Posted 7/20/2015 9:25 PM (GMT 0)
That was literally the most gruelling hospital stay I've ever had. For those who don't know, I went into hospital on the 9th July to have an ileostomy reversal and ileorectal anastomosis - join of the ileum to the rectum. It all started off so promisingly: sparkling sunlight, butterflies flitting about, rainbows, lambs gambolling, etc. I had the op on the 10th July. Suprisingly chirpy on coming round. Surgeon popped in later and told me the operation was a glowing success: the join was perfect and there had been no adhesions. Old ladies admired how I walked up and down the ward. Honestly thought I'd be out of there in 3-4 days.
Then all hell broke loose.
Next morning, most of the women in my bay were puking up. It was fairly clearly a norovirus outbreak, but to say the hospital was not transparent about this is to say nothing. Nevertheless, there were warnings issued to anyone who phoned the ward (as happened with my mum's friend). Needless to say, I caught the darn bug. I had a similar bug about a year ago, and it was a hellish experience without just having had major bowel surgery.
This time I could not eat nor drink. I felt constantly on the verge of throwing up, and did throw up several times. I felt ill beyond belief. I was frequently in pain beyond belief. I sought refuge on cold, hard floors, from which the nurses hauled me up every time they found me. How the **** I did not become seriously dehydrated during this period, I do not know: I wasn't even put on a drip! I couldn't take more than a few sips of liquid at a time. I tried telling the doctors I had a stomach bug; none of them believed me. I ended up becoming petrified that I was going to die inside that hospital. I had never lost the ability to drink before, and that terrified me: even if I lose my appetite, usually I feel like drinking loads instead.
Basically I told any nurse or doctor who came to see me that I was scared I was going to die, including my surgeon. She just said "you're not doing to die" >_>.
After a few days of this, I decided to finally accept I probably didn't have a stomach bug anymore. But I still had zero appetite for food and the only drinks I craved were cold ones. Except this was on the 3rd floor of an NHS hospital and I might as well have been asking for the moon. Warm water, warm squash; hell, the hot drinks were cooler than the cold ones. (I did eventually find out you could ask for cold water from the kitchen, which was actually cold. The first few sips were like nectar.)
I continued to have vomiting every day and dreadful pain episodes which Tramadol didn't touch. I became weak, and struggled to walk. It was so very different to my first surgery, and I couldn't understand why. All my doctors kept telling me was my symptoms were "normal" and that I'd had a big surgery. (It eventually took a nurse to explain the cause of my pain to me, which was to do with bowel nerves and the muscles not knowing how to communicate with one another. Apparently it was worse for my having had my stoma so long.)
Guys, I'm getting both tired and bored, as probably are you, so I'm going to wrap this up. I eventually turned a corner. I managed to eat small amounts of food and hold it down. Was weighed 8 days after the operation and had lost 6kg (approx 1 stone for English people). There was some larks and banter along the way, when I wasn't puking up, having paranoid delusions, etc. - personally I prefer being in a ward with other people than a private sideroom. Even when I was too ill to partake, I just liked listening to other people's conversations sometimes. Was lucky, though, in that I didn't get any single annoying bedmates - oh no wait, yes, I did, never mind. The most tragic patient by far was a 38-year-old alcoholic woman drinking herself to death. That's a whole tale in itself, tbh.
In the phase where I though I was going to die, I phoned up my mum one evening (who I hadn't spoken to for 3 months). I have made up with my family again, which I'm happy about: I'd rather have a rubbish family than no family.
Anyway, I'm home now. Half my clothes are soiled with vomit/stool (every time I hurled, I pooped my pants: the IBDer's curse). Ironically enough, I never even developed the one thing I actually worried about beforehand: butt burn. Well, that's not quite true. I started developing a bit today. Used some calmoseptine on it, and, Americans, I am converted. Wish they'd bring this stuff to the UK.
I'd love love love to say it's all over (bar the recovery). But in truth I don't know. My hospital didn't actually want to discharge me today because one of my infection markers were "slightly high". I told them I didn't gaf. No, not really. But I was clear about wanting to go home today. I didn't actually think I would, but a nurse gave me the all-clear at 5pm. Got packed up and waited for my parents to arrive. A nurse decided to do one last obs on me. I was amused until I saw my temperature was 37.6C. I was like, what, that's a low-grade fever. Nurse assured me it meant nothing.
Got an even worse shock when I saw my blood test results from yesterday on the discharge letter. My CRP was 130. My WBC and platelets and something else were also significantly raised. Guys, please reassure me this is all normal post-op stuff and it will go down to normal. Regardless, I went home today. Absolutely nothing short of death would have stopped me from coming home today.
Hi, by the way :p