, and give me strength for the procedure, the preceding Saturday, Sunday and Monday nights were hard to get through. The troublesome cough carried on being troublesome, but I held on to the fact that having the fluid drained was very necessary, and I would soon be back home. 

I'd been told a nurse would be with me all the time, and that I'd be well taken care of; and to that extent, I did actually relax a bit and went in to the hospital at 9.00 a.m., feeling positive - and my favourite word since all this began in February, "RESILIENCE"!! ringing loud in my ears.

From the first moment when I arrived at the hospital, I was really impressed by the way everyone bothered with me. From all the porters - there was one who took me up to my room; another escorted me to the theatre for the procedure and, later that afternoon, when I was able to go home, another chap took me downstairs - everyone was unfailingly kind and friendly. I met another man who completed the forms for my admission; he was very thorough, but still had time to chat and take my mind of things. He was followed by the phlebotomist who fitted a cannula, and yet another very sweet lady persuaded me to think about considering something to eat at lunchtime. She suggested an omelette, but I was very dubious; I like omelettes to be very well done, all the way through - no runny interiors for me! She said, "We will make it exactly as you would like it," so I put my name down for that.

Then there was my lovely personal nurse, who held my hand throughout. When I went to the theatre to have the drain inserted, I met the Consultant and his assistant, and they put me at my ease. He took so much time and care to explain everything he was going to do; he admitted he could not guarantee it would be pain free, but would do his best to make it as easy as possible for me. He also waited whilst his assistant smothered my back in Emla cream, the topical anaesthetic I'd taken in with me, so I wouldn't feel the local anaesthetic he had to inject; finally, after about 20 minutes, when the Emla cream had taken effect, we got started.

It was certainly not pleasant, but with everyone's help, I got through it; my nurse kept hold of my hand and talked to me, and it was reassuring to be kept informed how things were going! 

Then I thought, if I sang, it would take my mind off what was happening, so I burst into Falling In Love Again - first in German, then in English - but oh, yes, the fitting of the drain was painful. First, a needle goes in; I coped with that, but that is followed by a wire, and then the tube follows that. I certainly felt the wire - and it was weird, because I hardly ever swear! but I let out an involuntary "Bloody hell!"  That's the worst I come out with, but then followed the tube, and I really felt that in spades - eliciting another "Bloody hell!" from me.

My nurse kept hold of my hand and carried on talking to me - I'd stopped singing by then! - and then came the great news that the drain was in the right place and the fluid was flowing. I remember thinking, Thank goodness! 

The Consultant said it was really looking good; the drain would stay in for four and a half hours. He instructed my nurse to remove it at 4.00 p.m. after which I would have an x-ray, and if everything was alright, I could go home. 

Back in my room, I stayed in bed for a while, but it was impossible to get comfy. Every movement hurt, and I felt every breath I took in was painful; I tried distraction with a bit of t.v., but nothing really worked. 

One nurse suggested a good cup of tea might help, and I did enjoy that, with a biscuit! and so the hours passed; my lovely nurse was in and out, seeing how I was, and reassuring me. Another nurse suggested I might feel better sitting in the chair, and I was happy to try anything that might ease things a bit! The nurses piled pillows around me, which meant I could wriggle around more freely to get a comfier position; and it did help.

Then the lady who earlier had taken the order for my lunch popped in to see me, to encourage me to have something to eat; with all her enthusiasm, I felt it would have been impolite to refuse! and of course she was right. I might not have felt much like eating, but when my lunch arrived, cooked to perfection - well done all the way through and golden brown both sides - exactly how I would have made it at home, I tucked in to it, and managed to eat half of a very large omelette!  

The last couple of hours with the drain in place were the hardest. Even though I could see it was all working well, and I could check how much fluid was draining out - at one point, after a litre had been collected, the container was emptied, to make room for the rest, after which another half-litre came through - there were times when I became quite distressed. Phone calls home helped; Wendy was at work, but she kept ringing me when she was on a tea break and at lunch, and Al kept up a regular "check in" system and gave me telephonic pep talks, but I was never so pleased when at last my nurse came in and said she would be removing the drain in a few minutes!

The removal - eagerly anticipated as it was - was something else I had been dreading, but she did it so professionally, it didn’t hurt. She just said, "Take a deep breath in!" and as I did that, so the drain was out! For several minutes, she held a pad firmly but gently in place over the area, and then covered and protected the wound with a dressing; it went like clockwork. She reminded to keep the area dry for 24 hours or so, and warned me I'd have a bruise for a few days, but I was expecting that.

Then it was off to the X-ray department, where the fresh image requested by the Consultant was taken,  then it was back to my room for a little while, until he had viewed it, and confirmed all was well for me to go home. 

Of course I immediately rang Bob, to tell him the good news - but, to my delight, Hospital staff had already told him I'd be free to go, and he was already well on his way to the Hospital to collect me. Everything dovetailed beautifully. I got dressed in my own clothes and taken in a wheelchair down to the foyer. 

The porter doing the honours of getting me downstairs said he knew I sang, and told me how much the young lady on the reception desk loved Country and Western music; he asked if I'd be willing to sing  something for her before I left the hospital?

I said I would love to do that! and once we reached the reception area, I saw Bob had also arrived and was waiting for me. The young lady on duty confirmed her favourite music was Country and Western, and she was genuinely keen to hear one of our songs, so Bob joined me in a quick burst of "Steel Rails." It all went down so well, and with music ringing in my ears, I was soon back in the car and on the way home.

 

Out of all the people I met during this stressful day, it would be really difficult to pick just one person for a special mention, because everyone I came into contact with, or who looked after me, was unfailingly kind and friendly. A week or so later, when I was recovered and feeling very much better, I wrote to the Director of the Hospital, saying how impressed I had been with the treatment I'd received. I hope I don't have to have a repeat procedure but, if I do, with everyone's help, I know I'll get through it.