I understand

October 16, 2009

I stepped out of the shower this morning and looked at the scars covering my body and began to cry. They were not so much tears about the losses I've experienced as they were about all that my body has been through and survived. They were about the strength that I had that I didn't know was there.

These emotions are particularly present right now as I'm approaching another health-related anniversary. October 17th is the anniversary of the creation of my j-pouch (see jpouch.org for more info). One year ago today I was off work preparing for surgery and recovery. It was the one and only time I've actually known that the surgery was coming and been able to prepare for it.

The j-pouch surgery and subsequent hospitalization rank right up there for me as far as having to endure pretty intense physical pain goes. It started with the night before surgery. The "sparkling laxative beverage" (the name still cracks me up) I had to ingest made me sick and I nearly passed out in the middle of the night from the dry heaves and hunger.

I was remembering my mental state going into the j-pouch surgery. Part of me was incredibly excited to have this surgery. It was the first step in what I hoped would eventually be an ostomy-free life. While those hopes ran high, so did the anxiety that my hopes would be dashed. I didn't know if I would come to from the surgery and be told that it was unsuccessful and I would have to live with a permanent ostomy or not. The surgery was a pretty complicated one from what they told me. And at that time, I was still in the midst of my grief over Harper and over the loss of my colon. I remember going into the surgery asking God if couldn't he please just take me? It would have been so easy that way. I would have gone to sleep and never woken up, and that would have been fine with me. That way I wouldn't have to be the one to end things. The grief was so unbearable to me. Thoughts of ending my own life hovered around me constantly. I wrote in my journal time and time again, "Couldn't my family just give me permission to end it all?" "Wouldn't they understand that I just couldn't do this anymore?" "Don't they know how I'm suffering?" Somehow, I held on. I really don't know I did it either. It was a moment by moment decision for me. I turned to people for encouragement and support ALL the time. That was the only way I managed.

I looked in the mirror at the scarred body standing before me and I saw all those emotions looking back at me. How is it that I'm in this place now? How is it that I'm still here?

The hospitalization was a horrible one. Not only did I have a new part of my intestine sticking out of my stomach after the surgery, I also had a PIC line that would stay with me for over two months so that I could do nightly IV fluids at home. I also had a small tube sticking out of the bottom of my incision on my stomach. It was there to suck out any fluid or infection that collected near my incision. And then there was the obstruction I got which required them to stick the tube down my nose and throat so they could pump my stomach for a few days. And did I mention that I was conscious when they did that? Did I mention that I had to swallow that damn tube? Horrible, horrible experience. And when they removed the tube from my incision they told me it wouldn't hurt. I'll be honest with you here, I let an F-bomb fly and yelled at them to pull it out quickly. Then when I was discharged, I started vomiting on my way home, which meant we turned back around and went right back to the hospital (same room even). I was terrified that they were going to stick the tube down my throat again. "I can't do it Jeremy. If they have to tube me again I won't be able to do it. They'll have to knock me out!" Did I already say I was terrified? Because I was. What was supposed to be a 7-10 day hospitalization turned into 13 or 14 days. I hated it. I hated it. I just wanted to be at home.

How did I survive it? Seriously. It was like I turned everything on auto-pilot. That was all I could do. I did what I was told. Don't make me think about anything else. I just barely existed in those days. That was all I could do.

I'm not alone in that either, I know that. I know there are other people who have been or ARE in that place where all they have the energy to do is to survive. I understand. I understand.