Being out on medical leave has given me a lot of time to think. To think about a lot of things. I had surgery February 13. It was an outpatient procedure. I was scheduled for 2pm and didn't go in until 4pm. My surgeon had another procedure to attend to before he did mine. Other than being starving and impatient, the wait wasn't too bad, having both my parents with me to keep me company. It was the regular procedure of poking and prodding, trying to find an easy entry way for the IV. That's usually the worst part.
Finally, they take me down and I talk to both surgeons, eager to get this done with. They put me under a nice heated blanket and wheel me down. I was a little disappointed because I had previously requested an anesthesiologist I have had previous times and formed somewhat of a friendship with her. Unfortunately, she wasn't working this day. The man I had though was welcoming and just as kind. Again, I went through the same procedure of propping myself on the operating table and adjusting my gown so they can get easier access to my body. I say hello to my surgeon again and chat it up with the numerous people that are running around the room. I like to make small talk and even a few jokes to keep the air light. It makes me feel better to, sort of a distraction. They lay my arms out as if I'm about to take flight and insert some medicine in my IV. They tell me I'll be relaxed real soon. I remember talking and then slowing down and everything turning fuzzy really quickly. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the recovery room.
Recovery right when I wake up isn't as bad as I remember the last one being. I was in immediate pain last time and I don't feel much of anything now. My surgeon comes over to talk to me to make sure I'm feeling okay. I remember grabbing his hand to hold on to. Not sure if I was scared or nervous but I know I wasn't quite "out of it" yet. He reassures me that everything went great during surgery. My parents soon come down and being to nurse me back to help. I sip on some ginger ale and eat some saltines, however the nurses don't let me eat a lot in fear of getting sick from the anesthesia.
I arrive home around 7pm with my parents. They immediately help me to my room and my recuperation begins. My brother comes home later to keep me company. My dog knows instantly that I'm in pain and huddles up in my armpit. This is the only time she ever snuggles with me. Weird. The pain still isn't too bad. They did dose me up with a bunch of pain medication before I left so maybe that's why I wasn't in any pain. Regardless, I didn't feel as bad as I thought I would. The next few days are pretty much the same. I'm taking the pain medication every few hours to keep up with the pain but then I only take it when I absolutely need it which isn't too often. I was more sore than in actual pain.
Not much changes within the next week. I gradually start getting out of the house and moving around. I decide to start taking walks to keep my blood pumping. Sitting down and being comfortable is still an obstacle. I constantly have a pillow with me. I realized I should have bough a doughnut to sit in but the pillow works just fine. I made follow up appointments with both surgeons in the middle to end of March.
During this time off, I obviously have a lot of time to think and over-analyze things in my case. I am a firm believe of not dwelling on the past and letting it be what it is but I have a hard time when it comes to the last year. I relive the hospital stay and the pain and the ultimate surgery decision I had to make. It feels so fresh in my memory and it's hard to push it out. To get it out of my head, I quickly think of where I am today which is pain free and healthy. It still sticks in my head what a hard year my family and I have had and what hard adjustment I have had to make and still making.
There's a woman about my age who advocates for the awareness of people with ostomies and living with one. I envy her because she continues life like nothing happened and she sees it as a blessing. Don't get me wrong, I believe that it was a blessing for me to or else I may not be here or I might be worse off than I was but I had a hard time embracing this ostomy thing like she has. Her story is different than mine and she had her ostomy much longer than I have and she didn't have a choice in the matter but it still bothers me. I feel guilty of the way I feel sometimes, that I should suck it up and stop fussing over it.
Someone asked me the other day, "If this surgery fails, will you consider keeping the ostomy forever?" The question hit me like a ton of bricks. I have considered the answer to this many times before but never for long. I usually quickly block it out of my head and think of something else. I do this because I don't want to have to think about it. I don't want it to be an option or something that I'd have to consider at some point. If this surgery fails, I have two more possible surgeries. If they both fail, then I will most likely have my ostomy forever, not by choice though. For over a year now, I have been told that having an ostomy will be temporary and I am still being told the same answer. Nothing has changed. My doctors and surgeons believe that something will work and I will be able to have the reversal surgery.
My ostomy saved my life. It made me healthier again and pain free. I am forever grateful for having the surgery but would I choose to have this for the rest of my life? The answer is no. I don't like having an ostomy. I'm sure many people who do agree with me but don't have a choice. The fact that I have a choice and have been told this entire time that it won't be forever, I haven't allowed myself to accept it. I am fairly used to it by now but I'm not happy with it. I don't feel myself. Many people with ostomies live a completely normal life, eat what they want, do what they want, and wear what they want. Unfortunately, I'm not there yet. I avoid many foods that are gassy or cause more liquid output. I eat a lot of bananas to thicken the output so I don't have to go to the bathroom and empty as often. I paid a lot of attention to food when I had colitis and I still do. I know what bothers me and what doesn't.
As for doing what I want and wearing what I want, I don't. I don't go out as much because I feel like I'm always going to the bathroom or checking my bag on it's fullness. I don't want it protruding from my clothing when it gets full. It feels like an obsession almost. I'm constantly touching the bag, making sure I don't leak or checking the fullness. I can't leave it alone. My family is beyond annoyed with me at this point. They look at me or tell me to leave it alone. I understand where they're coming from but I can't help it. They don't know what it's like. I don't touch it and fuss with it in public or anything. It's only at home, in the comfort of my own space. Clothes are such a pain in the ass. I have so many pairs of jeans that I don't wear. A lot still has to do with my weight. I still have 20 more pounds to go and it's frustrating that the weight isn't coming on fast enough. It's already been a year. I started mixing in whey protein with milk and drinking it everyday to get muscle at least.
My hair broke and fell out from all the medications that my hair is still growing back and getting back to normal. I got sidetracked. Back to the clothes. If I go out somewhere nice or with friends, I'll wear jeans and I'll wear spandex shorts or something underneath to fold the bag in so you can't see it but then if it gets full, it looks like a big tumor on the top of my thigh. I just don't feel comfortable like that. If I'm not touching it, I am thinking about it whether I want to or not. Sounds sick, I agree. But it's gotten a lot better trust me when I say that. I'm usually okay at work because I wear loose drawstring pants that aren't restricting.
So I'm rambling and doing the poor me routine. Think I can afford to do it once awhile. I make having an ostomy seem horrible. It's really not. It's completely manageable and you DO get used to it over time. I have the option of hopefully getting it removed and I look forward to that day.
I go back to work Monday. I'm nervous like always after being out for a few weeks on medical leave. It's always strange getting back into the swing of things but hopefully I'll get back in it soon enough.
Oh yeah, I am forcing myself to go to the gym tomorrow to sign up and get a tour. I need to start exercising. Obviously not to lose weight but to gain my strength back. My body has gone through hell this past year and the fun isn't over yet so I need to gain some strength and energy back. Wish me luck!
