#28

Life starts to become a little more normal every day.  There’s major itching going on so I know that my incisions are healing.  The stress of not knowing about the results of the pathology is tangible but there isn’t much that I can do about that.  Every few days I call the patient navigator to see if there are any results yet, and each time the answer is, “Not yet.” We’ll just have to wait for the news but it isn’t easy on everyone that’s involved.

Sep 28: Our son and his family are in town for a wedding and Mike and I will be looking after their 2 year old.  I can’t lift him, but we can snuggle.  This is the day we also have our Vegas trip friends and their 3 kids (plus one girlfriend) over for dinner.  I don’t know how I thought I’d be okay to do a dinner for 10, but somehow it works out and I don’t do the dishes!

Sep 29: The band has been booked to play at Lake Ontario Park today.  That’s a one hour gig for the first annual Family Cycle Sunday and we’re going on as the second act starting at 11 a.m.  The plan is to meet at the park around 9 to get set up and organized.  I can’t carry much of anything since it’s just 10 days since surgery.  I have Mike bring along a stool just in case I have to sit down between songs, but I should be okay . . . I hope!  Getting through the songs isn’t as easy as I think it will be.  I don’t have the stamina or strength in my voice yet and I’m glad when it’s done.  That afternoon all I want to do is sit around and doze.  Maybe doing so much so soon wasn’t a good idea but it’s too late to worry about that now.

Sep 30:  The broker of our office has called a special meeting this morning.  Today we find out that Prudential Real Estate has been bought up by Royal LePage in Belleville.  We are no longer in business and we have until 4 p.m. to sign over to the new owner to keep our license active.  There have been a lot of changes in my life this year.  This is just one more challenge.

At the end of the meeting I check my phone and the patient navigator has left me a message.  The results are in!  I can hardly dial the number.  I get her voice mail.  For the next three hours I try to call without reaching her.  Finally, around 4 I get through.  Heart thumping loudly, I ask, “Should I be laughing or crying?” 

#27

Sunday morning finds me more rested than I’ve been since the operation.  Sleeping in our bed, in our house, with my family has made all the difference.  There is still some pain and I can tell that some muscles have been disturbed, but it’s bearable. I don’t bother to fill the prescription for pain pills that I brought home from the hospital.  If I need it, it can be filled later.

*Nothing exciting happens for the morning.  The gas bubbles are still moving around in my bowel, and later in the afternoon I get the urge to go.  I sit and wait patiently for gravity to work because I’m so scared to push my bowel; I’m afraid I’ll pop a staple or a stitch or burst something inside.  Something happens. I hear something hit the water.  When I look down I feel like fainting.  It’s a massive blood clot!  Good grief, is everything alright inside me? Is that from when they cut me?  I don’t tell Mike about what I’ve passed, but I’m a bit worried about it.

Later that day I get the urge again.  This time it’s multiple clots and I’m really scared that something might be wrong, but I’ll wait and see. When the third urge hits me, I actually pass some stool.  It's not like any stool I've seen before but more like little oblong cocoons; but it's not blood! The relief is immediate.  Whew, it took over 4 days, but now my body is working properly.  I keep watch for any more blood, especially any fresh red liquid, but nothing else shows up. Everything is functional and I feel like I’ve won the jackpot. Now if only I can get good news about my pathology; that would be the icing on the cake.  Why does it take so long to get the results?  The next few weeks of waiting is going to drive me crazy.

#26  Sep 21^st Home!

I call Mike and let him know that he can come and get me any time now.  Within a half hour Tina arrives saying “Dad’s waiting in the car downstairs.” and we load up all my belongings.  There’s my computer, movies, my suitcase of clothes and toiletries, my pillow, some gifts: it seems like a lot of things to me.  Because I can walk but I’m not allowed to carry anything heavy, we use the provided wheel chair like a wagon.  Loaded and ready, we head down the hall.  I feel liberated, free from confinement and don’t even say goodbye to many people.  How rude!  I’m just too excited to be heading home. Down the elevator and out the front we go.  Mike is there holding the car door open for me. 

After feeling so strong and successful in hospital, the real world is a bit of a shock to my system.  I take a formidable amount of time to ease myself onto the seat in the Pathfinder and luckily I have my pillow from home. It’s now pressed into service as a cushion for my tummy where the seat belt is sitting. Once we start off, my abdomen feels every last pot hole, pebble and bump on the pavement. Not so self assured now, are you Jude.

