Bowel surgery

The four weeks waiting for the bowel surgery were long ones. It was a combination of apprehension about the unknow, whilst at the same time wanting the whole experience to be over and done with. Deep in my mind I also knew that when it was over I still had to face major surgery on my liver and possibly another round of chemo, before a final operation to reverse the stoma. I tried hard not to dwell on that.

It is also difficult to avoid the “what ifs” crossing your mind: what if I get a bad cold, what if the surgeon falls ill, what if there is a power-cut during the operation, and so on. In the end, it was an unpredicted what if that caused the problems.

At last the day of surgery approached. My operation was due on Tuesday 6^th June, and on the Sunday before I could only eat “light meals.” On the Monday morning, the laxative/energy meal regime began. The plan was to take 3 doses of powerful laxative and 4 high energy drinks at set times during the day. I had been warned by a neighbour that Maxilax lived up to its name, and he jokingly said that he expected to hear the results from his house! I think it was a joke!

When nothing had happened by lunchtime, I was surprise, and by teatime I was beginning to worry. At 6 o’clock I was sick for the first time, and by midnight I was retching continuously, but nothing was happening at the other end. That night must rank as one of the worst of my life. On top of being continuously sick, and suffering from awful stomach pains, I became convinced that they wouldn’t be able to operate in the morning. At 3 am we even phoned the hospital, and the rather bewildered nurse simply told us to come in as scheduled. It was a bad night for me, but must have been equally difficult for Masha who just had to sit, watch, worry, and clear up the sick.

At 6.30 we set off for the hospital where we were due at 7.15. Incredibly, as we entered the doors of the hospital I felt the first movements below, and rushed to the nearest toilet. Whether my neighbour who was now 7 miles away heard the resulting explosion I don’t know, but the relief was indescribable. In the next hour before the operation began, I had a further 3 equal episodes, and the pre-operative nurse reassured me that the surgery would go ahead, and that all would be well. He then went through the now familiar list of questions: name, date of birth, have you false teeth, etc etc.

Before that, Masha had left me in the day surgery ward, and so she faced the whole morning, uncertain of whether the operation had gone ahead. It was only when she phoned in the afternoon that she was told that I was in the theatre.

At about 8.30, the nurse led me down to the operation area where I was taken into the anaesthetics room. There were 4 anaesthetists present and they explained what was about to happen in a friendly and reassuring way. At one point the door to the operating theatre was open and I was surprised how many people were there, and how high-tech the whole place looked. 

        The next thing I remember was being in the recovery area, and then being trolleyed to the ward where I would spend the next 5 days. On arrival, the porter told me that I had the best view in the hospital, and indeed my bed which was in a ward of 4 did overlook Poole park, with the harbour beyond. The time was 6.30 which meant that I had been out of it for about 10 hours. I later learnt that the operation itself had taken about 6 hours.

At about 7pm Masha arrived. I think she was as glad to see me as I was her. She had had a really difficult day. Having left me at 8 that morning, it wasn’t until early afternoon that she knew that the operation was going ahead. She then phoned the ward several times to be told that they expected me but that I hadn’t arrived yet. Finally, at 6.30, they said I was there and that she could visit. Probably because of the drugs I had been given, I remember feeling on quite a high that evening. It was just great to have Masha there and to know that the operation had gone ahead, despite the problems of the day before.

The following morning reality set in. On nurse’s orders, I did manage to sit up and eventually get into the bedside chair. It was then that I realised just how sore I was, and how many tubes and bags I was attached to. If you are squeamish you might want to skip to the next paragraph at this point.

I had been told about the catheter up my willy and the stoma before the operation, and fortunately the catheter was inserted under anaesthetic. What I hadn’t expected was a tube up my bum which was stitched in, a drain into my stomach, and a drip into my arm attached to a bag on a walkable trolley. When the surgeon suggested that I tried to stand and take a few steps, I wondered if that was possible with all the attachments that I had. On a follow up visit to him a few weeks later, he laughed at the thought of me carting all those bags of unpleasant looking liquids around the ward with me.

Later that day the stoma nurse arrived and explained and demonstrated all about the stoma, and how to look after and change the bag. As I found with all the specialist nurses, she was kind and encouraging and offered follow up help should we need it. Apparently, many people are upset about having an ileostomy (The medical term for a stoma), but despite the inconvenience of regularly changing and emptying the bag, I have not found it to be a huge burden. Someone once described it to me “As having your bum in a different place,” and I think that is the way you need to think of it. Hopefully it will be reversible at some time in the future.

Over the next few days, I was encouraged to walk around the ward and corridor, and by the Friday, Masha and I were able to walk to the hospital café for a coffee. One by one the tubes were removed, which was a huge relief, especially when they unstitched the one from by bum.