Avid followers may well have noticed that I have been absent for a 3 days, nothing majorly wrong, but for the last 2 days it’s all been about the bottom(s) more on that later.
I can’t let today (mothers day) go without a big mention of my own dear mother, who has been there every day for us, offering that guidance and love that only mothers can bring.
At 83 and still holding down a job in a pharmacy the ‘old girl’ is doing well , I mean I would love to even make 83 let alone still be working. Another essential member of ‘Team Cowls’.
Today was also another anniversary, as anniversaries go it’s not one that you can go into WH Smith and find a card for. No, it marks the two-year anniversary since my original bowel resection. My how time flies when.. how time flies, when.. truthfully it does seem like a long time ago, a lot of water has flown under the bridge since then. Some times that water has been turbulent, troubled, and many times I have wandered if I would reach the bank on the other side. But hey, im here, and to use another water related metaphor about to jump into the rapids again.
More on my whereabouts over the last 3 days, I may have mentioned before my old bowel… (on more than one occasion I hear you cry) well my old bowel as if in a fit of “why are you ignoring me, I have been relatively good to you for all these years” has been a complete, well ‘arse’ (excuse the pun).
I previously mentioned that my bowel has been disconnected, stapled up and left in a state of ‘suspended animation’ pending my reversal whenever that may be (loop ileostomy). To all intense an purposes it is functioning, in so far as it has a blood supply and it still connected to my rectum. It’s just that it is not connected at the other end. Unfortunately the peristaltic action of the bowel for me also continues , this translates to an almost constant need to ‘go for a poo’ . This is not uncommon, but for most people its a passing urge.
The persistence of the pain in my rectum lead me to become somewhat anxious that all was not well and something more ‘ sinister’ was at play. You speak to anybody who has/had cancer and they will tell you the same. The slightest ache/pain and the mind automatically thinks the worst. In my defence though I could be forgiven for not joining the dots when I have previously had bowel cancer and I now have a pain in my rectum.
Speaking to the team in Basingstoke and reading the accompanying notes we hypothesised that potentially I may have a ‘plug’ stuck in my back passage, No no no nothing like that, this is moreover a hardened plug of mucous, or leftover fecal matter from 6 weeks ago, 6 weeks! my god it will be fossilised. Il never get that out.
For two days I have stared at the suppositories, its funny that no matter how much I stare at them they never move from the packet up my backside. Emotionally scarred from an incident the night before when I carefully inserted said suppository up my backside in the bathroom only to have it eject itself inside my boxers whilst relaxing on the settee, I decided that I would try again.
This time without wanting to raise expectations I crept upstairs without making a big noise . I decided that the ‘laying on the side’ method would be better this time. Making myself comfortable will all the necessary ‘tools’ around me (Suppository, KY Jelly, surgical glove) I lay on the bed and did the deed.
Without moving a muscle I laid on the bed with my jeans and boxers around my ankles, whiling the time away watching a documentary about ‘redundant oil rigs’ (Note to self: when counting down the minutes do not watch boring documentaries about oil rigs) Eventually after 30 minutes I decided it was safe to get upright , and dressed.
Resuming normal life I took up my place on the settee and waited. An hour went by with no event. Then just after the hour ‘Armageddon’ . Sweet baby Jesus and all the orphans, never in field of human conflict has one man strained soo much on a toilet for so little.
For two whole hours I was on and off the toilet, straining ever blood vessel in every part of my body. “No more” I cried , I mean it would be as bad if I was actually passing something.
Eventually after much groaning and clenching of fists, and at the point where I thought all hope was lost I gave birth to a ‘little poo’ I did’nt care if it wasnt worth all the strain, it was gone, and provided instant relief. Or so I thought..
You see despite being ‘postpartum’ the spasms didn’t stop, laying on the settee I was wondering how I was going to get out of my current plight.
Panic was definately setting in, ‘what if this is like this all night?’ ‘what if my rectum stays like this indefinitely?’
It was during this state of mild panic that MrsC sat up “Its gone into spasm now, your bowel”
Yes she was right!
“What do we do?” I said as I was contemplating having a rectum permanently the size of clowns pocket .
“Lorazepam & Buscopan”, yet again she was right. These two little rays of sunshine were soon administered and within minutes my previously furrowed brow was soon relaxed, and so to sleep.
Normality resumed. And the bum?, well almost normal