Dancing With Cancer Memoirs...My Kinky Colon

Ah, the joys of colon cancer...will they never end?? Eating is suppose to be painless, except when your bowels get a kink in them. Then it becomes a royal pain in the ass.

For weeks eating had slowly become a major ordeal. A simple peanut butter sandwich had me doubled over in agony. I'm looking like I'm six months pregnant and my onc. doesn't seem to know why. Or maybe he just doesn't want me to know. I had become frantic, knowing something was wrong. I show my belly to some nurses I work with; one newly minted LPN took one look at my belly and said 'you have a hernia, you're going to need surgery to fix it.' Sure enough, I research hernias on the net and also researched medical language from my PET scan, and sure enough; I have a hernia. It was in black and white on my PET results...why couldn't my onc. figure it out?? Why did I have to find out myself??

On November 11th I am in serious pain all day that got worse as the day went on. I call my friend Terri to see if one of her daughters could come take care of my dog in case I had to be hospitalized. I abruptly have to hang up on her and make a mad dash to the toilet to hurl. She freaks and calls my neighbor John (whom I stubbornly told her not to do, good thing she didn't listen). John comes over and Harley, my dog wasn't about to let him near me. He couldn't make a step towards me without my dog snarling viciously at him, and this is a dog who is scared of cats. It was agony getting myself ready to head to the hospital with a frantic dog trying to protect me, bless his heart. I decided to wear my 'Fuck Cancer' tee-shirt. If people didn't like it, they didn't have to look at me. I was feeling a bit ornery, I must say.

We finally make it to the hospital. I am in total misery. I could barely stand, let alone walk, but of course I had to wait my turn, there were others there before me. A nurse finally cause me back to take my information. Breathing was agony. I ask for something to vomit in and was given one of those pink bath basins. She leaves for a few minutes and I hurl and hurl and hurl pink vomit in the pink basin. I cannot believe the amount of stuff that came out of my poor stomach. She comes back, takes that one away, gives me another one, and sends me back out to the waiting room.

I'm curled up in the fetal position in the chair, leaning heavily on my friend. I was feeling sick to my stomach again and, not wanting to hurl in front of so many people, head to the bathroom. I migrated between the handicapped stall and a regular stall; moving was misery, but so was staying still. I crouched down in the stalls and hurled some more. And then some more. And then some more. A couple of times people came in to use the restroom and I crouch quietly in the corner, hoping not to be noticed and praying I wouldn't vomit when anyone was in there. I'm kinda shy when it comes to stuff like that; I don't like puking in front of people.

Eventually I went back out to the waiting room. I was no longer hurling but I was still in agony. Finally a nurse calls me back; I can't even remember what her purpose was, but thankfully she was merciful. I was continually told there were no beds available yet, so sorry. But I see an empty bed up against the wall and I point that out. She starts to say no, that bed isn't for patients, but one last look at me and she quickly changes her mind. I curl up in the bed and she covers me with warm blankets. I almost wept from gratitude.

Finally someone comes to draw blood. I remain curled up in a fetal position with my back to him and just gave him an arm without moving any other part of me. Shortly after that, I'm painfully put in a wheelchair to take me to a room that finally becomes available. My friend John joins me.

An IV is started and soon I am taken for x-rays. I am dying of thirst but they didn't want me to drink anything in case I needed surgery. So I asked my friend if he was thirsty, and the nurse, no dummy, got him some water and left the room, knowing full well I was going to drink some. I couldn't quench my thirst.

My friend and I are thinking I'm going to be given a prescription for some pain pills and sent home. Silly us. A doctor finally comes in and tells me I have a partial bowel obstruction.

I said, fine, when can I go home?'

'You're not,' he informs me, 'you meet criteria to be admitted to the hospital.' Great. Not another hospital stay. Not again.

So I sent my friend home with my house key to give to my next door neighbor. Harley knows them well and trusts them.

For the next four days I was juiced up on dalaudin and denied any food but ice chips. My surgeon does not want to operate because my immune system was in the tank thanks to chemo, so he wanted to wait to see if the kink would work itself out.

'Yep, you got a hernia,' he says after glancing at my belly.

No shit, I'm thinking. I figured that out for myself a few weeks ago. I'm feeling a bit snarly.

He will not operate to fix it until four to six weeks after chemo. 'It's not life threatening, and hernias are not painful.' WTF?? MINE IS, I wanted to scream. He obviously has never had one. It's not pleasant feeling your intestines gush through the opening in your abdomen whenever you stand up, or sneeze, or blow your nose. Besides, according to MY research, pain IS a symptom of hernias! But I keep my mouth closed; it does no good to argue when you're not in charge and totally dependent on others, and they had control of the pain meds.

I lost count of the x-rays and chalky drinks and more x-rays I had that week; I'm really surprised I don't glow in the dark. Those chalky drinks did nothing to quell my appetite. I also accidentally yanked out my IV not once, but twice. Ouch.

By the third day and two roommates later, I'm so hungry and bitchy I could tear off someone's arm and eat it. My roommate was going to sneak me some American fries from her breakfast plate, but I was too afraid a nurse or doctor would come in just as I was swallowing a big mouthful, so I didn't. I know how my luck runs.

Finally, I got the news the obstruction had worked itself out and I could have some broth. I'm sure the nurses were happier than I was...every time one walked in the room I would pester them for something to eat. Ice chips have no flavor and did nothing to quell my appetite. They graciously said I was 'persistent' instead of the pain in the ass I knew I was, bless their hearts. I cannot complain of the care I received.

Finally, On Saturday, November 15th, my surgeon cuts me loose and I can go home with a 'scrip for some pain meds and instructions to see him in a week with the c.d of my PET scan. Yep, I got one. It's cool to look at. I also saw a color picture of the tumor wedged in the big chunk of colon that got yanked out when I went to see my surgeon the following week. Way cool. Yeah, I know I'm weird:)