X marks the spot

A bee. Nature is amazing. 

Although the surgery I will have next Monday is to be laparoscopic (keyhole), it's still a big operation - an anterior resection. One of the things that will happen is I will have a bit of my bowel brought out so that my natural digestive processes will bypass my damaged lower bowel, allowing time to heal.

I met the stoma nurse this week and she explained a lot, which certainly eased some of my concerns about this part of the procedure. She came armed with sample bags, leaflets and a black sharpie. On my belly I now have two crosses in circles, a bit like the Extinction Rebellion logo. But they are there to mark where, according to what happens during my operation, I will have my stoma.   

If, when I wake up, the cross on the right has been used, it would be access from my small intestine, meaning it's a temporary ileostomy and I will only have it for six months or so. If I wake up and the left hand cross has been used to access my larger intestine, it will mean a colostomy, which is permanent.

Either way, it will mean that my cancer has been removed from my lower bowel, which has to be good. I have been told that after the operation I should not to eat sweetcorn, and avoid gassy drinks; I guess that's so I don't shoot someone by accident or float away on an inflated bag.

It's only a few days now before surgery, and yes - I'm nervous. I won't be able to blog for a while, but my partner will be keeping friends updated.

Thank you for your support, and remember, if you have any symptoms that you are unsure of, don't hesitate - visit your GP. You are not wasting their time, and you could be saving your life.

Useful links

Bowel Cancer UK

Cancer signs and symptoms (NHS)

Photo: (C) Carolyn Sheppard

The cure

It's going to be a busy couple of weeks. Thursday I will have my pre-operative appointment and a CT scan. The following Friday I will have my Covid test, and then on Monday October 29th I will be admitted to hospital for surgery. Big surgery.

I have a few things to sort out - such as work - but that's not a worry. I have a great employer, a great team, and have cover planned for what will probably be a two month absence. That takes me up to Christmas.  The weeks of radiotherapy didn't evict Gertrude the tumour, but it did stop it spreading and shrink it. 

This has surely been the strangest year for so many. I have had friends who have lost loved ones from cancer and Covid, I have friends who have Long Covid whose lives have changed, probably forever. And if it wasn't for Covid, I would have had this operation back in March and it would all be 'history'.

Playing 'what if' is a waste of time, though, so even looking forward I am not worrying about the risks, side effects, potential changes to my life. Worrying about them now makes absolutely no difference to any outcomes, so why stress myself? I am a little preoccupied though, I have to admit.

The operation to remove the tumour in my sigmoid colon is going to take about 7 hours. I will be in hospital for aaround a week (no visitors) and will have to have a stoma bag for several months. Pretty daunting stuff. But the outcome will be 'cured'. 

Bowel cancer is curable, if caught early enough. My cancer is curable, I am not going to die. Result! So all good. And for no other reason than it's a great song, and the band is The Cure, here's It's Friday, I'm in Love (and I am, on every day of the week).

Testing times

Saturday I had a Covid test. It's standard at the hospital, pre-procedure. I went to the 'drive through' and the staff, dressed in PPE from top to bottom (and changing between each test) swabbed me through the car window. If you've not had a test, basically it's a really long cotton bud that they rub on the back of your throat till you gag, and up your nose till your eyes water. 

Mine must have been negative as I wasn't told not to attend my procedure on the Tuesday. But I felt rough - before you have any kind of 'oscopy in the colon, they have to 'empty' you - and it's not fun. In fact I was 'emptying' through the night, so by Tuesday morning I was pretty shattered, as well as being hungry having not eaten since lunchtime Monday.

This repeat sigmoidoscopy was so that the consultant who will perform my operation could go in and get a proper look. As well as seeing Gertrude the tumour in full colour, we saw a polyp, a small ulcer and some redness which turned out to be diverticulitis. Oh, and there's hemorrhoids too. What a journey that little camera went on!

I felt absolute rubbish on Tuesday - my belly hurt, my backside hurt, and I was exhausted. But that's one more stage in the process complete. After the procedure the best bit is the cup of tea and biscuits! And they hook you up to an oxymeter and measure your blood pressure. I looked at the oxymeter - 95%. I did my breathing exercises (cancer hates oxygen) and got it up to 100% in seconds. Thanks to Jen Tiller my breathing coach.

Next it's a consultation with the surgeon on Friday. From there I'll know roughly when I have surgery, hopefully. These are testing times for us all. I'm just hoping that I can get my surgery in before we end up in the same situation that we had back in March - with the ITU beds full of Covid patients. If we get another bad spike, then there's no way they'll operate on me (or others) and take the risk of having a cancer patient in an ITU where there are Covid patients.

So - fingers crossed for a good consultation on Friday and a speedy admission. The sooner I can get Gertrude forcibly evicted (she ignored the radiotherapy, though it did shrink her), the better.

Onwards!

Related:

• Under the knife (where I thought I'd be then, where I am again now)
• Gertrude remains

Photo credit: Ottowa Times