“One is never afraid of the unknown; one is afraid of the known coming to an end.” Jiddu Krishnamurti
The day of surgery arrived and I didn’t go in for prep until reasonably late in the day... about 4pm I think. I had never had a general anaesthetic before and the only operation I have had was a cesaerian section when I had Beth 18 years ago. I was scared. Being wheeled in to the theatres, I was convinced that my time was up and today was the day I was going to die. When they put me under, I was crying.
When I came round, I looked around, disorientated and I remember my first thought was wtf has just happened. I slowly began to take everything in. “I’m still here, alive! What the hell is that thing in my nose! I can’t actually move! Where’s Andy?”
I don’t know how long it was before Andy came and then I was moved to the critical care unit. I don’t remember much about that place, but I remember being hooked up to loads of machines and it felt like I was on an alien spaceship.
It turned out the surgery had been much more extensive than originally anticipated and they had found that the tumour was, in fact, joined onto some of my other organs. They had not only removed part of my colon, but also about 20% of my stomach, part of my pancreas and one of the main blood vessels to my spleen. The surgery had taken much longer than expected and poor Andy had to just sit and wait, worrying it had all gone wrong.
Back on the ward, I began to realise the extent of what I had just been through. I had a drain tube going into my left side, a catheter, numerous lines in through a cannula and a tube in my nose which had a bag on the end (that was horrendous and I just wanted it out! Apparently it was to drain my stomach while it healed). I hadn’t even known about the stoma... didn’t even know what one was and now I had one!
I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything for days...just sips of water to moisten my throat. My skin became really dry and bumpy. You could see the amount of weight I had lost (now 3 and a half stone) by the baggy skin on my arms and legs. I didn’t know how I was surviving on intravenous fluids alone and no nourishment, but apparently you can. I had many visitors and we had a good laugh to divert the focus away from the horrendous things that had just happened to my body; the concept of me having two bum holes became a source of hilarity one day when both my kids and their respective partners visited (much to the scorn of the nurses, haha!). It is a bit of weird tradition for people to come and visit you in hospital to see you looking like shit and at the lowest point you can be though isn’t it? A bit like a freak show!
Within a couple of days, they wanted to get me out of bed to stand up. I was convinced that there was no way I could stand up in my condition. In my head I was thinking, “Are you insane? Can’t you see what I look like? I’m not ready to stand up... come back in a week or so!” Anyway, you do as your told, don’t you? I couldn’t have them saying I couldn’t do something they’d asked me to do! So, feeling like utter shit, and with the help of two nurses holding me and all my tube and bags... I stood up.
Each day they made me so a little bit more: walk to the chair... sit down for 10 minutes... sit for 20 minutes... get yourself in and out of they bed without help. I hated it, but you do it anyway because you don’t want anyone thinking you can’t.
Next they removed the catheter, so I had no choice but to get myself out of bed to go to the toilet, wheeling my drip stand and carrying all my drainage bags. It was really hard. Gradually, as the days went on I walked a little further each day, and lines and tubes began being removed. My planned discharge date was the Monday (day 11 post op), but due to my progress (and the fact that I live in an accessible bungalow) this was brought forward to the Friday. Then on the Thursday before I was due to be discharged, the doctor asked me if I wanted to go home today. It turned out it was because they needed the bed. We were still waiting on the hospital pharmacy to sort out my meds to go home so we were asked if we would mind waiting in the ‘discharge lounge’ so they could have the bed.
I was pushed in a wheelchair all the way to the other side of Ipswich Hospital to this so called ‘discharge lounge’. Basically it’s like a bus/train station waiting room and, bearing in mind I hadn’t been able to sit in a chair for more than 30 minutes on the ward without then having to lay down, a completely unsuitable place for me to be left to wait. It was just ridiculous! The lovely nurse in the discharge lounge, realising this was a big problem for me, began chasing the meds from the pharmacy, who told her that it would be at least an hour. I began to cry because I knew I couldn’t sit in a chair for that long. Andy decided that the only option was to take me home and come back for the meds later (a 2 hour round trip)! Even when he went back, they had mucked up the meds and he had to wait around while they sorted it out. It was such a shame to end my stay at the hospital with such a horrible experience, because up until that point, all of the staff had been fantastic.
Once home and with all of the meds I needed, it was a three week wait before the histology report would be back and a way forward would be decided. Three weeks of limbo... and pain...and lots of morphine and paracetamol.
