This will seem almost recycled from an earlier time when I was rescued by action and food and optimistic about life in general again. Some of my current condition is extremely temporary and some not so much. I am pretty sure I could have lived in the same valued sense of hope without knowing that the purpose of getting stronger is to be fit enough to endure another major surgery.
My original doctor messed up. He begged some forgiveness and reminded me why he traversed so far and wide in my innards – the answer to which is he searched for hiding places for cancer cells. These were all the likely repositories, the 22 removed lymph nodes. It is also why I still wear a drain sank deep into my right hip which remains indescribably a pain in the ass, if I may. This drain, in fact, was the ostensible reason for the recent stay in the hospital. It was mega-infected. They wanted me on a treatment series of anti-biotics. At the same time that was when the current tribe of urology experts hopped in the picture, invited by my doctor to try and locate the source of all the drainage coming from my wound.
Well, after numerous CT Scans they found the culprit. The mucking around inside – or else the wholesale removal of so many lymph nodes, had produced a separated ureter – a tiny tube connecting a couple of organs (I’m not sure which) – which became unfixable even after trying to access it through my kidney in a memorably dreadful procedure.
My last days in the hospital saw a few rounds of visiting urologists, all of whom were straightforward and even a little brutal. The kidney drain they had put in cured the wound drainage which was a massive relief. Now instead of the ritual of multi-changes per day of the dressings for the wound, my wound is completely healed and does not require anything further.
But the parting words were related to the “next thing” – a major surgery aimed at putting it all back together. I liked that they reassured me that they’d “fix everything and then you’ll get your life back.” But I didn’t like that it very well might require a catheter for a couple weeks following the surgery. The datelines stretch into the future like things I cannot have.
Currently, all this has caused extremes of moodiness. Inasmuch as I also brought home a bedsore, my misery has picked up steam until I am in a similar space that I was over the last Christmas when I sat here at 143 pounds and losing, contemplating extremes of illness and death. It’s as if we have traveled back in time to my very least favorite period of my life.
I didn’t lose so much muscle tone as to be a disaster. I can get around the house OK, although I was pretty wobbly my first 2 days back. So I can walk. I look forward to my physical therapy nurses coming around again – so much. An active Steve is a far happier Steve. I am doing a few exercises on my own but my moods overwhelm my desire to get better. I believe I am reeling, trying to find that balance which can accommodate to this new temporary situation while still dealing with such a future.
I hope the girls can bring me back again, yet another time because I’m just not sure I am up to it.