the helper

Funny moment in hospital

4 a.m. -- early morning post op -- I need to take a pain pill but feel like I need something in my belly so I don’t get nauseous. I ask the nurse for graham crackers, which she informs me are very bland and I should get a side of peanut butter, some jelly, etc., so they’re more palatable. I debate over grape or strawberry jam, first deciding on grape, then quickly retracting and requesting strawberry. She’s sweet, 3 hours left in her shift and suggests trying both. She brings them and I carefully construct little PBJ graham cracker sandwiches without creating too much of a crumbly mess in my bedding, all of this in the dim glow of exterior lights. After I’ve eaten and pour my second apple juice into a cup, I shift and knock over the apple juice, spilling it onto the floor and my tray table. I don’t want to bother the nurse again so I get up and throw paper towels over the juice on the floor. I knew that wouldn’t remedy the stickiness, so I take a wet wash cloth from the bathroom and scooch the towels away, realizing I probably am not supposed to be bending down. I grab a hanger from my closet and while sitting on the bedside chair, I swish the wash cloth over the floor. The wash cloth is now gross so I flip it up with the hanger, very proud of my catch, and leave it out of the way in the bathroom. I return the hanger to the closet and dry off my tray table with paper towels -- realizing it will be gross and sticky as will whatever it seeped onto after the spill. I remember wet wipes in my backpack so I rummage my hand around in the backpack searching blindly for them. I finally find them by feel, pull them out, and notice blood spots all over the floor. Shit. I immediately think I’m bleeding from my surgery then realize it is my IV, which I have dislodged (second one — spare on the right hand), the left I had already dislodged earlier in the evening. Blood was spilling out everywhere creating a much bigger mess than my apple juice and I finally admit defeat and call for the nurse. She’s surprised when she enters — and probably annoyed. I imagine her thinking that she would have been much happier cleaning up spilled apple juice than my blood. I sheepishly climb back into bed, take my pain pill, and watch as she removes the IV, noting that I don’t require any further IV meds before discharge.

The next day we spend a god awful depressing recovery at the hotel that is connected to the hospital. The room is dark, the weather is gray and rainy and I’m incredibly sore. I had no idea what to expect as far as pain — but realized that it was two part. The first was the actual incisions and the soreness of those (internal and external), The second, which was immediately more troubling, was the gas and discomfort, swelling, etc., in my belly. I had done a bowel prep pre operatively and whether there was still fluid trapped in the colon or not, we aren’t entirely sure, but I was being zealous of drinking water. In fear of constipation (I’ve been impacted before and I think I feared that more than the surgery) so I decided to get ahead of all of it and take 3 Colase (stool softener) and a Dulcolax. We then were in a waiting game. My abdomen was distended and taut. The rumblings inside are somewhat hard to describe but I think at one point it sounded very much like a thunder that occurs before a rainstorm — the steady, cautious sounds of something to come. I also felt an internal water park of sorts inside of me. I felt the rush of fluid coursing down and then bubbles filtering their way back up. At one point it began to sound like a tub being emptied, the white stopper being pulled by its chain upward and water swirling down the drain. The water, however, didn’t come out of any pipes, instead it simply replayed this action over and over again. I did not sleep at all. I was in agony until finally there was a release — and for those who have survived the prep for a colonoscopy, you know exactly what was going on. No further description needed. This continued for hours. We were supposed to get on a plane and fly home. It was precarious. It stopped, however. It stopped and I lay lifeless on the bed, comforter and sheets twisted, pillows in disarray. I knew I had to get up, I had to shower and dress and get ready to travel. I was not happy.

As I packed up my belongings, sneaking heavy items such as books, journals, etc., into Andre’s bag (which was silly because he was going to have to carry everything anyway, but nonetheless — this infringement on his travel space is an annoyance that he let slide due to my condition, felt like a naughty act that I would be allowed to get away with). I then began reorganizing my backpack and pulled the items out onto the bed. They were covered in blood. I hadn’t realized how much of the IV bleed actually occurred inside my backpack. I laughed when I pulled out my book on resilience that I had purchased at the airport. Its pristine white cover was smattered with my blood, which I think, gave it a more realistic and authentic quality.