A process
This is an account of what I recently went through. It's not morbid nor is it light, it is simply a way of my processing events.
It's a general account for those who know me in person, alongside those who very kindly asked after me in cyber space. So be this an email or a posting on a site it is simply my way to get it all out in one go and get back to normal conversations / outrageous arguments. Basically, I am trying to prevent the elephant from getting into the room in the first place.
The caper started when I was invited to attend 'Bowel Class'. It's the day before your operation and is designed to outline what will happen. At the same they give you tips to ensure you turn up with the right kit. Things like slippers with backs are safer than flip flops whilst wearing surgical stockings and public nakedness can be prevented via the use of a dressing gown, stuff like that.
Now at this point I was led to believe that the operation was both standard and safe and that most of its recipients by the 5th day are back on their sofa's spending their afternoons recuperating in front of their TV sucking peppermints and watching people being butchered like hogs with B&Q secateurs in sunny English villages.
Having finished the class, we walked around the ward. I took this as a chance to assess how much emergency equipment is on hand in case things take a turn for the worse. It's a tricky ratio with me, on one hand when it comes to emergency kits, I like to see some but not too, many, otherwise I start thinking that they're having way too many emergencies and may in fact be farcical bunglers.
So, the next day I was sat on a bed in my very own room wearing a surgical gown and next to me was my bag full of the right kit. Suddenly one of the largest men I have ever seen came into my room carrying an enema.
It was not a pretty sight. Now while it may not be on purpose, I suspect that this nurse saves the NHS millions as anyone having second thoughts and thinking of cancelling their operation would soon get into line once they saw this guy.
Next, I was off on a trolley and asked a series of questions ranging from allergies to addresses and then I fell asleep.
I had a four and a half operation to remove my rectum and anus and to create a stoma on the left side of my stomach. The operation was keyhole with the use of surgeon led robotics. The surgery was described as 'Uneventful.' However, what was to follow was the hardest days of my life. And that of my family
Bowels are notoriously tricky things to disturb as such after an operation they are inclined to 'Go to sleep' this can last anywhere from 6 hours to 2 or even 3 days. That being the case the few days were not as bad as I had full strength oxy based painkillers. And despite some concern my state was adjudged to be still inside an acceptable time window.
By the fourth night the pain was so intense it was hard not to scream so I did. My painkillers were diluted I suspect to prevent addiction. Then I began to vomit pure bile and I had to have an NG which is a pipe pushed up your nose and then down your throat. You can feel it in your throat all day as it drains the bile into a bag.
Each morning the consultant and his trainees would be stood at the foot of my bed, it was brave faces for the first 4 days but by the 5th 'Alternatives' were being mooted. Reluctantly they gave me a 3rd CT scan, as I had already been exposed to a lot of radiation having undergone radiation treat prior to surgery.
The head of Radiology said that I had entered a severe state of 'Ileus' were the bowel stays asleep. At this point I was almost if not totally delirious and terrified.
By the 7th day I was in quite a bad state and being fed and hydrated through tubes that also had me on antibiotics as they detected an infection.
In the early hours of the 7th night. I vomited all over myself and my bed and I was frightened and crying in the dark when I pressed the buzzer. The lights came up low, from what I can recall three nurses took me from the bed and juggled the tubes on the stand and they help me take my PJ bottoms off and they sat me on a shower chair and turned on the shower all the time assuring me that everything was ok.
So I sat naked in the chair as the shower started. I don't have an athletic frame to begin with and now I am in my 60's so I must have been a terrible sight, I had tubes being fed through my main vein. I had a bag on my stoma, no anus, a catheter strapped to my leg gathering my urine and a bag of blood in my side that dealt post op measures I didn't understand. And a bag of green bile leading from a nasal tube, I had hit rock bottom.
Then I could see from my shower chair that my bed was being remade with crisp sheets and I was gently dried and changed and helped into it. That night I prayed, not to God, but to my dead big brother asking him to 'Get me out of this'. I would pray to God for my loved ones, but praying for myself we both knew was a nonstarter.
That night as I slept my bowels began to work and within 24 hours, I was an almost completely different person.
So while the consultant was happy with my turn around he ordered I stay in for 7 days to recuperate fully. During this time, I did my bit by walking the corridor outside my ward with my tubes on a wheel stand after 3 days the was no tubes and I was using the stairs to go down four floors to get a cup of teas from the Costa in the hospital foyer.
During my walks along the hospital corridors all I saw was young vibrant intelligent people from across the globe in one uniform, scrub or another and lanyards stating a myriad of departments. I saw mature consults with stethoscopes around their necks chatting on their mobiles in various languages.
I saw cleaners and porters of every stripe and gender, keeping the wheels going. But most of all I was able to speak to those that helped me in the night. I wanted to thank those who had quietly worked around my bed talking my stats or bloods and changing my drips and even wiping my brow, they came from everywhere including Latvia Belfast Uganda and even Bootle.
In short, I saw the NHS at its best and its importance to every community it serves.
As for me I will still need more chemo and stuff but its not all doom and gloom. If I was sportsman my race would be run. But as a writer I feel that I have seen more to myself than I knew about, and I sense it will add depth to writing.
Thank you to anyone who reads this,
