Part 4-Turning Darkness into Light

My little girl turned two on March 17^th.  I got to hold her.  By hold, I mean scoot her off of the counter into my arms, as I am still unable to pick her up. Tears would come all night as I thought back to that moment, and all I had endured just to experience those few seconds. Then, a few nights ago I was able to get down on the floor and play with the kids.  These two experiences have been the best medicine I have had so far.  I could never have imagined how hard it would be to sit and watch other people take care of my own children.  My recovery has forced me to think about all of the things I took for granted before, such as wrestling with the kids, giving them piggy back rides, or chasing them around the house. Every day, we all go about doing our normal ‘routine’ and don’t really stop to think about what we would do if it all came to an end.  My routine came to a crashing halt, and now my life could be defined by ‘before cancer’ and ‘after cancer’. 

After surgery, my new routine involved eating, resting, and trying to walk in between taking pain medications. Due to the immense amount of narcotics in my system, my first reaction after waking up from surgery would be… “What pain?” However, my surgery involved three laparoscopic punctures and a four-to-five inch incision in my abdomen…pain was inevitably going to come.  It did, with a vengeance.  Several hours after I was transferred into a private room, I noticed that my pain pump was not keeping the pain away. The pain was starting to get bad so I called the nurse, who reluctantly said she would see if she could get something else for the pain. An hour or so passed, the pain was so bad Phil set a timer to go off every ten minutes so I would get as much medicine as possible.  My nurse came back in and decided to check my pain pump.  It was off.  It had been off since I was transferred to the floor.  I had pushed that button for hours and did not get a single dose.  Fresh out of surgery, and my pain pump was off.  The terrible pain all made sense now.  My nurse quickly gave me a large dose of pain medicine, restarted my pump, and I pressed that button for what seemed like hours before the pain subsided again.  I did, however, sleep well that night. 

             The next couple of days all seem to blur together due to my wonderful, now-working, pain pump.  My loving husband stayed by my side the entire time I was in the hospital. Phil was a trooper.  He slept on an old hospital bed, got me fresh water, and helped me sit up, get up, shower, and walk.  Most of all, he kept me motivated and made sure I did all of the things I did not want to do.   For every meal I would get clear liquids, the main course being some sort of broth…yummy. Three days after surgery, one of the ‘younger’ physicians came in and said that I could go home that night if I wanted to. This did not sit well with me.  Dr. Mutch had said it would be minimum five day stay, I had not had a real meal yet, and I was still on IV pain medicine.  As much as I wanted to go home, I declined. We decided I would go home the next day, after I started on pain pills.  Little did I know pain pills would ultimately be the reason I would have an eight night stay at the hospital.   The first night of trying pain pills went pretty well, and I was optimistic.  I got to eat my first real meal…lukewarm carrots never tasted so good! The next morning Phil went to buy bagels for the staff as we were planning on leaving that day.  It all started to go downhill while Phil was gone.  I was nauseated, and it kept getting worse. By the time Phil made it back to the room I began to throw-up.  (I do not recommend throwing-up while having an incision in your abdomen; the pain is less than pleasant.)  The doctor came in and told me going home was now out of the question, and again for what seemed like the millionth time, I cried. 

This was not okay…I wanted to go home, but I was in no condition to do so.  After five attempts, my IV was restarted; they then put me back on IV pain medications, and a clear liquid diet. During the day I was started on a new pain pill, and I was able to keep liquids down.  I felt pretty good before bed, and managed to sleep well through most of the night.  I should emphasize most of the night, because at about four in the morning things got bad.  I woke up to almost unbearable abdominal pain, and the nausea returned.  I was not too concerned until I threw up what I had eaten well over 12 hours ago. Something was not right, and the pain was worsening.  I received excellent care throughout my stay at Barnes, except for this night.  My nurse came in to give me something for nausea, did not offer anything for pain, said I could have nothing by mouth, and then promptly left.  I did not see her again, as it was nearing shift change, and I guess she was ready to go home.  My poor day nurse walked in to me throwing up, crying, AND my IV had come out.  She managed to calm me down, get my IV on the first try, and then gave me pain and nausea medications...she was the hero of the day.  I drifted into a much needed sleep, and later found out I had developed an ileus.  This basically means my intestines had filled with air and stopped working. The doctor told me that I might need a tube to be placed down my nose into my stomach. I could not comprehend what was happening; I was supposed to go home the day before.  I was to have nothing to eat or drink all day, and could hardly bare to move.  With time, my intestines started working again, without the help of a nasal-gastric tube, and it would be two more days before I would be discharged from the hospital.

I felt defeated.  How did I manage to go from a busy working mother, to hardly even being able to walk down the hall? Fortunately, our family and friends all sent wonderful words of encouragement through phone calls, Facebook messages, cards, and flowers. Oh, the flowers.  It looked almost like a floral shop in my room.  The support and prayers were a much needed motivation for me.  Slowly, I was managing to regain my strength, and felt ready to go home. On the day I was to be discharged, Doctor Mutch appeared out of nowhere. He was supposed to go out of town that day, and we were not expecting to see him. He quickly came in and started to explain the pathology report.  My stomach was in knots, what he was about to say would again dictate what kind of journey I would have.  The lymph nodes were all negative, the margins were negative, and I officially had stage II colon cancer.  He went on to say something about genetics, maybe needing chemo, and how some stage II cancers act like stage III cancers.  I was not really listening because one of our major prayers had been answered…the cancer had not spread to my lymph system. We were then discharged later that day. While life at home would prove to be more difficult than I had imagined, I was just happy to get out of the hospital.

 Again, God was showing up in ways I could not imagine. While I could never go back to my life ‘before cancer’, I was learning to adjust to my life with cancer. This was a hard thing to do, as my wounds were a constant reminder of how my life had been turned upside down in a single day. I still had a long way to go on my path to recovery, but I began to understand that none of us have a guaranteed amount time on this earth.  Over time, mind began to clear. I learned to count my blessings, and be thankful for every day I was given. While, the light on my path was now becoming clearer, I was all too aware of how quickly it could become dark again.  My fear was still there, and I knew it always would be to some extent.  However, my faith was continuing to grow.  I now had God on my side, my trust was in Him, and I knew I could endure anything with God lighting my path.

“You, Lord, are my lamp; the Lord turns my darkness into light.” 2 Samuel 22:29