My mom had flown in from Jordan because of the dire situation. The following is a timeline to sum up my week long stay at the University of Louisville Hospital.
Monday, July 1: Mom and I check into University Hospital's ER around 2pm. It's a very diverse place, filled with all kinds of interesting people, particularly the man right outside of my curtained room who is handcuffed to his bed. I try not to look directly into his eyes when my curtain is ajar.
I talk to the surgeons, telling them I want the last procedure undone and to bite the bullet by getting an ileostomy. I'm sick of piddling around with my medications and want my symptoms treated surgically, even if it must be by the procedure I have feared most in my life.
It is decided that I will have a colonoscopy Wednesday to scope the situation and go from there. (Get it? Scope?! I know, bad joke.) I eat my last meal before the procedure. Try to sleep through the screams of a grown man who is afraid of needles and getting his leg cut off.
Tuesday, July 2: Finally get a room in the hospital around 6pm. Start colonoscopy prep around 7. This is miserable. 4 horse pills, around every 15 minutes with 8 ounces of water each time. You throw up from sheer volume of water consuming your stomach, in addition to the, er, cleansing on the other end. On top of my pain, and not being allowed to eat, this is just a bad day. Only prayer and watching the light-hearted show Keeping Up with the Kardashians gets me through (but mostly prayer, and my amazing mother).
Wednesday, July 3: More pills and cleansing, yay! Still in pain and starving. I get wheeled to my colonoscopy at 1pm. When I come to afterwards, I find that my ileostomy is scheduled for Friday and I am still not allowed to eat until after that surgery.
Thursday, Independence Day. All I see on my twitter feed is people either complaining about something trivial or posting pictures of their fourth of July feasts. Tempted to throw my phone against the wall. Nothing much about this day except a visit from an old coworker, my 60 year old, jive-talking friend named Alvin. You really come to know who your true friends are by who visits you in the hospital.
Friday, July 5, SURGERY DAY: I get wheeled to pre-op around 7:30am. Worrying that I will be one of those special cases who is aware under anesthesia. Trying to remind myself that I practically demanded my surgeon that this had to be done and done immediately.
I don't remember much from this day except that I woke up and was told the surgery was successful. They were able to perform it laparoscopically, a major blessing allowing for relatively quicker recovery. I am allowed to eat and my first meal post-op is a chicken and mayonnaise sandwich that I have since been craving.
Saturday, July 6: This day is fuzzy as well. I look down at my new stomach and cry, seeing a big meaty blob poking out (the stoma) and lament my once beautiful abdomen. This is for the best, everyone tells me as I cry about how ugly it is, and how ugly I feel. I spend the night throwing up my pain pills and questioning whether I did the right thing by getting the surgery.
Sunday, July 7: The morning is about as rough as the night had been. My clinical assistant asks me if I like gospel music. I reply that, Yes, I absolutely LOVE gospel music. A few minutes pass and I hear a chorus in the distance...a gospel chorus. A group of about 12 or so mid-age black men in suits walk into my room singing. This is basically a life dream of mine being realized. They sing and my cup truly runneth over, so to speak. There might as well have been a host of angels in my room. A scripture is read, I'm prayed over, and they leave, still singing the heavenly gospel tunes. I resolve that I belong to the wrong denomination and need to find a gospel church, quick.
The day from there on out is filled with joy and awe. It concludes with a visit from Louisville's quarterback Teddy Bridgewater. No need to expound because it was already written about.
Monday, July 8: My surgeons say my stoma looks great and if I feel ready to go home, I can. After a week in the hospital, I am mentally and emotionally ready to get the heck out of there. Physically, I am still extremely frail, and while complete recovery will take more than a month, I am able to go home.
|Snuggling with my Honey Bunches of Baby at the hospital|
This verse was read by one of the men from the gospel choir and seemed a good way to send me back out into the world:
He hath showed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?
Micah 6:8 NKJV