It’s been a crazy ride since my last post of 2019. Little did I know then how relevant Sherry McAllister’s words would become – once again - only a few months later (see previous post). I never thought anything could take my mind away from the ever-present and daily watch for symptoms of a cancer recurrence. But I was wrong.
So, what has happened since my last post? Well, I recurred that same year, with symptoms appearing in early November 2019. I did my due diligence and scheduled an appointment with my doctor for a consult and CT scan. The paperwork was sent but for some reason, even though I called every few weeks, that appointment for the scan did not happen.
I was still waiting for a date when Covid struck in early 2020. People in countries around the world were dropping like flies from this new and extremely potent virus. And it had arrived here in our Canada, soon making its way to our province. It was March and I was feeling no symptoms by then so, weighing my odds, I decided not to pursue it for a few months to give this epidemic a chance to ease up a bit.
Covid didn’t go away. And neither did my gut feeling that I was in a recurrence. I couldn’t procrastinate any further – the pain began again in June. I contacted my doctor again to schedule an appointment and this time speed was on my side. A scan in July confirmed my fears. It was back. At least two tumours this time. By August I was speaking with my Oncologist in Halifax, N.S. and discussing surgery. By September I was meeting with him in his office for the official consultation, my documentation of symptoms and timelines sent ahead via email. And then the wait began.
Definitely not normal. My oncologist had me provide blood samples prior to leaving the facility. By the time we arrived home, about 5 hours later, there was a message on my phone to immediately contact my physician to arrange a transfusion. Normal is 120 g/L to 180 g/L. My count was 57. By that evening I was getting my first of many units of blood (last count between the first and last was 12 units, not counting the 3 iron infusions. Too much in such a short period of time (less than 2 months)!
(Note: It took nearly a year following surgery, but my levels eventually increased to a normal level on their own.)
Covid threw a wrench in the scheduling plans. Changes were taking place to accommodate the new protocols for prevention. I called frequently for updates – the old squeaky wheel tactic – and was told that I was at the top of the list. But there’s not much benefit there when there are no slots available.
November arrived. I was hoping to get in and out before the winter storms began, but it wasn’t looking good. And then the call came ….. Monday, Nov 2nd, 2020. A cancellation. Could I be there for check-in on November 4th with surgery on November 5th? You betcha!!
This was my 6th surgery since 2002. The term ‘major surgery’ suddenly took on a new meaning. Up to this point, there was just the usual remove the tumours, seal me up, and send me home. Not to be this time. One of the tumours had attached itself to the bowel and, as the team informed me, because of all the previous handlings during surgeries, trying to separate the tumour from the bowel was not an easy task. Nor was it successful. The words Swiss cheese was used as a descriptive term for the condition of this section of my bowel.
And then the words colostomy and ‘permanent’ were introduced. Wait, did I hear that right? I had no idea. No one had mentioned it to me in recovery. They saved that little surprise for the oncologist and his surgical team to share.
Little did I realize at that point in time that the cancer concerns would fall to the wayside. I hadn’t been able to eat and blamed it on the hospital food – which, I must admit, I normally don’t mind. Just the thought of food made me feel ill. After 5 days post surgery, I became ill. No nausea or warning. Exorcist style sick. I couldn’t seem to make the nurses understand that there was something not right. That I needed to see my doctor. I’m not a nurse, but I knew that what was coming out was not normal. My body cooperated and provided one of the surgical team with a live display. And that’s when they took me seriously.
The next day I was I was wheeled through the basement of several buildings to have a CT scan to see what was going on. No blockage, everything seemed to be moving along fine with the colostomy. Great news! However, the next scenario was that I possibly had a leak from the bowel. So much for the celebration. This was not a good thing at all. The next day I was traveling through the basement halls once again, but this time I went through the dangerous procedure of having drainage tubes inserted. Success.
I remained in hospital for a total of 24 days on a rigorous fluid and antibiotic regime. If this didn’t work, more surgery. Thankfully, everything came together in the end. I seriously don’t think I could have handled more surgery – either physically or mentally.
One of the changes that had been made when Covid had appeared was the transfer of nursing home residents to the hospitals. What had been rooms with two beds now contained four. And those beds were like revolving doors, with patients coming and going around me steadily. With the hospital open, visitors were steady. And so was the fear of Covid, not only by patients, but evident also in the faces of those caring for patients. In mid November, Covid was running wild in Halifax. The hospital finally went into lockdown. What a relief! The restrictions remained in place for only a few days; however, it was a nice reprieve from the constant comings and goings of visitors. I do have to admit that sharing a room with that many people resulted in very little rest as there was no specific schedule adhered to and patients were moved in and out of the room at all times of the day or night. It ended up to be a very stressful few weeks.
The positive aspect of being in hospital for such a long period (if there even is such a thing) is that by the time I left, the incision had basically healed prior to getting in the car to head home. And if you’ve been in hospital for any length of time, you know that feeling of joy when you walk through the door. The colostomy, on the other hand, ended up being a blessing and a curse. Without it, I might not be here … with it, there are times when I wished that I wasn’t. Thankfully, with a lot of time and familiarity, I am doing better with this new addition to my life.
Four (4) months post surgery.
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