Wed-Thursday...Home on Thanksgiving

After I concluded I could not go home, Tuesday evening through Wednesday evening was the most difficult time I can remember in my life. Wave after wave of nausea...not your typical, "Gee, I feel sick," nausea...but the kind where every breath was so painful I actually understood not caring what happened to me as long as the hurting stopped.

Poor Lucia tried everything to ease my discomfort only to have me repeatedly snap at her. I knew I was being unfair, but couldn't stop. I can never make that up to her, and I'll never forget her loving patience.

After vomiting several times, the nurses called in a gastrointerologist (never tried to spell that before, how'd I do?) to see me. He ordered x-rays to eliminate the possibility of physical blockage, then told me he would be back after supper with a team.

When he returned with his gut buddies, the head of the team thumped on my belly and said, "You hear that? Sounds like a drum doesn't it? That's gas in your gut, very typical in abdominal surgeries. That's what is causing the pain. If you can expel it on your own, that would be best...otherwise, we'll put a tube down your nose tomorrow and decompress it that way; you won't like it."

OK, let me get this right...I'm being told to fart and belch...ALRIGHT! I told the doctor I would not be needing the tube...and went to work.

I blasted away for an hour or so, then took a nap. When I awakened, the nausea was gone and never came back. I knew all my pre-teen fascination with farting (OK, never outgrew that one) would come in handy some day. It is an art, and now a medical technique, as opposed to the immature behavior mothers and wives claim.

I learned I probably caused the problem by accepting all the pain medication offered. The meds slowed the awakening of my bowel and exacerbated the gas problem. I never really experienced any difficult pain from the surgery itself and could have, perhaps, done with far less intervention.

Note to future patients: Take what you need, not more, and not what you want.

After the first annual "Sharp fart-fest," I continued to improve and was ready to go home Thursday after lunch...and before the tube team could return to my room.

Then it was getting dressed and walking down to the lobby, cath bag in hand, to head home. Home for Thanksgiving...I have much for which to be thankful; Lucia and I talk about that on the way home.

If I haven't mentioned it, the surgeon was a regular visitor to the room monitoring my progress. At least a few times each day, including Thanksgiving morning, he was there. I know I picked the right team for me.

Now recovery begins.