How Embarrassing!

Well, the Holidays are behind us!  I had a multitude of gorging incidents…filling my body with chocolate, cakes, cookies and turkey~among other things.  This season only comes once a year, so I was not to be outdone!  Since I had gained 15lbs since my accident in November, I decided that Christmas was NOT the time to start watching what I ate!

Fast forward to January…I began the year by having a few intimate meetings with people~as that is one of my goals for 2014.  I soon realized that my belly was talking something fierce in quiet quarters.  How embarrassing was that?  I knew it made noise at home, but when you are in someone’s living room and only one person is talking, well that’s another matter!

Back to the drawing board with my food!  I will do it in phases, as trying to change everything at once is too much of a shock to the system.  I’ve decided to start by reducing my sugar, and using healthy chocolate alternatives.  I have to be very mindful of my caffeine intake, as it gives me Pre-Ventricular Contractions.  A while back, I made these truffles.  They were the perfect thing to start weaning me off the bad, and re-introducing the good.  Don’t let the ingredients fool you…they are absolutely delicious!  And if you are trying to cut out flour, it’s scores a home-run!  The recipe is from one of my fave food blogs:  Eat Recycle Repeat.  Here’s the link:

http://bit.ly/13faGfL

To Your Health,

Stephanie

Pampered Princess

Somehow, somewhere~a little birdie told people about me being in the hospital. That was my mother, actually. My Aunts and Uncles on her side of the family made it to my bedside. Friends of my cousins came to visit. Visiting the sick is a big thing back home. It really helped keep my spirits up. (Unfortunately, visiting hours are very specific and stringent in the hospitals.) I was the coconut water queen, and the mango maniac. People went to town to get me fresh coconut water, and climbed trees in the rainforest (aka “the bush”) to get me mangoes. At one point in time, I had 14 mangoes~4 different varieties.

I kept walking around my room to keep my body from getting gas. Once I tried to leave my room, and I got a big lecture from my Auntie. Apparently, you are a prisoner in your room when you are in the hospital. God bless TD Jakes and word search puzzles!

On day 5, I was allowed to go home. It had been exactly 8 days since the ordeal began. What a difference a week made! The doctor lectured me before I left the hospital. Apparently, a repeat occurence of SBO is possible. Each abdominal surgery makes a SBO greater. I was informed that I had to get to a hospital immediately if I had the same symptoms again. That was a lot to absorb.

A lot of fuss had been made to prepare for my discharge from the hospital. I was no longer allowed to stay where I was before. I now stayed with my Uncle and Auntie.

For the first time in my life, I learned what it was like to be pampered. My Auntie made me tea every morning at 6am and put it by my door.

“Steph, I don’ want you to get gas. Drink the tea while it hot.” From the day I got sick to the day I left the island, I didn’t do one load of laundry. Visits continued, and guests brought gifts of mangoes and more coconuts and other soft foods. I was in heaven!

I wasn’t allowed to leave the island, so I settled into the mindset of being taken care of. It was a really nice place to be. It was only after coming back to Canada that I realized my Trini surgery happened at the best place!

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Freedom Day!

Day #2 brought many surprises. I was able to walk a little better. I looked out the window when my exuberant nurses came to open my curtains. What a beautiful view! My room faced the mountains, and I could also see the beautifully manicured grounds of the hospital. The view was breathtaking! When I’d stand at the window looking out, people would ask me what I was doing. A strange look always followed when I remarked at the beautiful scenery.  Apparently, admiring the scenery made me seem a little crazy.

This was freedom day. I was determined to get all the tubes out of my body with the exception of my IV tube. The tape from the tube leading to my stomach came off my nose and I informed the nurse. She re-taped it saying that the doctor still wanted it in just in case. In case of what? Nothing was in that gastric bag! I didn’t lose faith.  The tube was coming out!  Ten minutes later, the tape came off again. Never complain about oily skin~it will benefit you when you least expect it! 😛  On her second visit to my room, the nurse commented,

“The mind is a powerful ting, eh? You mussy say you don’t want this on. The mind is a powerful ting!” Off the tape came, and the tube followed! One tube down, one to go.

It was also dressing changing day. I hadn’t been able to see what was being done before. Today I was able to watch as the nurse changed my dressing. When she removed the gauze, I gasped. There was a huge line from my sternum to my crotch-line (or so I assumed.  I couldn’t see where it stopped). I had hoped that the doctor was wrong when he described how he would cut. He wasn’t. Down another notch!

“Gial, yuh had majah belly sur-dree”, said the nurse.

