The Evolution of My Ass Part 5

The surgery went very well. My lead surgeon came into my room the next day with the good news. "We got it all. 100% margins." Yay!!!!!!!!!! Tumor has been removed. I'm cured. Let's go home.

But the universe had other plans. At first, everything seemed to be as good as it could be. Tumor was removed, margins came back clean, and life was looking up. They started me on a clear liquid diet. The next day or so I moved up to full liquids. That's as far as I made it. On Friday, my surgeon came around and expressed concern about my bowel function, most likely from an ileus which may just be some after affects from the surgery. But just to be sure, they ordered a CT scan of my abdomen. In the meantime, they insisted I needed an NG tube. If you don't know what that is, well, let me tell you it's a tube about the size of drinking straw, only much longer, that they shoved up my nose and down my throat. Completely, absolutely, 100% awful. I cried the entire time they were shoving it in and down me. So did my mom. So did my friend who was there by my side. And I'm pretty sure my surgeon was on the verge of tears before it was over.

Around ten or so Friday evening, maybe later, my surgeon walks into my room with some bad news. "Your bowels are obstructed and we have to do surgery immediately. Like right now." Oh shit. What? I just had surgery. So, there we go again. A mere four days after my initial surgery, they cut me open again to fix a kink in my bowels. Holy hell. So back to square one as far as recovery goes. Clear liquids, then on to full liquids. And then, guess what. Yep. Another ileus. Fortunately, this time that's all it was. Just my digestive tract dealing with the trauma. Another NG tube. This time, however, I insisted they give me drugs beforehand, to ease the pain. And no surgery this time either. At this point, we're closing in on the two week mark, whereas initially we were expecting no more than a week of hospital recovery time.

My mother, God bless her, was there the entire time. I love my mother. She has been by my side during the worst of the worst times during this past year, hospital stay being no exception. My dad was a total trooper. He went to work during the day and drove to Memphis to spend time with my mother and me in the evening. We had to convince him to stay at home a few nights just to catch up on some rest. My friends came to visit, and those brief interludes helped keep my spirits up. Again I reiterate that I know I have good friends, most especially when they volunteered to shave my legs for me. Two weeks without a razor can get pretty hairy. ;) I even had a few surprise visits from some old high school friends. It was great seeing them and catching up. Although one (whose name shall remain anonymous) brought these unbelievably delicious looking doughnuts which I couldn't eat. My hospital guests, however, devoured them - and right in front of me at that.  Okay, so maybe my friends aren't that nice after all...

But I digress. Back to hospital hell. As it turns out, if you have C-Diff once, your chances of getting it again goes way up. It's just one of those things. And with the antibiotics they used to prevent infections from surgery, I ended up with yet another case of it. C-Diff is highly contagious, and I was put in quarantine, which meant I couldn't leave my room at all, not even for strolls down the corridor. They called in an infectious disease doctor, that I swear, looked like the perfect example of "the mad scientist" - think Doc Brown in Back to the Future.

Cabin Fever set in rather quickly. I was pretty sure I was going to lose my mind in very dramatic fashion, and start clawing at the door like a caged animal. Practically every single nurse on that floor had been assigned to me at some point. I was getting a reputation as the patient who just won't leave, though I promise it wasn't by choice. Never take your nurses for granted. They work their butts off and many times for ungrateful patients or hurried doctors. I got to trade places with one of the newbies for a moment, and held HER hand as she cried (just a little) from the stress of the job. We've all been there.

21 Days Later.
February 14, 2015 I was released from my prison and sent home. It was absolutely the best Valentine's present I could have asked for. A new chapter in my life was just beginning.

Author's Note - Anonymous doughnut bearing friend has since redeemed herself by sending me a fantastic selection of books to read. I hope you're reading this, dear. And thank you.

Also, I want to say thank you to all of you who have been following my story so far. I feel like much of this has perhaps been rushed, and I apologize. It's that part of me that wants to catch everyone up to speed, but in a hurry to fast forward in time to now. Writing of the past is sometimes hard when there is so much going on in the present that I want to express. So forgive me. But I sincerely appreciate the encouragement I have been given. Over the course of writing this blog, there have been times when I have gotten quite emotional writing it, remembering some of the most difficult times of my life thus far.  I have tried to interject some lightheartedness into my story, but this is in no way meant to diminish anyone's struggle with cancer or other disease. For me, humor has been a way to cope with the dark times, and I hope that it is taken that way.

As always, thanks for listening.
Jennifer