Hard work

Around the operation, I didn’t eat any food for nearly 90 hours.  For a good ten hours before I was rolled into the anesthesia room and 75 hours afterwards, all that entered my body was saline solution through two intravenous drips and sometimes further solutions with painkillers.  Towards the end of this enforced fast, I was allowed still mineral water, first safely spaced individual sips, then larger gulps.  My stomach, an innocent bystander not only in the surgery but also in the entire colon cancer tour, must have been empty like a teaching model.

Two mornings ago, I found two metal pots on my bedside table.  One was filled with coffee, the other with warm milk.  This was better than water but far from my idea of breakfast.  Drinking up took me until the coffee was cold.  My insides couldn’t cope with it faster, and my belly told me to stop, but then came lunch and then dinner, each a bit richer than the meal before.

I drank and ate it all and suffered for it.  I struggled with my gut, fought against pain and enabled digestion.  This was hard work.  I stayed in bed for most of the day, in similar exhaustion to the day after the operation.

Eating has become a deliberate process.  It takes hours.  I start by surveying the food, choosing which item I would like to ingest first.  What might go down the easiest?  What might cause the least trouble?  I eat in slow, disparate bites, every single one a decision I make at the right time.  After the first bite, digestion has to be kept under constant vigilant surveillance.  Output tends to be as fast and furious as input is slow and controlled.

For a moment in the evening I was struck with how little progress I had made today.  I feared I might have slid back.  I had walked much less than the days before.  I had ventured outside the main building but had to return quickly because Fred didn’t like the bumpy ground that messed with the drop sensor on the IV drip.  The pumps beeped in panic with every second step I took.  But maybe things aren’t quite as bleak as they appear.

• I ate proper solid food, little bits of meat chops and biscuits – besides plenty of liquid, purée and goo. 
• I got rid of the drainage out of my belly, and the curious bag taped to the opening stopped collecting any liquid in the afternoon.  The healing is clearly underway.
• I was relieved of the intravenous drip at night.  If I go down to the cafeteria now, I might be mistaken for a visitor, were it not for the white wristband with my name and an identifying barcode on it and the blue-grey sweatpants I bought last Saturday in a moment of weakness because I couldn’t see myself in khakis in a hospital for a week.

My food was ramped up from a milky coffee two mornings ago over lunch comprising four containers of liquids of different thicknesses to the next lunch of pureed meat and cabbage cooked to death.  Dinner tonight was a real meal, with meat, mash, a dessert and all.  I’ve paid for this speedy progression.  I’ve also not gained any weight.  Getting my digestion going and keeping it going against the protestations from hurt parties inside my belly took a lot of energy, but now things are rolling.  The weekend should be a real pleasure, relaxing times in a friendly environment.  On Monday, I will be released.