My Recovery From Stoma Surgery

Around this time, two years ago, I knew how poorly I was but I continued to go into work everyday. To push through such pain that nobody else could see. I often think back to my last day in the office, when I found myself thinking it was acceptable to work leaning over a bin between my legs because I felt so sick from pain. I was wincing as it came in waves, relentlessly. Looking back now it was crazy to carry on for as long as I did, as ill as I was, as if nothing were wrong. And that wasn’t the end of me pretending I was ok. I fought so hard, even after I was admitted to hospital, to get through it all without surgery. A fight I slowly lost.

Having my stoma surgery was the worst and the best thing to happen to me. It was the thing I wanted least in the world. The thing I dreaded most. My biggest fear. But it made me who I am. It stole my confidence in some ways and gave it in others. My outlook on my stoma surgery changes every day. It has done since day one. Some days it’s all a bit much and I ask myself why me. Other days I take it in my stride. I feel lucky to be here, stoma and all, because that means a second chance at living the life I’ve always loved. I’ve come to learn that my recovery journey isn’t linear. It has ups and downs which I can’t always explain, even now, and that’s ok.

For my October blog, I want to reflect on my recovery journey. On what it was like to come home with Wendy and to rebuild my life. I want to document what it felt like because it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and the thing I’m most proud of.

Christmas Eve

The day I was finally discharged. After what felt like forever in a hell loop in hospital, I could be with Adam and my girls at home for Christmas. I didn’t feel very Christmassy. In fact, that was the last thing on my mind. I was so sick. I was getting weaker everyday in hospital and Adam and I both knew that we needed to get me home so that I could get better.  We pushed (very) hard to be let home and thank goodness it was Christmas because that’s the only reason they agreed.

I was 6 days post op when I left hospital. I couldn’t stand (let alone walk) for more than a minute or so. I couldn’t stop being sick from the pain I was in and from the meds that did a poor job stopping it. I was wheeled to the car with a sick bowl, in pyjamas I’d been wearing for goodness knows how long. I was sick on the way home and then spilt it on myself (a very low point). I’ve never been in so much pain. To get inside and into bed upstairs took everything I had.

By the time we got home it was early evening and the rest of Christmas Eve felt like a merry go round of being sick, taking pain meds, trying to sleep…and repeat. Everyone else was gearing up for a normal (pre-covid) Christmas and I couldn’t have cared less. I just couldn’t see a way through. Everything was so difficult. I couldn’t sit up. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t brush my hair. It felt like I couldn’t do anything. There were no positives, except for one- I was home ❤️

Christmas Day

A day in bed with Adam by my side. I’m not sure what he did with himself that day. I was in and out of sleep for most of it- it’s so blurry looking back. One of my closest friends made herself late to her family Christmas so I could meet her newborn baby on Christmas Day- I’ll never forget that kindness.

Adam and I didn’t do presents, mine were ready for me but I wasn’t up to opening them. Or anything else for that matter. Christmas dinner probably consisted of a bite of an angel slice that I threw up later.  Later on I saw my family on FaceTime which was so lovely. I missed them so much on my first Christmas apart from them. What I would have given to be well and for us to be together in that moment. "Next year we will be back together again" we said...little did we know there was a thing called covid.

Boxing Day

The first time I managed to have a shower at home. For very good reason too- my family were coming to visit! Getting ready was SO difficult. But I did it and after some rest while my family were waiting, I managed to get up and get myself downstairs for the first time. It was so good to see them. We hugged, we opened some presents (at a record slow pace for me) and just generally appreciated that time together knowing I was getting better. It wasn’t long before I needed to rest again but there were lots of firsts that day.

The weeks and months that followed

After that, my recovery at home was slow. It was so much harder than I thought it would be. And so much more painful. It felt like there was no let up for weeks. For weeks I struggled to stand or walk for more than a few minutes without feeling like I was going to pass out or be sick. At some point I tried to change my bag and failed because I felt so sick from the pain and, if I’m really honest, I felt funny just looking at my stoma. I couldn’t come to terms with it. Adam had to step in and do it for me even though it was just as new to him as it was to me. Pretty quickly I decided my surgery wasn’t for the better. That Wendy wasn’t for the better. Every morning when I woke to my reality I found myself wishing things were different. I was mourning my old life every day of my new one.

Slowly but surely, we got through. I say we because I would not have come through it all how I did without Adam. I can’t explain how much he helped me. From the little things like brushing my hair to the big things like convincing me my new life would be worth it- and then when I didn’t believe him, convincing me to get professional help. He was by my side unconditionally. Wiping every tear (and there were lots), reminding me it would get better. There were so many little wins over the next few weeks. From opening our Christmas presents in January, to taking my first walk outside, to chopping some carrots- it all counted.

Those who know me will know that I went to my darkest place in my recovery. I didn’t recognise myself. My body was (slowly) recovering but my mind wasn’t. I felt like a shell of myself. And a battered shell at that. Months afterwards I was still in disbelief about everything that happened. It broke me when something triggered me to relive even a small part of it. I don’t know how I got through that now. Small steps I guess. Taking each day as it came. And I am so proud that I persevered. So that I could eventually see each day even more beautifully than I did before. And I have Wendy to thank for that. The hardest most difficult thing I’ve ever had to come to terms with. But the most I have ever grown.

Love me

& My Friend Wendy.