Had to have a severe chat with myself – Day 19

Woke up feeling down and before I knew it I was having a full blown pity party with one guest – me.   Firstly I dreamt I was at home,  by the pond with my hubbie and cats,  relaxing in the sun.  Then I awoke to reality – the trundly noise of the water trolley meant it was 630am and I was still in hospital.  My granddaughter isn’t well – she has a dreadful cold and it’s making her miserable and spiking temperatures.  My daughter and her partner are brilliant parents but it’s so hard and with me stuck in here,  well it doesn’t help things.  I so wanted to be the hands on Nanna,  well I was until this stupid op,  we had her two days a week and even though I wasn’t in great health,  we enjoyed it.  So that played heavily on my mind.  Then the usual scan of the various bags –

Stoma bags – minimal

Drain one – minimal

Drain two – 300 ml

There is also a suspect blister on my scar which will no doubt erupt into something.

My consultant comes in at 7.20am and looks like I feel – sad.  I scrabble for my glasses and the light and we have a little chat but it was lots of signs and nods and phrases like ‘ this is how it is’ and ‘early days’.  I fear he is hiding something from me now as he is far less optimistic than he was last time.  It’s probably absolutely nothing to do with me,  you do become rather self obsessed when you are in this situation.

So he left,  and I continued to wallow.  BFG arrives with his usual friendly ‘Morning, how are you’.  I explain I’m a bit down and he reminds me of previous conversations where I’ve promised him not to look too far ahead.  To just embrace the day and go through the routines until my healing begins,  as it probabky hasn’t yet – my body has been too busy keeping me alive.  He does my obs – all perfect.  Perfectly well apart from my bowel,  I quite like having a bowel though and cannot imagine a life without it.

I drag myself to the bathroom for a wash and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, not good.  Bags and drains everywhere.  The regrets engulf me yet again – I lie back on the bed,  slather my parched skin with body lotion and fall asleep.

I awake to hear my little granddaughter is a bit better despite a midnight dash to hospital.  She has a minor ear infection but seems perkier today.  Stephen is coming up later so il have company today,  he will cajole me into walking around the ward so at least  I’m getting some exercise.  I’m reading a story about a 33 year old land scape gardner who fell from a tree and broke his back.  It was about his journey back to health – he had frequent meltdown and pity parties I’m sure.  It’s a good read apart from the frequent mentions of the ‘great jimmy Saville’ – book was obviously written before the truth was out.  Books about people who found courage in the face of great adversity seem to give me strength.

I have a visit from my lovely stoma nurse.  Now even though I have had my stoma for 30 years,  I never had a stoma nurse before as  I never needed one.  I adapted to my ileostomy really well as it restored my health and I had few problems apart from some obstructions usually as a result of too many roasted peppers and mushrooms.  Silly choice. But fistula are different,  horrible freaks that invade your body.  On saying that,  the body is a truly wonderful thing as on finding a leak in the bowel,  it creates a sort of channel so that the badness can escape.  The alternative would be peritonitis and possible death.  Anyway my stoma nurse gets me back on track and has promised to put me in touch with someone who has been through similar and is out the other side, eating, drinking, living.  I think that would help me.
So for now the pity party is over and a sense of calm resumes.

Little steps are better than none 

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