C (part 2)

Woke up on Saturday morning feeling a little sore. Wow, that sounds like the first line of a bad country and western song. It is not uncommon for surgery patients to feel really good the day after an operation and then have a flat time the next day. Of course, having bowel surgery interrupted and traumatised some pretty basic bodily functions and the registrar did say that it may take a few days for things to get “moving” again. Meanwhile, I was starting to feel like Mr Creosote (look him up, young people) and most of my pain was from rolling stomach cramps as my system tried to kick start itself.

I mentioned this to one of the nurses, and she decided that it was time to get things going—two days after my operation—and so she “prescribed” me a “mild” laxative. A couple of hours later, and things did in fact, start to move… but not on a good way.

You haven’t felt so let down by your own body as when you go to the toilet, do the business, then look down and see a bowl full of blood. (OK guys, I concede, when you can’t get it up counts as the worst) I started to panic, so the doctors ordered another blood test on top of the one I had every morning and I had some extra monitoring until things settled down. Unfortunately, things did not settle down until Sunday morning, by which time I was feeling more panicky, weak and very feeble. And even more tired.

Luckily no damage was done, although I learnt later that my blood tests did cause some concern among the medical staff.

The next three days pretty much consisted of obs, reading and eating and the occasional “turn” around the ward corridors, much like Miss Bennet and Miss Bingley in Pride and Prejudice. By Monday, I was able to go downstairs, grab a coffee at the cafe and sit in the sunshine. I have to say that The Alfred Hospital food was really delicious. I think the secret is not to go for the meat and three veg options which invariably get overcooked, and go for things like moussaka, lasagna, frittata and the like. That you get a choice of meals is an added bonus.

The nursing and support staff at The Alfred were generally wonderful. Their job is a thankless one and they have to do things as part of their jobs which are truly beyond the call of duty. Similar the surgical team was great, telling my clear what had happened and listening and answering my questions in terms even I could understand.

I was released on Tuesday and my best friend, Ailsa came to bring me home. She is great and does and says everything a best friend should do. We collected my cat, Marge, from her holiday at the local cattery and I was relieved to hear that she was very well behaved and they loved having her. She was less happy to see me and I knew the next few days at home would be, how we say… challenging.

At this point, my instructions were to stay home, rest, don’t life anything too heavy, and basically let my body recover from what, they keep reminding me, and I keep forgetting, was major surgery. I was relatively pain free and was advised that I should continue with, you guessed it, paracetemol to deal with postoperative pain.

In the greater scheme of things, it was kind of fortunate that I did not currently have a job as I would have felt it necessary to go back to work probably too soon. Of course, I still did not know just what that mysterious mass was. The histopathology would take up tot two week and I was booked in to see the surgeon then. So commenced the waiting.

To be continued.

C (part 1)

I have been meaning to write about my encounter with cancer for a while but it all seemed a bit… current. After recent scan at the hospital, I am gradually getting a sense of perspective on the past few weeks.

This all started late in 2009 when I was telling my doctor about my constant bouts of diarrhea and abdominal pain. We monitored things for a little while and early in 2010 he had me do a Fecal Occult Blood Test, which for the lay person means, “Is there any unseen blood in your poo?”

The test returned a positive result so the next step was to book in for a colonoscopy. I had this on 16 March 2010, incidentally a week after I was retrenched from my job. The colonoscopy found a mass in my colon which the doctors could not identify so I was booked in for a CT Scan that Friday. Both these tests require you to be empty inside, so with a combination of fasting and vile medications, I had only four full meals between Monday and Friday lunchtime.

Two weeks later I was at The Alfred Hospital talking to a colorectal surgeon who said that I had a large “mass” located in or near my appendix which required an operation called a right hemicolectomy, which means they remove the right ‘ascending” part of my colon and then join my small intestine and colon back together. Simple really, like plumbing… or leatherwork.

I was designated a Level 1 patient which means that I should have my operation within a month. I ended up going into hospital on 22 April 2010.

The day of the operation I got to the hospital in good time, did all the required bureaucratic things and was wheeled into pre-op. After a little while looking at the ceiling and trying to remember if this is what being in the hospital nursery was like when I was born, at 2.00 p.m. I was wheeled into the operating theatre. This is where the fun started. I am “blessed” with weak veins. Trying to find a viable vein for a needle to enter and do its work is a struggle. They tried four times on two arms for my CT scan and it took three goes to get a line in so that I could get anaesthetic for my operation. The next few hours were a blur, thankfully.

I woke at a little before 8.00 p.m. The surgical registrar has a very brief chat and told me that what was supposed to be a two-hour operation ended up being a little short of six as the mass was quite large and had perforated the wall of my small and large bowels which made things a little more complicated. The result though, was that the operation was successful and I went to the ward for recovery.

Take it from me, people, hospital is not a place to go to have a rest. This is why they want you home as soon as possible. The first night was a blur of morphine, hourly “obs” (when they come and take your blood pressure, and other signs of life) and a cute nurse I would have flirted with if I hadn’t been catheterised (ask your mother). Surprisingly, post-operative pain was fairly subdued, and I didn’t use the morphine (I had a little button I could press for a bump) nearly as much as the nurses though I should. The tactic is the get ahead of the pain, instead of treating it as it appears, so I was on regular pain medication. Surprisingly, the favourite pain medication is paracetemol, morning, noon and night, with something else to provide a little kick.

Even after a night of little sleep, Friday was quite active. I actually had something to eat for breakfast. At my pre-operation consultation, I was put on a protocol which involved giving surgical patients additional high-carbohydrate energy drinks to see if they assisted in post-operative recovery. This continued after my operation and I had a choice of rather artificial-tasting drinks which I was supposed to drink twice a day with my meals.

Hospitals are also concerned that patients don’t contract pneumonia and deep vein thrombosis. I had to do regular deep breathing and coughing to clear my lungs and every patient gets to wear special compression stockings to help prevent DVT. They also said that I had to get out of bed so my circulation did not get sluggish in areas where it shouldn’t. So on Friday, I was temporarily unhooked from the various drips and lines and catheters, stood up and took a few steps. I then quickly lay down again.

Other than eating and having your blood pressure and temperature taken, there was not a lot more to do while in hospital. I had brought some books to while away the 5 or so days I would be in hospital. I had considered some of the more literary books that I had bough and had not yet read, like The Lovely Bones and The Corrections but I decided that my brain would probably not be up for metaphors of death and the complications of a dysfunctional family. So I brought along some Patricia Cornwell Kay Scarpetta crime thrillers. These are the books I read during my stay:

• Cause of Death
• Unnatural Exposure
• Black Notice
• The Last Precinct
• Blow Fly
• Predator

At the first autopsy scene I realised that these may not be the most appropriate books for a recovery from surgery, but it was them or 1998 editions of New Idea so I persevered.

Friday afternoon and I was sitting up in a chair reading. My morphine was taken away (sniff!) and I was put on oxycontin. The afternoon dose was fine, but the night dose cause me all sorts of problems. Every time I closed my eyes I started hallucinating. I would see things crawling out of the ceiling, strange monsters at the margins of a jungle, all the usual—or unusual—terrors. So I lay there, terribly tired from no sleep the previous night, but terrified to close my eyes. I should have called the nurse but as usual, I did not want to be a bother. Luckily, eventually sheer exhaustion took hold so when I closed my eyes, I went straight to sleep.

To be continued…