I spend a lot of my blog space rambling about current work stuff, travel, sports, and life in general, but I don't share a ton about the past. I'm in a reflective mood (not sure if reflective is actually a mood or an adjective for a running jacket), so I figured I'd write about the happenings of five years ago this coming monday.
The morning of my surgery was a scary one. For months I had been battling a pretty severe 'flare up' of Crohn's Disease that had me in and out of the hospital, on and off crazy treatment plans (including both eastern and western varieties), out of school, and feeling like shit. My weight pre-surgery was 112 pounds and my complexion was a shade of grey--not exactly what I pictured myself to look like at 29 years old. I had been diagnosed with my gut 'issues' at age 12 so hospitals were nothing new, but this was by far the worst I had felt. On top of the physical ailment, my illness took its toll on my outlook, optimism, and spirit for living.
And although I was confident my current health issues would be resolved with the surgery, I was freaking out about the future. I was to have my intestine removed, with the very real possibility that I'd never make a #2 like most folks for a very long time (if not indefinitely). Its not as if I enjoyed it that much (pooping), it just felt so awkward to know that I would be physically different in some way from other folks. Although when ill I was tethered to a toilet, I was also an athlete, a handsome guy, and very fit, and I felt as if Delta Whiskey as I knew him (or thought I knew him) would never return once my colon was removed.
I have some faded memories of saying good bye to my girlfriend (at the time) and my mom, before I was wheeled down the hall to the operating room with my dad at my side. He couldn't come in to the pre-op prep area, but walked with us until the doors; when I gave him a hug and entered the trusting hands of an operating room team of nurses, doctors, and other folks. The anesthesiologist gave me something he called a "pre flight cocktail" which probably helped ease my nerves and I have vague memories of rock music in the operating room. (Side note: if hospitals wanted to give patients a unique experience they should give 'em the choice of what to listen to before they get conked out. Its a minor thing, but might help ease some nerves and give the patient some "control" before people start cutting them open...this would also make for an interesting itunes "essentials" category for "Pre-Surgery")
I woke up sometime later that day and have very little recollection of the next week. My dad warned me how exhausted and spent I'd feel after the anesthesia wore off, but I was probably zonked for most of the first few days after surgery. Gradually I got used to the new "apparatus" located a few inches to the right and below my belly button. Slowly I regained an appetite, and after a week or so I was sent home from the hospital to adjust to my new life.
My family was amazing; all of my siblings made their way out during some stage of my surgery and/or recovery, and although we were 2,000 miles from Chicago it was great to have familiar faces encourage me, feed me, help me, and make me smile. But eventually they returned to Chicago, and shortly after their departure I began to feel like ass. I was lethargic, had an intense pain in my shoulder, and wet the bed with sweat on a nightly basis.
My girlfriend and I made our way to a party of some grad school friends (my first public activity), and all night I felt off. We went to bed, only to find the sheets covered in green slime that made its way out of my incision. It turns out my abdomen was chock full of post-op infections, and one of the abscesses below my scar had enough and wanted OUT. The weeks to follow were painful, as interventional radiologists, surgeons, and gastroenterologists worked to rid my body of these infections by any means necessary. It was not pleasant; as many of these masses had to be drained--which meant stents were stuck into my abdomen and chest to collect the crap from inside my body. The original surgery sucked, but this REALLY sucked!
Things finally stabilized and I began returning to some of the more 'normal' daily activities. I could stuff my face with all sorts of high calorie foods (Dick's Burgers!), could make it around the block without a rest, and could travel. I returned to Chicago to see family and friends for a buddy's wedding (Sierra Echo), and it was the first time most of my friends had seen me since the drama of the previous winter. Shortly after Chicago, I headed to DC for a short vacation and returned to Seattle feeling as if my health was beginning to stabilize.
I picked up a golf club, hopped on the bike, did a little running, and began to get back to being myself. Plans for returning to school fell into place, and I had the summer in Seattle to get my health back and reflect on everything that took place. I may have been a bit eager to get back to many of those activities; and eventually developed a hernia in my abdomen that would need surgery to be repaired. The ongoing discomfort became really uncomfortable so I returned to the hospital a few months for my surgery, only to have a sponge "left behind" following the procedure.
Needless to say, I was a tad frustrated with my experience in our health care system as I experienced all of the delays, mistakes, communication gaps, unclear instructions, horse-sh*t billing practices, and nonsense that patients live with every day in our nation's health care system. Gradually I began to turn some of that energy into a desire to make health care better; which may be part of why I like my profession and the curriculum in school.
But beyond the professional focus the experience provided, I learned a lot about myself, those around me, and my ability to adapt to change. There's a cheesy saying to the effect of, "its always darkest before sunrise" and the metaphor is probably a good description of the events before, during, and after that surgery 5 years ago. Today I'm a different man in many ways--I've learned how to enjoy life, love another person, participate in activities (some which I thought there was never a chance), and feel comfortable in my own skin. All of that nonsense also gave me some much-needed perspective on what really is important in life--health, family, smiling, and giving.
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