During the lead up to my stoma surgery I had two hospital admissions. My first was full of false hopes and during my second, I faced my biggest fear and met Wendy. For my September blog, I’m going to write about my first admission, during which I was accompanied by my not so good friend: denial.
The hospital porter insisted on wheeling me from A&E up to the ward in a wheelchair and I felt like a fraud the whole way. I got to the double doors to the ward and insisted (harder) that I could walk from there. I think this sums up my attitude during my first admission - denial, denial...denial. I had surrendered and I knew I needed help but I wasn’t ready for what was to come.
I was taken to my bed by a male nurse in green scrubs. He had a good sense of humour and told you jokes and stories whether you were in the mood for them or not. I perched on the edge of my bed picking at the tightly tucked mint green blanket feeling lost, alone and wondering what would happen next. Did I need pain relief? No thank you, I’m fine. Everyone else is so much sicker than me, should I be here? “Just relax and make yourself at home” and with that off he went. I won’t spend much time up here, the smell is already making me feel sick. I don’t like it here. Perhaps I can go downstairs again soon. Thankfully it wasn’t long before Adam came to join me. Then, we were both lost together but at least we weren’t alone.
It didn’t seem long before the colorectal surgeon came to see us. A conversation I will never forget. A conversation where I was told I needed to face my biggest fear. The surgeon drew the curtains around us and sat down on a chair that reminded me of secondary school. He explained that I should have surgery because of the extent of my inflammation and the perforation. Well ok, he can do a bowel resection (remove the worst part of the bowel) and it will be hard but I will get through it. Then I saw his face and recognised his tone. His eyes were soft and apologetic and his compassionate tone said more than his words. I asked him what the surgery would mean for me, which was my (indirect) way of asking him if I would need a bag...and he knew that. He said that because of where the inflammation and perforation was, he would need to completely remove my large bowel and form a stoma. There was nothing else he could do. And with that, my world stopped.
I remember that moment so vividly. I crumbled instantly, shoulders shaking, voice whaling, oblivious to the “sicker” patients on the other side of the curtain rail held up by the odd hook that wasn’t broken. I felt like I was being sucked into wormhole with everything around me far away and frozen in time. I felt so incredibly guilty for what I knew I was about to put Adam and all of my loved ones through. No. I wouldn’t do it. I would avoid surgery at all costs. And that’s what I told the surgeon. Whatever they could do to save my colon, I pleaded with them to do it. He reluctantly agreed to the medical team trying one last conservative treatment in exchange for me agreeing to see a stoma nurse. A fair trade off I thought. Wormhole avoided.
Everything slowed down that day. A day full of tears, confusion and loss. But I would fight it. I would fix myself. This was my last chance. Adam held my hand until he had to leave. The stoma nurse came and went. She gave me a pack with an elderly couple pictured on the front and inside was a stick-on stoma and a practice bag. That was the only thing I chose to put away in the otherwise empty cupboard next to my bed. I’m not even 30. I won’t need it because my body will be strong. I can beat this.
Nine days later and I'd had at least one blood test per day and near on 40 infusions. I was discharged, bruised with veins that refused to give anymore blood or take anymore antibiotic therapy. I was exhausted because no one can make themselves at home in hospital. I was put onto a medical liquid diet because my large bowel was so fragile that it couldn’t pass food anymore. BUT I DID IT! I got home without having stoma surgery. I knew I could do it. Wormhole...avoided.
My excitement soon dwindled. I spent my days at home dreading the hourly alarm telling me it was time to shot my next 90 mls with Sprite chaser. I should have been drinking so much more but the best I could do was three shots an hour...and even then it was making me gag. Think stale protein shake. I had failed at this diet before when I was much younger but I would try again because I would do anything. I couldn’t do much other than watch TV with my body literally starving hungry. I spent hours online looking for diets that would heal me in desperation, even though I knew no diet could help me. I told myself I could heal myself if I tried hard enough, so I kept going and I started practicing yoga nidra- relaxing yes...but hopeless for my colon.
I shocked myself at how long I stayed on the liquid diet but unsurprisingly, as the days went by, I got weaker and weaker and my pain got worse until I was ready to face my reality. I needed to go back to hospital and face my biggest fear to get my life back.
It’s funny because I talk a lot about surrendering but it’s only now I’m realising that it happens in stages (note to self- EUREKA MOMENT!). I surrendered at work because I couldn’t carry on pretending everything was ok anymore. But that didn’t mean surrendering to the doctors or to the treatment that I truly needed. In fact, resisting the treatment I needed and holding onto false hope out of utter desperation meant that I only prolonged my pain and suffering. Unbeknown to me, my biggest surrender was still to come.
Love Me &
My Friend Wendy.
Comments