Tears welled up in my eyes. “God, who would want me now?” Sigh. It seemed like my dream of remarriage, and ultimately “SEX” went out the window!  At least for a while. 😦

Sure enough, the urine tube came out that day as well. The nurses figured it was pointless having it in when I was freely going to the bathroom. The last tube was the IV. That alone was a major challenge. I don’t have veins in my body…at least it appears that way when you look for them to insert an IV tube! The IV kept plugging up, and new leads had to be found. By the time I left the hospital, I must have had at least 10 IV scars.

Who cares~I was alive!

Looks Like I Made It

It’s cold. I’m cold. My nurses put another sheet on me. Why don’t they have blankets here? Right, it’s a tropical island. I made it! That means God was not done with me yet. And someday, I can get married again, AND have sex! God IS good! What? You didn’t think I was serious about the sex? 😉

I was in the recovery room waiting for a bed. My surgery was about 4 hours long, but the wait for a bed was just as long. Every 20 minutes, it seemed like I was going to my room. It turned out to be 2 hours recovering and 3 hours bed wait. I was getting fed through a tube, my relatives had packed food and drinks for them to consume during the wait. But the little surgical bed was very confining. Although, it wasn’t as if I was going for a walk or anything!

When I finally made it to my room, it was a relief. I had two other roommates. My relatives made sure I was settled and then visiting hours ended. I said a prayer and sleep came.

“Wow, are you for real? It’s not even 7am. Why are people opening curtains and letting in sunlight? Don’t they want patients to rest? Shoot!”

I was abruptly awakened by nurses cleaning my room, prodding my body to take my vitals, and leaving me towels to help me freshen up. I had tubes coming out of my nose, my arm and my crotch. I was not a pretty sight! And to boot, I felt like had been run over by a steamroller.

Soon, my faithful Auntie came to visit. Then my cousins came in the afternoon. My “Martha” cousin packed everything for me: earplugs, wordsearch puzzles, TD Jakes book, fancy nightie and robe, even a pillow and toilet paper. (Toilet paper is not always provided~minor detail.) I felt like a princess with a hole in her gut.

Initially, I used the morphine pump to help the pain. However, morphine plays tricks on me. I always see cacti walking~every time I’m on it. I didn’t know that hallucinations can be recurring, but they are with me. I took myself off the heavy-duty stuff and just took drugs by way of my IV. I have a very high pain threshold so eventually, I only asked for it when I needed it. As it was only 24 hours post surgery, I was not allowed food. I had to pass gas first. I never understood this. If I got food, wouldn’t I pass the gas that they were waiting for? Sigh.

I was very grateful for my roommates. Overnight, another lady was brought to fill the empty bed in our room. It turned out that all of the women in the room were of the same faith. At any given moment, uplifting songs were being played, or someone was praying for someone else. Although the illness was not his doing, I knew that God was in control.

And The Saga Continues

Note:  I tried to imitate “Trini” in writing.  Not easy.  I hope you understand it!

Arriving at Mount Hope hospital started another wait. Aunties came, Uncles came, cousins came~all worried as they were my “caregivers”. Yes, I am grown, but I’ll always be a “kid” to my Aunties and Uncles. After another couple of hours of waiting, I got exasperated and told my Aunt that I wanted to go home~I would release myself. When I prepared to leave, a beautiful Muslim doctor said,

“Where yuh go-in’?”

“Home” I cheekily replied. “All yuh c’ian fine what’s wrong with me.”

“Yuh not goin’ anywhere. Yuh white blood cell count is high. We need to fine out why. Get back in that bed!”

Slap! Cut down at the knees! I got back in the bed, and she then ordered X-rays. When they were inconclusive, she ordered an MRI. Boom! There was the problem. Her persistence saved my life, although they didn’t tell me what the problem was, yet! Soon after that, the nurses tried to get a gastric tube down into my stomach through my nose. This would draw out any bile from my stomach, I was told. Are you serious? Have YOU ever tried to put a tube down your nose before?  I gagged each time the nurses tried. They eventually gave up. Thank the Lohrt!

At dawn, I was awakened by a sweet Indian doctor who explained my problem. I had gastric adhesions that had attached to my small bowel~a by-product of a previous surgery. A section about 6-8 inches long was gangrenous, and food (actually waste) couldn’t get past it. Surgery was necessary to avoid any further complications. At this point, my Auntie, bless her soul, lost it.

“Sur-dree? No-ah, she jus’ visitin’ we! Jus’ patch she back quick an’ we’ll sen’ she back to Canada!”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible”, said my doctor, calmly. “She won’t make it”.

Dun dun dun!

