Rough Night
Last night was rough. Dark-night-of-the-soul rough. Couldn’t get any sleep, not a moment lost. Just pain and discomfort interspersed with dementia-level personal crisis. I can’t explain why a live track by singer-songwriter Slaid Cleves being rendered as an .exe file ever once constituted an emergency. This thought occurred to me at least 3 times.
The vivid nightmare of not being able to walk when chasing the abductors of my children had something to do with reading about events in Israel, combined with my literal failure to walk earlier in the day. That specific nightmare was theatrically well shot. The one about a super high forklift with controls linked to hand position was just your average height scare dreamscape.
Blame the PCA, which is the acronym for patient-controlled analgesia – A locked box with a little green button attached to my IV pole. The locked box is full of narcotics. If you’ve got a PCA on your pole, you can’t leave the floor you’re on. The button is only for you, and you can hit it as often as you like.
I was trying to hit it about once an hour, but after not sleeping at all, you get a little punchy/pressy. I had nightmares the night before, but they were a little more mild - I’m flying thru my childhood neighborhood as some all powerful bringer of death – It was clearly a dream, but ‘we’re sleeping – let’s see how this plays out.
All of this to say – I wish my epidural had kept working, and I’m on the Dilaudid no-fly list. Not pressing the button anymore.
The other issue was that I’d already had a tough day before. On my second walk of the day, I set out to do 2 laps of the wing. Didn’t make it past a half lap before my teeth started to chatter. Then my legs started to shake. Full body shakes, without the usual cold feeling that comes with them. Total failure, followed by 4 hours of restlessness in bed.
The reason I need to walk is because walking is the only thing that’s shown to wake up the bowel function. I don’t get to eat or drink or get this damn NG tube out of my nose and down my throat until my bowels start to function. So I’m plenty motivated.
During the operation, they took out all of my small bowel (as in removed it from my body cavity) and detached it from itself. They cut out the parts with the fistulas in it and made 3 connections (anastomoses), leaving me with 200cm of small bowel (all of which it is best not to imagine). So we need to make sure that the digestive system they stuffed back in me is actually working at the end before we cram anything in at the start.
Into this scene of despair comes Karen. I’m going to skip the paragraphs I could write about how Karen makes me feel, because it’s another story that I get to read and write every day. She comes in with a little dance to cheer me up and get me on a walk, but I need to cry some first. That accomplished, we head out to do a couple laps. Then a rest, then 2 laps more.
She’s got to leave, and I’m left with my sullen empty ostomy bag. But my mood is much improved, and they brought me a pint of blood for my troubles.
I woke from a nap to a gurgle of activity – The stoma awakens! After 14 months of inactivity, finally some progress! And again, another 250ml a few hours later!
And that’s where things stand. Hopefully tomorrow they get this NG tube out of my face and let me start on some clear liquids. I’ve been talking about an orange Gatorade for about a year, and even hot tea sounds like a treat.
Last, I’ll share a photo of my sewn up abdomen. It’ll make for a cool looking scar. I’m quite pleased with it.
Love to you all –
~Ed