Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full

Many of you may already know that I've been home from the colostomy surgery for a week now. What a wonderful event that was!  I mean coming home, not the surgery. I did not take any notes while I was in the hospital to use for the blog, so most of what happened is not even a memory now, because my memory is better suited for events that happened decades ago. Most of the time, I'd be hard pressed to tell you what I did five minutes ago. Part of that may be because I live a fairly routine life, and I'm not doing much in the way of exciting things. Like my dogs, my life is mostly spent waking up, eating, napping, walking, eating, napping, eating and sleeping. Occasionally, I will read a book and fall asleep on the couch. And lately my life seems to revolve around poop, both mine and the dogs'.

The surgery went well. Right before the surgery, I was interviewed by all the doctors who were going to be involved in the surgery: surgeons, anesthesiologist, best boys, key grip, and so on. First, I saw my surgeon who inspires great confidence. She also has the ability to make wearing scrubs look like a fashion statement. Next, I talked to some anesthesiology med students or interns, or maybe they were actually doctors, I'm not sure. They were dressed for the part and they explained things to me, so I felt safe in their hands. They seemed to know what they were talking about, but they were in their late 20s. I think it's good that I was already on happy meds when they told me their ages. Their teacher showed up at some point, and they introduced me to him, then later, they told me there was a change of plans and another teacher was going to be there instead. I could tell that they were happy about this change of plans, so I was, too. I think the new anesthesiologist teacher doc was German, but I'm not sure. Apparently, I told him that I had been to Woodstock. I am not sure how I segued to that topic, but I'm sure it was smooth. Another surgeon came and talked to me, but I don't recall what about. I think he wanted to see the two blue "tattoos" on my belly where they would put either a colostomy or an ileostomy. I don't remember much after that, although I think I was still awake when they took me into surgery. They ended up doing a colostomy, because of the possibility of becoming dehydrated more easily while going through chemo. 

More memory blur after the surgery, as I don't recall going to recovery or getting to my room. The section of the hospital I was in is in the revenue producing part and mostly has patients who have had colostomies. My new ostomy bag was monitored to see if poop was there, and I was on a liquid diet. I don't know how someone can ruin bouillon, but they managed. One time I had it, and it tasted like pure salt, and the next day, it tasted like dish water, or how I imagine dish water would taste. After a few days, I moved up to a soft diet which meant I could have jello, which I hate, and cream of wheat, which I hate, and more bouillon, which I would have liked if they could have made it right. I drank a lot of cranberry juice and water. I wasn't getting a lot of food in me, so I wasn't surprised that there was no poop in my bag. Meanwhile, I started walking around the nurses' station dragging my pole of IV fluids beside me, trying to encourage my digestive system to produce poop from liquids. As I walked the floor, I noticed the large photographs on the walls in the main corridor, as well as the ones I could see in other patients' rooms. They were mostly nature scenes in Louisville and were really quite nice. I had some concern that the one over my bed which was titled "Grinstead Drive" was actually the entrance to Cave Hill Cemetery. If I had a plot reserved there, I would have felt this was a bad omen. 

If you have ever stayed in a hospital, you know that it is no place to recover from illness or surgery. For one thing, the beds are uncomfortable, for another, the food is bad, and finally, there's a constant stream of nurses, doctors, and clinical assistants coming in at all hours of the day and night to check on you. CAs would take my vitals around 1:00 AM, then some poor med student would come in around 4:00 AM to ask how I was. I usually said "sleepy" or "tired." They always wanted to check my bag, which usually wasn't much to look at. Another doctor came in around 5:00 AM and then a gaggle of med students, interns, and doctors came in around 6:00 AM. I think they came in those early hours, so I wouldn't remember to ask any questions or tell them of any concerns I had. Some of them looked very serious, or maybe they were tired, too, and some were smiling. I asked one of the surgeons if he had ever had a tube down his throat, and he one upped me by saying, yes, he had had to put one in his own nose, as well as give himself IVs, during med school. The young students with him said they hadn't had to do that. I think they should reinstate that process to up the empathy factor from doctors. Actually, I think they should all have to spend a few days in the hospital to see what it's like. I know some med schools actually have the students be admitted for imaginary illnesses and the nurses are not aware, so they are treated like the rest of us. Of all the nurses and CAs I had, only one nurse and one CA were not on par with the rest. Mostly, they were all compassionate, helpful, kind and encouraging. 

