Chapter 2 – Post-op and Home Sweet Home

An Ill Bloke’s Blog – Part 2

Recovery Process

Once back on the ward, first in Kemp Welch then on Mr Miles’ ColoRectal ward Wainwright, the slow process of recovery from surgery began. Sips of water only, catheter, PCA morphine pump, which I could control when in pain, all were removed and gradually I was able to get out of bed (painfully) and even go for walks up and down the corridor. Everyday it was two steps forward in the morning, one back in the afternoon. So feeling reasonably good before lunch, then deteriorating so that by the time visitors arrived mid afternoon/evening I was nearly always rough again.

Rough but at least clean shaven!

I had a few visitors – Nick and Marion Symes, Paul and Carol Raworth, and Craig Robb from Cheriton, Owen from work, Ian Lock my old friend and business partner (who had to be bear witness to an extremely unpleasant and violent vomiting session and leave rapidly), sisters Sue, Steph and brother-in-law Mike.

But every day, from Day 1, there was Sally, my lovely wife, ever faithful by my side and flanked by daughter Lizzie who has journeyed up from North Devon three times to date and taken time off work to be there for us both. She first travelled up on the Monday I was admitted, bless her.

Zoe – who drives medical equipment to theatres in hospitals from Truro to Papworth - put in appearances most days when she could get in (sometimes actually delivering so proudly announcing she was parked in an ambulance bay!). She’s also been a tower of strength throughout – texting when unable to visit. And Tom, too has never been far away, texting every day and visiting every weekend from London where he works.

The Big C

Mr Miles’ comment of “have you heard the good news?” quickly followed by “it is Lymphoma, as I guessed” met with a “that’s the good news??” from me. But I quickly realised he was not joking. Lymphoma is, in most cases, treatable, ‘curable’ and the prognosis is pretty good, certainly in comparison with some cancers that affect the bowel. What they didn’t know at this stage was exactly what type of Lymphoma but probably non-Hodgkins (the majority). A promising post-op CT scan showed that most of the tumour(s) had been removed, buying us time for me to recover properly from surgery before embarking on the chemo.

A haematologist, Dr Catherine Lowndes, came and explained what she knew from initial histology report on the tumour removed. Not all the details were in and a bone marrow biopsy would need to be taken from my hip to make see if any Lymphoma was in there too. More news would be available on the following Monday 13^th when I came in as an outpatient for that biopsy.

A lot to take in for someone who only a handful of days previously had been happily gadding about walking the dog and doing ‘normal’ things. Turns everything on its head somewhat  - phrases like “life’s too short” and “you never know what’s around the corner” suddenly become more poignant. True, being run over by a bus is probably a quicker and decisive way to go but having your life expectancy cut short from a good 20 years to perhaps a few months is still a bit of a concern and quite a lot to taken in when you’re feeling groggy anyway.

I have seen too many good friends die of cancer in one form or another – Dave Symes from bowel cancer, niece Vikki’s lovely husband Chris who suffered terribly before he gave in to a horrible brain tumour only a matter of two years ago.

But funnily enough, there suddenly come out of the woodwork cries of “I’ve had Lymphoma, got over it, haven’t looked back”. All very encouraging.

Home, Sweet Home

Highlights of the days leading up to going home on Wednesday 8^th October, a week and a day after surgery:

1. First fart (bliss)

2. First proper bowel movement (which then continued, making up for lost time)

3. Beating the physiotherapists to it by disappearing on a long walk when they came to get me out of bed to ‘start moving’

A 650 step exercise yard at RHCH Winchester - forever thwarting the physios...

4. Smuggling in a missing lightbulb for my anglepoise overhead lamp, only for it to drop out at 5am one morning, smashing into a thousand pieces

5. The nursing staff (except for one po-faced cleaner) who all wore smiles and couldn’t have been nicer

6. All my long suffering visitors, especially Sally who was trying to juggle her job with visiting me, being a one-woman media centre and look after our boisterous two year old retriever, Rosie

7. My first bowl of Rice Krispies

8. Facebook, twitter, texts and emails – I never realised so many people know me – or for that matter care that much about me – but they sent me messages and words of encouragement in their droves and I am so grateful for that power of collective thought. Definitely restores your faith in human nature!

Sent by Ria Edmenson, bless her, on facebook.

Lowlights not so many at all but vomiting up vile green bile like something out of The Exorcist and then the nurses attempting to insert a nasal-gastric tube down my nose into my stomach have to come pretty high up there. Call me a wimp, but having a tube inserted like that simply made me gag, vomit, choke, convulse, cry and panic beyond imagination. They tried twice and gave up. I just sat there and sobbed like a baby afterwards.

On Tuesday 7^th they told me that I would probably be going home the next day and sure enough I did. By 4pm on Thursday I was tucked up in my own comfy chair with a log fire, home made soup from a neighbour, Rosie bouncing around and wanting attention and a feeling of peace and tranquility.

Little did I know just how short lived that tranquility was to last...