I am wheeled to the recovery area. A different nurse takes over my care. She seems alarmed at my current state. She saw me before the procedure. I was cheerful and made small talk with her. Now, my face is streaked with tears, and my voice is too hoarse to speak. The nurse keeps a close eye on me.
Approximately 15 minutes have passed since my dose of fentanyl. The nurse asks me if I want something else for the pain. I nod, "Yes." The nurse finds the radiology nurse and asks what the doctor previously prescribed. The radiology nurse says, "Fifty of fentanyl." The recovery nurse asks where the radiology physician is. The radiology nurse says, "The reading room." The recovery nurse phones the doctor.
A few minutes later, the recovery nurse is at my bedside with 50 more of fentanyl. I am in disbelief that I am actually being given fentanyl...and 50 more at that! The nurse slowly infuses the fentanyl into my body via my PICC line. Again, I feel the sedative effects of the fentanyl threaten to pull my body into slumberland. But, once again, the intense pain, which is now radiating down my arm into my fingers and is radiating up my arm into my shoulder, is preventing me from sleeping.
This time, the fentanyl provides a little bit of relief. Over the next ten minutes, the pain lessens to the point where I can rest my head on a pillow. I cradle my left arm and wish I could get more fentanyl.
An hour after I am rolled into the recovery room, the nurse asks if I want to go home. I am still shaking uncontrollably, but the intensity of my pain is much less than what it previously was. I can sense that my ability to get any more pain medication has been exhausted. I know nothing else will be done. I tell the nurse I am ready to go home.
I attempt to change out of my hospital gown and put back on my shirt. I howl in pain when I attempt to move my arm. Another very sweet nurse hears my cry. She tells me to not move. She will be with me in a moment. She suddenly appears in my recovery cubicle and closes the curtain behind her. I am in a sorry state. My camisole is partially on my right side. On my left side, my chest is exposed. The nurse carefully gets my camisole on. She then gently gets my shirt on. I cradle my left arm. The nurse asks if I would like some ice. She hurries away and quickly gives me a cloth bag full of ice.
The nurse next helps me into my wheelchair. The second nurse summons my nurse to help gather up and transfer my ventilator and heater/humidifier from my bedside table on to my lap. Together the two nurses manage to move my machines. I carefully balance the machines on my lap and hang on to them with my right arm. Both nurses accompany me down to the patient drop-off area, where my mom is waiting in the car. The nurses assist with getting me and all my equipment into the car. My mom and I drive to the hotel for a night of much needed rest.
I wish I would say that once I got back to the hotel, my arm magically stops hurting. It does not. It continues to hurt. The pain continues to spread. I am completely exhausted from the whole ordeal; I immediately fall asleep for two hours upon arriving at the hotel. However, once my body gets a little bit of sleep, the pain comes roaring back. My whole body shakes uncontrollably. I am grateful I have some Vicodin pills I use for pancreatitis attacks with me in my backpack. I take one pill. I attempt to drink some tea and eat some food. It has been many, many hours since my body last received any nourishment. I try not to move my arm, but the slightest touch or brush against my arm sends me howling in pain, and tears stream down my face.
I attempt to sleep, but the pain continually keeps me awake. After a couple hours of severe pain, I take another Vicodin pill. This time, my pain level decreases. I sleep about two hours.
In the morning, my left upper arm is about twice the size it normally is. It is red and very swollen. I manage to get through the day without using any pain medication. For the next week, I continually wake up during the night in extreme pain. I rotate ice and a heating pad on my arm. Very slowly, the pain and swelling decrease.
It now has been two weeks since my PICC line has been inserted. My arm continues to ache in pain; however, the pain is much, MUCH less than what it was. For that, I am very grateful.
I hope and pray this is the last time I will need a PICC line. If this line fails or becomes infected before my treatment course of antibiotics is complete, I will not get another PICC line. This is my last PICC line. I cannot endure another PICC line procedure.
(Link to Part One click here)
(Link to Part Two click here)
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