Mike is being careful and driving slower than any other vehicle on the road today, but it still hurts me to bounce along, even in this comfortable car. Usually it would take 20 minutes or so to drive home, but this afternoon it seems interminable.  Once at home I set myself up on the sofa, surrounded by pillows and determine that I really won’t do much of anything today. The laundry I brought home with me will wait, and so will the unpacking. 

After a light dinner Mike and Tina are discussing who should be doing up the dishes.  This is too much for me.  I limp my way to the kitchen and propping my elbows up on the edge, proceed to wash up the few items in the sink. Tears start to well up. For some reason every little thing seems to bother me.  I just want to cry, quietly, without a big fuss, just a nice soft teary cry.  It’s probably just hormones or being so tired and sore. Maybe it’s the jangled nerves created by waiting for news about my cancer.  It’s going to be a long two weeks or so until I hear something.

By 9 that night I’m more than ready for bed and try to rest so I can get back to normal.  It’s good to be home.

#25

My hand is feeling really sore from the attempted I.V. flush last night and I ask the day nurse about it.  She says that it should have been removed last night and proceeds to do so.  It’s such a relief to have that taken out of my hand. It’s still really sore and there’s a hard lump formed.

A different doctor is doing rounds this morning and after examining my abdomen he lets me know that all things considered, I might be going home today.  Halleluiah!  That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.  Because of this there’s another great piece of news.  I don’t have to get the Heparin injection. Yeah!  Now if only my bowel would do what it should, all the points will be in order.

I head out for another walk through the hall.  When I get back to my room there’s a notice posted on the doorway about a Contact Precaution.  Gowns, gloves and masks are required to enter the room.  Are you kidding me?  It seems that my new roommate is under quarantine because of her diarrhea; so what does that mean for me?  I share a room with this woman and I want to go home today not get quarantined.  I feel like I'm being harsh. It's not her fault but I’m frustrated and a bit angry.  What am I supposed to do?  Where am I supposed to be all morning? The doctor on duty suggests that I spend my time in the sun room at the end of the hall.  He can’t be serious. I even have to leave the ward and go out by the elevators to use a public bathroom.

Cleaning staff have been scrubbing and disinfecting for an hour and the nurse has drawn the privacy curtain between the two beds. Finally I’m allowed to go in to pack up my belongings.  As soon as the doctor signs the paperwork I’ll be allowed to leave . . . and I hope it’s soon.

Right after lunch the nurse tells me that I have been cleared to go home.  She gives me a speech about coming back to emergency if I have any bleeding, nausea, vomiting or several other conditions that I won’t remember as soon as I walk out of here.  It seems that because the doctor could hear gas rumbling around in my bowel during his examination that things were moving well enough for my release.  

When my nurse comes in a few minutes later I ask her the question that’s been eating me up inside.  “Is there any report on my pathology yet?  Do we know if I have to have chemo?”  She’ll check that for me and let me know as soon as she can.  When she returns I don’t see a beaming smile, but she’s not the one who really has to know about this.  “It’s still processing, so no answers yet.  It usually takes 2 to 3 weeks to get any results.”  Waiting is never easy!

#24

My sister comes to see me and brings along some movies I can watch on my computer.   While we’re talking the physiotherapist comes in and advises that I have to do some stairs with her just to show that I am able to move and function at home.  We walk to the stairwell and I hold the railing, brace myself, and go up 5 steps, turn around and come back down.  She seems happy with my mobility and that makes me smile. There it is, more success!

I enjoy having the room to myself and spread the time between watching a few minutes of a movie and walking with ever increasing agility and mobility. With no one in the bed next to me I’m free to open up the privacy curtains and look out over the lake.  It’s such a great view from up here. I can see sail boards, kites, boats and joggers. 

I have a student nurse for the evening and she tries to flush my I.V. site. As soon as she starts the fluid I get an intense pain in my hand.  She decides that it’s blocked, but leaves it in my hand anyway.  Is that a wise decision on her part?  I realize that this is a teaching hospital, but maybe the students should have more supervision.  My hand hurts, a lot, and she left the blocked tubing in my vein.  At this moment I don't have a lot of confidence in her choice.  I'll follow it up with another nurse tomorrow.

  Things get a bit rougher later that night.  I get a new roommate who is suffering with diarrhea and multiple post-op abscesses.  The poor woman has been through a lot of problems lately and calls for the nurse all night long.  No one gets much sleep.

