Recovery from bowel surgery

My recovery was swift and on the Saturday morning during the daily Doctors’ rounds I was told that I could go home later that day. What a relief. I packed my belongings, phoned Masha to tell her the good news, and awaited her arrival. A few minutes later a new Dr arrived and told me that he would like me to stay for another day just to make sure that my stoma output was OK. We were disappointed, but when the nurse told me that the Dr had come in especially to see me on his day off, I knew that he had acted in my best interest.

After 5 days, on the Sunday, I finally went home. They say, “absence makes the heart grow stronger” and in the case of Masha and the house, that was certainly true. I missed small things like having a cup of tea together in bed, and really appreciated them more on my return.

That isn’t to say that my stay in hospital was awful. The nurses and other staff were incredible, working as they were under considerable stress after 7 years of austerity and Tory governments. There is no doubt that without the skill and dedication of Dr Querishi and his colleagues my life would have been shorter and unpleasant. I am greatly in his debt.

That said, the experience of spending 5 days in a cancer ward was not an enviable one. The constant noise throughout the day and night means that sleep is a best short and irregular, and when you do manage to dose, a nurse invariably appears to take your temperature and blood pressure. On top of that I had the bed-neighbour from hell. He insisted on watching television at all hours of the day and night with the volume turned up, and constantly swore at himself, the staff and all those around him. Despite that, at times I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, as he was suffering from a stomach wound that was reluctant to heal. But how the nurses managed to deal with him in such a compassionate way in despite his hostility towards them, I will never know.

It was great to be home and to know that the bowel cancer had been removed, but the euphoria was dampened by the knowledge that I would soon have to undergo it all again with the liver surgery.

The next few weeks were a time for recovery. At first I could only manage a few rounds of the garden, but within 3 weeks I was back on my bike, and after 4 weeks we went to the Athletics grand-prix at the Olympic stadium which I had booked before my diagnosis.

Also, in early July, Lena and family came to stay for nearly 2 weeks. Because I was still recovering, they stayed in a nearby caravan park, but we met up each day for walks or visits to local events. For a couple of days Steven and family also came, so all 10 of us were together, One evening we went for a meal at the local Claypipe inn. It was just great to have everyone there, and to realise what great grandchildren we have. Daisy has suddenly become a mature and attractive young lady, who is doing very well at school. Rufus is as loving as ever and still gives his grandma and grandad great cuddles even though he is now 12 years old. Immy is as effervescent and full of life as ever, and like Daisy takes part in a whole variety of great activities. Isaac is just loveable and honest. His opening greetings when he meets me are: “Has your cancer gone Grandad” or “Have you still got your bag grandad?” From the mouths of babes…. It was really great to all be together and I’m sure it helped to speed up my recovery.

Early in July, I went for another MRI scan at Poole, and a week later we had an appointment to the oncologist Dr Harle. That turned out to be one of the low points of the year. She told us that the liver cancer had grown since the last scan, and that a second tumour had appeared on the other side off the liver. Since this was close to a major blood vessel, she thought it unlikely that the liver surgeon, Mr Armstrong would be able to operate. If not, then my life expectancy would be only 2 years. This really came out of the blue, and left us both quite depressed. Poor Masha hardly slept at all that night.

 Midway through the next morning, the cancer nurse Georgia, phoned to say the Mr Armstrong had agreed to do the operation. In the words of the song “What a difference a day makes.” Our spirits lifted, but the prospect of further surgery moved a step closer.

The next week was a busy one. On the Tuesday we saw Dr Quereshi for a follow-up on the bowel operation. He seemed pleased and talked briefly about the Stoma reversal procedure that would follow in due course.

On Wednesday we went to Poole again for a CT scan, and on Thursday we drove to Southampton to see Mr Armstrong the liver surgeon. He was a likeable man who explained the surgical procedure in detail. He showed us the CT scans and pointed out where the 2 tumours were. To us they were difficult to distinguish, but he explained that the original tumour could be removed by taking a wedge from the right side of the liver. The other had developed so close to the blood vessel, that it required the whole of the left side of the liver to be removed. He reassured us by telling us that this was a normal procedure and that the liver was the only organ to regenerate, and that it would regrow in a matter of a few months. He reassured me that the left side was smaller anyway. Finally, he added, “Oh, and while we are at it we’ll also remove your gall bladder.” Would there be any of me left?