He was insistent that the gastric tube make it into my body. This caused him to go down a notch in my books. He was more determined than the nurses and got that tube down my throat.  Apparently, I was a special case, and my surgery was scheduled a few hours away. I had the best team performing my operation, headed up by the registrar of the hospital.

My Aunt was surprised at how calm I was through the whole thing. What could I do? The alternative was not very inviting.  It was now Wednesday morning and I hadn’t really eaten since Sunday evening. I love food. Ironically, it was the anniversary of my leave from an abusive marriage. Two leases on life on the same day? How odd~yet very profound!

My family in my Canadian home were aware of what was going on. My three kids were calm. I did something right in that department. My youngest brother panicked. Bless him! I At 10:30am I was wheeled into surgery. I thought back on my life and started talking to God. I asked Him for forgiveness for anything that I had overlooked. I thanked Him for my kids and family. I gave myself over to whatever He thought was best. If my work on earth wasn’t done, I’d be back for more. If it was done, then I’d see Him. But I pleaded my case,

“God, I haven’t had a great relationship with a man. Could I get a chance at that? And really good sex?” Whaaaat? Don’t act surprised~God has a sense of humour!

I was wheeled into the operating room and started my countdown. Ninety-nine, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 91…Shoot! I don’t ever remember getting this far in the countdown before. I started to get a little anxious…79, 78, 77, lights out…

The Start of it All

Welcome to my latest blog.  This blog will be specifically for my journey during and after Small Bowel Obstruction surgery.  I hope to post tips, tricks and discoveries I’ve made, to assist anyone going through, or recovering from SBO surgery.  I never dreamed this could change my life in such a profound way.  The pain I live with daily is unexplainable~and I’m sure that other SBO peeps would agree.  Happy reading!

~Stephanie

THE START OF IT ALL

My belly talks. It’s always made a little bit of noise. Back when I was a kid, my belly always growled in church, especially if the pastor was praying. For the last year, my belly has talked more than normal. I actually listen when my belly talks. I have to.

My journey started a year ago while I was vacationing. I had not been to my birthplace in a long time. My trip to Trinidad and Tobago was going to be one of relaxation, then sightseeing. I decided to relax for 1 week, then do a week and a half of sightseeing. On June 30th, I went to the beach for the first time. I had a ball on the southernmost part of the main island. The undertow on Mayaro is huge, so one has to be very cognizant of their whereabouts at all times. I had a great fear of water for many years, so going to an ocean AND getting in was huge for me!

Day 2 of sightseeing brought a feast of native dishes. I ate my bellyful of macaroni pie, plantain, and callaloo & crab. The late afternoon took me on a trek through the island with my Uncle and Auntie.  We eventually ended up on a tour of the capital, Port-of-Spain. Dusk was setting in, and everything started to sparkle. On Sunday evenings, home-made ice cream was always in order. Why make that Sunday an exception? Besides, it was Canada Day! My kids weren’t there, so I indulged in peanut ice cream. (Yes, peanut. Peanut punch is also a big drink back home.) After indulging in the ice cream, we headed up the mountain which overlooks Port-of-Spain. I could tell that the view was gonna be beautiful. However, I had another thing on my mind.

I had suddenly started to feel light-headed. My stomach started churning, and I felt like throwing up. Instead of stopping at the lookout to view the city, I told my uncle that I needed to go home, quickly. And that he did. Using his position as a civic worker, we used the main highway and got us back home in no time flat. My Auntie helped me up to my room, made sure I was settled in, and left.

Within the hour, I was heaving. As a matter of fact, I didn’t stop all night. When morning came, I slipped a note under my roommate’s door so that she could fetch my Auntie.  I was staying in a rooming-type house especially built for us Canadian visitors. The morning of July 2nd, I was taken to the hospital to get the issue looked at. My relatives fussed that I was getting poor service. I was happy that it was free! After 4 hours, I was given G-sol and Buscopan and sent home.

I once again went to my room amidst a flurry of visitors wanting to know what was wrong with me. “Let she take some…” “Gi she some…” The advice came from many sources. The long and short of it was that I couldn’t even get down a Crix (soda cracker). When even Gravol wasn’t working, I knew there was trouble.

The next morning, I was rushed back to the hospital. This time, I had a 6-hour stint, more vomiting (although I don’t know what I kept bringing up, as I had nothing in my stomach), and complete exhaustion. Tests were inconclusive. They decided that I was not a candidate for the waiting game, so I was going to be shipped to the “big” hospital. Are you kidding me? I came on vacation to my birthplace, now I was gonna be put into an ambulance to be wisked across the island? Trust me, it was no joke!

…to be continued…