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Straight to the lede - I'm home! GI surgery team came in at 6AM this morning and said 'yeah, we could keep you another day, but you seem to be doing pretty good, so you can go ahead and get the fuck out'. That was my takeaway, anyway. Although they were much more polite about it.
They allowed me solid foods on Thursday. I know everyone wants to know what I chose to have first after not eating for 14 months. I didn't choose - I was in the hospital. They brought two small turkey sausages to my room, and I ate one of them. Wasn't really hungry, as they still had me on TPN overnight. It could be said that it was the most delicious turkey sausage I've ever had. It could also be said it's in a tie with every other turkey sausage I've ever had.
No, no, no - I will not turn this journal into a Seinfeldian rant on the qualities (and lack thereof) of hospital food. I respect you all too much for that. Plus my breakfast sandwich this morning was really quite good. Sadly, somewhere on a tray at this very instant is a BBQ sandwich that will never find its host - I was released prior to lunch.
The best part of the food really was the chance to interact with the folks that deliver it in a non-adversarial way. You knocked to come get a tray? Well, here's the tray! Happy transaction on both sides. Over fifty hospital days in the past 2 years, and I had about 8 trays of food total.
I'm on no painkillers at all since my episodes of Dilaudid-fueled nightmares. The pain I feel in my abdomen at the moment is akin to the pain of a gentle sunburn, reminding you of vacation. Although maintaining a healthy fear of sneezing or coughing is still critical.
Hearing about the lack of painkillers, one of the doctors suggested that I was tough. I'll admit to being stubborn. It could just be that compared to the past 14 months, the pain I'm feeling now is nothing. Pain gets graded on a curve. Someone tough could watch as that last IV is removed from the back of their hand. I averted my eyes.
So I'm allowed to eat what I want, but also must jam down 3 protein shakes a day to keep the healing going.
Also, I poop into a bag on my abdomen now. Readers will have to request details if their interests intersect with this subject. It's not that I'm hesitant to share. But as with hospital food humor, I respect both you and myself too much for poop tales. A journal is no place for shit stories. In-person is better for that kind of thing.
So I have a couple of appointments for follow-up next week to have drains taken out. About 6 weeks of 10lb weight restriction. And I gotta learn how to manage this ostomy. Go back to Duke for cancer scans every 6 months. Train to get back in shape, and try to get back out on the soccer pitch/basketball court sometime in 2024. No making up for lost time, but try to live so that less time is lost. Travel. Dine. Stay out until 1AM. Take my wife on dates.
Which means that hopefully, this journal is drawing to a close. I won't say that this is my last entry, but I'd not be disappointed if it were.
Thanks to y'all for reading and following along. I have avoided chattering too much in the comments, as I didn't want to turn this into a back-and-forth. I'm happy to have conversations with any of you. Just not all at once. While the journal text will be compiled into the future best seller 'Living with Enteroatmospheric Fistulae - An Owners Manual', journal comments will not be included. It's an editorial decision by the Random House team.
But I have and will read every comment, and each one makes me approximately 19.28% happier. Not quite what CaringBridge would have you believe, but not shabby by any means. I appreciate your courage in exposing yourself to the painful parts of this story, and your willingness to laugh at the funny parts. Keep room for both, as there's often little (if any) distance between.
My love to you all - ~Ed
PS - Yes I'm quite likely going to go eat some Hutchins Garage pizza this weekend.