On Top of The World

The feeling of aliveness carries me well into the next day - I feel great (relatively speaking). During the night I am moved back to the ward where I sleep fitfully amongst numerous visits from the nursing staff. In the morning, I pluck up the courage to explore my injuries and paraphernalia. The operation was a laparoscopic assisted anterior resection - a deep operation to remove a low section of the bowel and rejoin near to the rectum (apparently this is the hard bit). I have a 6" main incision just below my bikini line (to ensure that I still look good on the beach). It's bloody but pretty visible due to the use of thick glue instead of a long zip of stitches. I also have 3 laproscopy wounds in my tummy button and either side of my belly. I have a stoma, aka front bottom (an early exit from the colon to rest lower bowel), but I can't see this because it's covered by a bag of runny, greeny-brown fluid (every bit as disgusting as your are imagining). There is a cannula in my hand with two lines - one for a fluids drip and the other for the opium (morphine) through a syringe pump under bolus control (push button for hit). Ah yes - maybe there's another reason why I feel good - it's a 'class A' feeling of being alive. There's a weird yellow pipe taped to my leg going over the side of the bed - I don't want to think where that goes - nobody warned me about that, but I'm relieved that I wasn't aware of it's insertion.

Mr T arrives early - he thinks he got all the cancer and reports it went well but it was long and difficult. He encourages me to eat and drink freely and to try and move about.

It's like Picadilly Circus: -- on top of the two hourly obs (blood pressure, temperature and blood oxygen), there are yet more nurse visits to take blood, reload the drip, infuse paracetamol and "hotel staff" (private see!) to bring tea, food and more tea. On top of this I have too many visitors and too many at once: Sarah and the kids; my mum; my elder brother and sister in law. I try to be chatty, but it's hard work and when a conversation strikes up between them - I can't follow it. As the day wears on, I'm starting to feel much worse. There is discomfort from the wounds and the morphine takes me somewhere else and leaves the pain where I was. I find it disorientating and get to dislike using the bolus switch for a shot. I feel sick. I can't read, watch telly or listen to the radio - it's all too confusing.

The physio arrives and tries to get me to stand up which I kind of manage (bolus before and after) but really don't want to. I had a text message from Nick a few days before the operation wishing me "some pretty nurses" and this physio certainly qualifies, but she is young, inexperienced and doesn't know what to say or do. I feel very tired and I just want her to go away.

It's lunch time and I find myself being taunted by some food - I feel very weak and it seems logical that it will help. I try some consomé soup which is disgusting and I can't drink it. I fancy some orange juice, but my stomach doesn't and complains strongly with acid reflux. At tea time I try a bite of cheese sandwich but I can't manage it. The nurse encourages me to try an energy drink but it is very creamy and very disgusting.

I begin to realise how much of the decision making is taken away from you in hospital. My bladder empties into a bag; my colon empties into a bag and any negative response to the question "How are you felling?" seems to generate a new drug. On top of the drips and infusions, I have pain-killers (voltarol), anti-emetics (metoclopramide) and anti-reflux (ompeprazole) drugs - none of which appear to help.

Some of the nurses are practical, some are incredibly sensitive and look after the person instead of the patient. As am tucked up for an uncomfortable night, talking to one of the Nightingale kind. I'm pretty low and I realise that the on-top-of the world has completely faded. She tells me how common it is to have a very good first day post-op and a bit of a down to earth bump as the long road to recovery stretches out in front of you. I'm very tired and I quickly fall off to sleep.