It’s been a good few months since I’ve thought about my surgery and the trauma that came with with it. A part of me wondered whether it’s a good idea to revisit it after getting so good at forgetting. But the truth is, I want to document it. So that I can look back in the years to come and feel proud of everything I overcame.
So, my May blog is the third and final post on my second admission to hospital, when I met Wendy for the first time. I am picking up where I left off, on the 18th December 2019, when I woke up from the deepest sleep I’ve ever had. When I embarked on what felt like an impossible mission to put my shattered pieces back together.
Immediate aftermath
Everything is a blur after my surgery. There are things I remember but I don’t know if they actually happened. I remember coming round in the recovery room, in what felt like a bad dream, completely panicked and in pain. I was desperately grabbing the hands of the doctors and nurses trying to help me. I remember seeing two or three people around my bed trying to calm me down. Then my memory goes blank again.
The next thing I remember is waking up on the ward, to Adam. He was in his usual spot in the chair next to me. Just waiting, as he had been for hours. My goodness, it was SO good to see him. A surreal moment I will never forget. It’s the moment I said to myself, I did it. And Adam being there for me in that moment meant the world.
I noticed a present wrapped in Christmas paper on my side table but I didn’t have the strength to open it. I held Adam’s hand and I must have drifted back off. That’s all I really remember from that day.
I woke in the early hours of the next morning, maybe between 4 and 5am. Everything felt so still. I took stock. I couldn’t believe I had come through it. I sent a text on my #bowelbabes WhatsApp group with my closest friends to tell them the news. I did it. They already knew of course, because Adam was doing an amazing job of keeping my family and friends in the loop. I still look back on those messages and it warms my heart to see how much love I was surrounded by during my darkest hours. I felt it then and I still feel it now.
Loved ones
My mum and dad came to see me that afternoon. I was completely wiped out but I wanted to perk up for them, to show them I was ok. The truth was, I had no idea if I was ok. I had no idea what I was. But I was SO happy to be with them. To share their relief that I was on the road to recovery. No matter how long it would take. Everyday, every hour, every moment that passed was one step closer to me getting better.
Later that evening, I opened my cat puzzle (now framed in my kitchen) and plaque with a quote on it that I read often. These gifts and the carefully chosen words Adam wrote in my card are some of my most cherished belongings. I will keep them forever to remind me just how much we came through together. Not that I need reminding.
Painful progress
The pain after my surgery was the most intense I have ever felt. I had a fentanyl pump for a couple of days which I pressed every few minutes, even when I was sleeping. I was bed bound with a drain and a catheter. It didn’t seem long before they took the fentanyl pump away and started encouraging me to get up. That's when things got really hard.
It took me a long time to get out of bed for the first time. I couldn’t sit up by myself. I couldn’t stand or walk by myself. I could barely sit in a chair. That’s when it really sunk in. This was going to be tough. I was in so much pain. So much more than I expected. I was weak. Physically. Mentally. And to top it off, I couldn’t face looking at my stoma bag.
I cried a lot from this point. I couldn’t believe my reality. I couldn’t see a way back to the life I loved and appreciated so much. But I longed for it more than anything in the world. Everything felt so unfair.
Things got more difficult in the days that followed. I wasn’t being given the regular pain relief I needed so that I could eat and move without being sick with pain. Getting weaker and weaker, I felt hopeless and incapable of changing my stoma bag. I'll never forget one of my night nurses wincing when I asked her to help me empty it. That still hurts.
I saw my consultant the day before Christmas eve. He was worried about me. I told him I had to go home because I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t having regular pain relief. I begged him to let me go so that I could get better. So that I could be better looked after. He and the surgeons agreed...it was Christmas after all.
My first bag change (and leak)
Before I could leave, I had to show the stoma nurse that I could change my bag. I was completely clueless. Nothing I had been shown before had sunk in. I picked up the blue zip bag full of supplies I didn’t understand. The walk to the bathroom at the other end of the ward was enough for me to pass out. I changed my bag as best as I could. I wasn't sure I'd done it right but I felt so sick. So, I shuffled back to bed, the stoma nurse watching me as I passed her in the corridor. I collapsed on the bed and waited for the go ahead.
Not long after that, I had my first bag leak. Turns out I wasn’t so good at changing my bag. I waited hours for the stoma nurse to come back and help me. While I waited, a nurse on my ward gave me an incontinence nappy to press to my stomach- in full view of the other patients on my bay. That was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. I’ve never felt so deserted. Vulnerable. Hopeless. These are all feelings that stayed with me long afterwards.
Home sweet home
I was discharged on Christmas Eve. We waited most of the day for everything to be processed and by the time we left, my pain relief had worn off. I was wheeled down to the car with a sick bowl because I couldn’t walk more than a couple of steps.
But my goodness. I have never been so relieved to get home. My living hell became much more bearable now I had Adam and my girls by my side. And so, we took it one day at a time. One moment to another. And slowly but surely, we got there. Just as Adam said we would.
Starting with Christmas Day.
Love Me
& My Friend Wendy
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