The operation was justified

 

If you are going through this, then some domestic issues to consider. Those tight Armani jeans pressing on your stoma not such a good idea. Perhaps you may need to but some looser clothes, or have your current trousers shortened by about three to four inches and then wear them just under hips, reinforced maybe by a pair of braces. That was my rite of passage, And for those who thought that at least now you would not be using so much toilet paper as before….. err, think again.  

A month after the operation I did have one relapse, when I suddenly felt faint and found myself vomiting violently. Things had calmed down by next morning but it was only then that I discovered that my dentures had gone missing clean out of my mouth during one of my vomits. I’m not sure to this day what caused this relapse, except that I had probably been dehydrated while carrying a heavy bag for an extended period. After that, I always took care to drink a couple of litres of water a day sipped gradually between meals. The advice is not to gulp great amounts of water at once, not during a meal, and not too late in the day, or you will find yourself peeing every hour or so at night and losing out on your beauty sleep. Moderation in all things.

After 5 weeks I came back to work. I had wanted to return at least a week earlier. However, the relapse set me back and my return was rescheduled for the next week. The employers were exceptionally generous. They suggested that in the first few days I arrive only  in the middle of the morning and work just for 5 hours. By then I had mastered my driving. That was after trying out several emergency stops in my underground car park, much to the consternation of my fellow residents. It was a 15 mile journey to work but luckily I drive against the morning traffic flow as my work is outside London. Everyone in the office seemed happy to see me, although some of my colleagues were still a little concerned at my appearance. But that was because my dentist had still not had time to replace my missing dentures.

The same week I saw my surgeon. She checked my stoma, poke around my tummy to ensure it was still soft, and obligingly checked progress with the stitches decomposing in my bottom. To me they were still an irritation, but to her they were “a beautiful sight”. Within a couple of weeks, they would just dissolve and disappear. Promises, promises. So, all in all, I got a good school report. 

However, she had more dramatic news. A post-operation analysis of my uprooted colon revealed the presence of a category one  tumour. This suggested I had had stage one bowel cancer. However, there appear  to have been no lymph nodes affected. Because of this and because of the low level of cancer, my surgeon was optimistic. However, I was to have my liver and  lungs checked and I would be under observation for the next five years to ensure the cancer had not spread. Also, she had appointed a Macmillan nurse to monitor me. I was going to be quite spoilt with all these extra nurses. Despite the remote possibility of this cancer returning, I was delighted with the news. It confirmed that my operation had been a necessity.