This past October I had my first surgery. Not long before the procedure I had been thinking how lucky I was that I had reached middle age without any serious health concerns. Although my parents are very healthy, active seniors, they both had health scares in their 40's and I had surpassed them both. I think it is not unusual for your body to show signs of wear and tear in middle life and I was feeling fortunate. Then came the dreaded colonoscopy that revealed a very large polyp that couldn't be simply removed.
I remember waking from the procedure and in that fuzzy state hearing the doctor tell my husband surgery was required. At the time it didn't really register. I just wanted something to drink and to go back to sleep. When the reality hit I wasn't overly concerned. I had been told the polyp appeared to be benign and I held on to that.
Because this thing growing in me was slow growing, surgery didn't have to occur immediately. At the meeting with our surgeon I asked if it could be put off several months so as not to interfere with a month long work related trip to Kyrgyzstan. The surgeon felt that would be fine. I left that day and gave it very little thought. I am possessed with the ability to compartmentalize. In other words I can easily bury seriously worrisome things and live my life. On the other hand, I will admit to sweating the small stuff- those insignificant things that make you crazy on a daily basis. Like work, or house upkeep, finances or family obligations.
Now I need to share a little story about irony because if ever there was an ironic situation, this was it. And when I say that, for the most part, I can suppress worry about really scary stuff, I am telling the truth. Did I worry about the possibility of cancer, or the anesthesia not working, or serious complications? Well, maybe, a little bit, maybe subconsciously but not in any truly nerve wracking way. What did I worry about? ......the farting. Okay, I'm being serious here. You see my dad had the same surgery in his 60's and I clearly remember the post surgery uncontrollable tooting. It went on for some time. I remember the giggling behind his back and all the fart jokes. I was mortified.
Me? I don't really find farting all that funny. I don't even like the word fart. Yet I live with a man who finds it VERY funny and farts often, often unnecessarily. I don't know how many times I've said "Seriously, you're how old?" And my kids find it funny. My girls, in their 20's now, can be very earthy, particularly my oldest. She hoots over a good fart and isn't at all embarrassed to let one rip, even in front of her boyfriend.
My Book Club friends, particularly Mary, had a good laugh at my concerns. Mary has this amazing laugh, a loud guffaw that makes everyone smile. She was in agreement with the rest of my family- farts are funny. So, okay, okay I get that I'm a bit prudish when it comes to this topic. But seriously, I'm even a little embarrassed to be writing about farts. I DO NOT want to be that person who can't control her bodily functions and toots every time she gets up from her desk at work (in front of all her young co-workers) or every time she bends over. AND...I didn't want to wake from surgery to uncontrollable farting and my family laughing their asses off.
Okay, now here is where the irony comes in. My surgery went fine, the polyp was in fact benign and I was not in significant pain BUT, you guessed it- I couldn't pass gas- my ticket out of this place of torture and pain. Little did I know that all my years of repressing farts and sending dirty looks to my husband would come back to haunt me.
The expectation was I would be in the hospital for 3-5 days. I had my heart set on three. Unfortunately my body didn't allow that, bloating up like a beached whale. I looked about 7 months pregnant. On day three, post surgery, my gastrointestinal system still wasn't cooperating. The nurse would ask "Have you passed gas?" To which I would answer "Well, maybe a little." That wasn't true. I lied. Never had I wanted to feel the urge more and still no farting occurred.
At this point it was determined this build up of gunk bloating my belly needed to come out. Thus, the gastrointestinal tube was put in... while I was awake. Any of you who have woken from surgery with this tube already inserted knows that it is uncomfortable and causes a very painful sore throat. What you don't know, because you were under anesthesia is that it hurts like hell when inserted. A tube gets shoved up your nose, passed your sinuses and runs down your throat into your belly. It took the nurse three attempts, with me trying to shove her away and pleading with her to stop. I believe I let the f bomb fly more than once. Once inserted, the relief that it's over quickly disappears as you realize your throat is on fire.
The days passed and disgusting green stuff pumped from my stomach out this tube into a canister and still my body wouldn't cooperate. In the meantime, every day brought more injustices to my body- daily shots that burned, blood drawn in the middle of the night, medicines pumped in my IV that shot pain up my arm. I WANTED OUT. Please, please cooperate body. I was only supposed to be in here three days!!!
In the midst of all this, I wasn't allowed to eat. In preparation for the surgery, I couldn't eat the day before and post surgery I lived on ice chips. On day 9 my surgeon became concerned about my nutrition. She was considering inserting a feeding tube. It sounded abhorrent to me, it sounded painful and I was sick of painful procedures. I didn't care about my nutrition, I wasn't hungry anyway. I didn't care about my health. I just wanted to know if it would hurt. Her answer, "It's a little uncomfortable." Okay.... Now Hear This...when a doctor says it's uncomfortable it means it's going to hurt like hell. I was now an expert at doctor speak.
So, I begged for one more day and I prayed. I prayed my body would heal. I prayed the bloating would subside and yes, I prayed to fart. And around 11:00 that night something woke me up. I remember looking at the clock and hearing the whirring sound of machines around me. It was quiet and dark and as I came fully awake I knew something significant was happening. I felt a peace wash over me and just knew everything was okay. I felt the rise of my stomach and could feel that it had softened and was not as distended. I slipped back into sleep knowing my body had finally healed itself.
The next morning my nurse confirmed what I learned in the night. Later still, talking to my parents, I learned my dad slipped out of bed around that time and was praying for me. I was touched and thankful for his prayers and the confirmation that prayer works and small miracles do in fact happen.
In 24 hours I was eating again and released from the hospital. I am happy to say I did not become the butt of family jokes and have been able to control my bodily functions.
I learned a few good lessons as a result of my surgery. Nurses, like all of humans, can be kind or rather cruel. Pain is a given when you endure surgery. Hospitals can be scary in the middle of the night. Morphine makes you testy. The love and care of family and friends is crucial. It takes prayer to heal and... Farting can be a good thing.
(No Craig, this does not mean I think it's cute when you fart.)
VSL
No comments:
Post a Comment