Saturday morning during one of my sojourns I meet a woman who is carefully making her way along the hall.  As we chat, she tells me that she had a resection done on Tuesday afternoon.  That’s the same surgery as mine. I’ve met a kindred spirit, of sorts.  She seems to be having a hard time with her steps so I offer my arm. “Come on girl, we can do this together!”  I feel bad for her in that she seems to be suffering more than I am. At the same time, I feel fantastic knowing that even though my operation was a day later, I’m healing much faster.

#23 Sep 20^th

My roommate is going home today.  Her mom is a nurse and knows what to do for her, so maybe that’s why she’s getting out after only 2 full days.  I’m a little envious of her progress and look at my left hand with disdain.  If she can do it, I should be able to as well.  I need to walk some more.

Since I’m not using the morphine pump my nurse lets me know that I can get unhooked after breakfast and have a shower.  WOW, that sounds fantastic.  She also lets me know that I don’t have to keep recording my fluid output.  That’s another positive sign that I’m getting better.  Success is mine!  The fluid part seems to be working well, but nothing is happening in the bowel department, yet.  The one question I’ve heard from the nurses several times in the last 24 hours is, “Are you passing gas?”  If the answer is yes, it means that my bowel is functional and the surgery was a success.  I haven’t yet, but I can feel gas moving around in there.  Is that good?  I hope so.

True to her word, my nurse removes the morphine pump from my hand, but leaves the I.V. needle in place, just in case. I’m disappointed with that but at least I don’t have to take that pole with me everywhere I go. Freedom!

 I enjoy having the shower water run over my sore, tired body. I wash my hair even though I’m not supposed to reach my arms up over my head.  I ask you, how can a head get scrubbed if you don’t put your arms up over your head? I was careful not to stretch anything too much, and nothing hurt more than normal after my shower, so no harm done.

All clean and feeling much better, I dress in my pj pants and t-shirt that I wore into the hospital two days ago. I almost prance down the hallway in my new look, but by the time I get back to my room the waistband of the pants has irritated my stitches far more that I’d like to admit.  I phone home and ask Tina to find my new night gown and some pants with a looser waist so Mike can bring them to me when he comes to visit this afternoon.

#22 Sep 19^th p.m.

After my walk, I set up my laptop on the table.  I feel almost normal checking e-mails and scouring through Face Book.  Flexing my abdominal muscles and my left wrist seem to be the only things that hurt me, so sitting at the computer is good and enjoying a leg massage while surfing is even better.

Later in the day the directions have come down to the nurses that the massage unit is to be removed, and it is.  By this time I’ve decided that I don’t need to take any more morphine hits and my nurse says they can give me Tylenol instead. Getting up and bending aren’t so easy for me but other things are moving along nicely, and they’re surprised at how well I’m walking. 

My sister comes to visit.  I can’t laugh yet, it hurts too much, but she brings me a really funny get well card. There’s a picture of a leopard with a caption that reads, ‘Will it help if I lick your face?’  I’ll get her back for that.  She also brings a cute night gown. It flows from the shoulders, so shouldn’t touch any sore spots or be too restricting.  I can wear it once I get rid of this wiring in my hand.

Other company arrives too.  It’s really nice to have visitors.  It helps to pass the time chatting with them.  When they leave I go for another walk.  With each hallway circuit I’m feeling stronger, travelling faster and walking more naturally, I.V. pole and all.  

Dinner arrives and I’m served real food.  There’s a piece of white fish, boiled rice, and what looks like mashed up carrots. I take my time and gingerly nibble at the food, not wanting to put my stomach through too much too soon. The tray includes some hot water and a generic tea bag.  That tea bag reminds me of something I packed so I go to my suitcase and find the little plastic bag that contains several sealed pouches of peppermint tea.  It’s a flavour that I prefer and it seems to help with digestion after a meal.  Although I was hungry, I stop after eating less than half of the food.  I’m full already!  That’s crazy. Maybe I can lose more weight.  There could be a good side to this too.

Mike and our daughter, Tina, come to visit.  Having company is such a great diversion. Since I can’t wear my new night gown yet I send it home with them when they leave.  I don’t like having too many personal things here to look after.  I already have a phone, computer, clothes and my own pillow.  That's right; I insisted that my pillow came with me and it does make a difference to my comfort and my sense of control over my environment.

Tonight I can actually roll onto my side with hospital pillows surrounding me at my back, under my tummy and between my knees.  I’m much more comfortable this way and sleep comes easier too.