Thoughts from the frontline - 25

And so I was on my way home. I spent the last few hours in the day room with my worldly possessions tucked under the table next to me whilst waiting for the visit from the stoma nurse. They had to finish off a clinic so it didn't surprise me that it was after 5 before they got to me. But my challenge before I could go? Change my bag attached to my stomach without any help. And I did good. So I could go home! Not being allowed to carry anything I waddled out of the ward behind T who had about 8 bags in her hands. Down in the lift and into the fresh air. So this is what it felt like. I was out in the big bad world. Now the first difficult bit. Getting into a car without slitting your wound apart, without tearing your stoma bad off your side, without making it all fall apart and hurt. Now I had been given a tip to sit on a pillow or something soft to cushion the bumps and potholes on the journey home so we improvised with a thick jacket and we drove off. I was tensed up like a cat being surrounded by a pack of dogs. Nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. How would I manage the journey home with all the expected pain? Every light seemed to go red as we approached. Cars seemed to cut us up all the time making us brake to stop numerous inevitable accidents. My knuckles were white as I kept hold of the strap with one hand and kept the seat belt off my wound with the other. Every road was a constant assault course of humps, bumps and potholes. Thank God for the motorway! And so I was home. Shattered after the journey and in need of a rest. I am just so glad I had T with me. I was allowed to sit in a chair and do nothing whilst she brought in the bags and settled me down with a drink and a blanket. But it was strange being home. Fantastic but strange. I knew that I had a long way still to travel but this was the next stage. Diagnosis. Treatment. Acceptance and Getting on with Life. Well it wasn't long before we took the plunge to go to bed that night. A night in my own bed but strangely hooked up with a long tube to my "night bag". Would I sleep at all now that I was away from the safety of the nurse controlled environment of the ward? Yep. Seven and a half hours straight. The best nights sleep for ages. Probably never to be beaten again! And so we went into my first full day at home after the operation. I got up, showered and went downstairs for breakfast. Then spent the rest of the day, well, doing not a lot. Talking, watching TV. A bit of reading. Eating. Drinking water and green tea. Leaving T to screen every phone call and, well quite simply, looking after me hand and foot. But even this was knackering and the odd 40 winks were required during the day so it didn't surprise me when I only slept through to about 2.30 am the next night. So I struggled into Friday already shattered and wondering when it would get better. Well Friday did get better in that I thought I could feel myself a little bit better but it was just a guess based on the fact that I was told I would get a little bit better every day. Fingers crossed that the "one step back" wouldn't apply to me. But I was already bored. There is only just so much "doing nothing" that you can do. Now don't get me wrong, I can be Mr Lazy as well as anyone but when you have to do nothing in order to "be good" it wears very thin very quick. I would have to let my body heal itself and I was just in the audience or perhaps a small bit player in this saga that was my life for the next god knows how many weeks. And the worst trouble is that even things you actually like doing become very boring very quickly when it's been ordered. And I don't think the sleeping only in fits and starts was helping. At least I had Saturday to look forward too. I was going to go shopping! Andrew xx