The walking and non eating went on for days with no ostomy bag success. I had even graduated to real food, some of which was actually okay, but my bag was still empty. After five days of this, I started feeling really bad. My head hurt and I was achy all over, kind of like a bad flu. They gave me pain meds and warned me about needing to put a tube in my nose and down my throat if this continued. The threat was not enough to make my body respond, so a nurse put a 24 inch (2 feet!!) tube in my nose and down my throat. Do not try this at home. She first looked up my nostrils to see which one would accommodate the tubing and the lucky left nostril was the winner. I don't recall much about the actual insertion, except that it wasn't pleasant. I had to hold my head at a certain angle and I think they lubed the tube up with something before inserting it. Every time I swallowed, it hurt. It felt as if a huge pointy object was in the back of my throat. Blowing my nose was a challenge. Behind me hanging with the IV fluids was a container which was full of the green bile that they were extracting from my stomach with the tube. The reason I had started to feel so sick was that I was blocked on both ends. So, they kept the tube in my nose until it started running clear and they continued to monitor the ostomy bag. I was also put back on a liquid diet. Since I was unable to pee on my own, I had to get a catheter. A student nurse was excited to watch the catheter insertion on a woman (me), and her response after it was in was that she expected it to be more painful, because the guys usually cried when they had to be catheterized. It took two attempts for the nurse to get the catheter in, because the first one was too large. Another time, I told the nurse that my port was hurting, so she let a student nurse deactivate it and reactivate it. Unfortunately, the reactivating part did not go well, so it had to be done again. I was grateful when the nurse asked the student if she wanted to try the second time and she said "no."  

Eventually, I was able to produce some liquid poop and the bile was gone from my stomach, so they removed the nose tube. A doctor came in to remove it and told me on the count of "3" he was going to pull it out. I think it took two yanks to get it out. When he tossed it in the trash, I took a peek. After he left, I fell asleep and dreamed of snakes. Later that day, they took out the catheter, too. 

I had several visitors while I was in the hospital, most of whom just showed up and surprised me. My walking buddies from work walked from the office to the hospital, and that was a nice surprise. Another friend, who had helped me through my brother's suicide earlier this year, came and stayed for a long afternoon and stood up to the CA who was bullying me. This CA needs to find another job. I would suggest something in a correctional institution. And two grade school friends who live in California and Cape Cod who were in town, contacted me to go out to lunch, but since that wasn't an option, they stopped by to visit. Another friend from college and his wife called and set up a visit on a Sunday. She brought fresh peaches and ended up making me a peach dessert using the the slim pickings of angel food cake served with my dinner. After she did her magic and added some vanilla ice cream, it was not only edible, but delicious! My best buddy neighbor visited more than once and her husband came with her on one visit. Two special friends who live in California called me many times. Local friends called or sent beautiful flowers, plants, and cards. My nieces and my sister-in-law also visited. My brother and his wife, who have been with me every step of the way, came many times and brought fresh lavender, a speaker/charger for my iPhone, and anything else that would make me feel more comfortable. My brother's wife went to bat for me over and over when things weren't going well, or I wasn't getting a timely response to something I needed. She was and continues to be a great advocate for me. I wish I had a video of the night when the nurse was changing my ostomy bag and my sister-in-law was there. Maybe it's just me, but ostomy poop smells like no other. It's rough. While he was changing the bag, she was doing some grand jete ballet steps across the back wall, spritzing lavender as she danced. 

A few days after the tube was removed and the poop was forthcoming, I was told I could go home. It took awhile for the doctor's orders to get to the nurse, but finally around 2:00 PM on Sunday (after 11 days in the hospital), I was able to go home.    

When we pulled up to my house, my housemate and my neighbors and their niece were standing at the bottom of my driveway waving strips of brightly colored, lacy fabric under a banner over the carport that my housemate had made which said "Welcome Home." I could see my dogs standing in the foyer. At last, I was home!