I should be working on NANOWRIMO but I have yet to find a starting point. Ideas are running through my cluttered brain but the reality of the past two weeks has succeeded in stifling my imagination, flooding me with the urge to cry at any moment I’m not mindlessly flipping through videos of animals on YouTube. So, what exactly happened, you ask?
Well, let’s start with November 27, 1993 when Stimpy was created. Stimpy is what I named the stoma that Dr. Eggenberger created when a seventeen year old me needed her colon and rectum removed. I had been diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis two years before, and no matter how many pills I was given a day (at one point I was taking over 21), the disease would not stay in remission. I had entered the hospital November 7 after my gastroenterologist just happened to see me on another floor while getting treatment for tendinitis in my Achilles (so painful I couldn’t even wear a sock). He said I did not look good and admitted me right away. Turns out, it took those twenty days to get me “well enough” for surgery because I had been so sick and malnourished that they didn’t think I could survive the trauma of going under the knife. Well the day finally came and it was miraculously successful. I temporarily had an ileostomy bag (Stimpy), and four months later, my system was reconnected. I have had only one complication, fifteen years later. That was of course until now.
I knew that I needed to be biopsied every two years, to make sure that everything was functioning properly, but I got behind…eight years. I had functioning fairly well, even considered normal compared to the average person with a J-Pouch, though I did feel some kind of knot behind my ileostomy scar, but I was convinced that it was scar tissue. Besides, the last four years, I was forced to focus on my ankle, functioning mostly on one foot for at least two of those years. After my foot healed, I decided to catch up on my exams with a new friend who offered to be my chauffeur, and a polyp was found after my biopsy. A massive one which had been growing for who knows how long. Through five procedures and two CT scans, each more invasive than the other, they were able to get enough of it that it was not causing a blockage to my digestion. You see, after procedure two last August, the damned thing finally started affecting my quality of life where everything I ate hurt as soon as it got to the point of the polyp, forcing itself through my system. I stopped eating anything that took any effort to digest, even resorting to baby food for a few weeks in December. After the third procedure I was able to eat, though by then all food disgusted me mentally, and I started losing weight as I was basically starving myself. But three months ago, the fifth time was a charm! At least it was supposed to be…
Fast forward to Monday night, October 23, 2017, two days before I was supposed to leave for Los Angeles to attend the Linkin Park Tribute to Chester (miss you buddy #makeChesterproud), when I started screaming at the top of my lungs out of nowhere after getting ready for bed. I had never felt a pain so intense and this is after getting over the four pins drilled into my ankle. I managed to drive myself to the nearest hospital and arrived around midnight. Twelve hours later, I was on an operating table.
I walked into the ER and they asked me my name. I just started crying, already shaking from the pain. They got my info from my ID and put me in a wheel chair, taking me back to a room. From there, everything was a blur. I was still screaming so loudly that they had to move me to another room because I was scaring people in the lobby. I remember going to the bathroom and waking up on the floor. Apparently, I had collapsed and a nurse sat on the floor with me, trying to calm me down until I was wheeled back to my room. Then they brought me painkillers which semi-sedated me. I remember having a tube shoved down my throat. It was painful and the first try on the right nostril unsuccessful. The nurse hit me like I was a child, demanding I suck it up and take the pain for just those few moments which made me lucid enough to allow her to get the tube down my left nostril this time. I woke up at some point, looking over at the almost empty bottle of liquid I needed to drink for another CT scan, wondering when I managed to drink 24 ounces of it. I know I had the scan, but don’t remember it, my next recollection was of them advising me an ambulance was coming to take me to my surgeon in the medical center. I recall being strapped on a gurney, woke up a few times while in route, and then my next memory was of my surgeon’s resident explaining to me the urgency of what needed to be done.
I still don’t know exactly how it happened, but my intestine had suddenly twisted above what was left of the massive polyp, now being referred to as what it had grown into, a tumor, and to preserve the pristine J-Pouch that I had lived with for twenty three years, and my life, I needed that section cut out right away. They weren’t sure how much they would need to cut. If it was too much, I’d have a permanent ileostomy bag, or maybe another temporary one, or if they could catch it in time, they could successfully remove as little as possible and preserve my pouch. Well, lucky for me, I woke up again with Dr. Geisler having the biggest smile on his face, proud that the latter was the case. He removed the tumor which was biopsied to be benign, and I was on my way to recovery.
It all happened so fast. It took me almost a week to cry, finally realizing that I could have died had I waited ‘til morning to see a doctor. My cousin had just left after flying to be by my side (love that kid so much) and I was sitting on the side of my bed when it all hit me. I’m thankful to all the doctors and nurses who took care of me during the week I was hospitalized and the priest who came to say mass with me. I’m also thankful for all the flowers and stuffed animals my friends and cousins brought me, and especially those who visited. And I appreciate all the prayers and well wishes online. This morning, the twenty staples starting from mid abdomen, down were removed, and now I just need to rest. Doc suggested I stay out two months from work and I will try my best to do so. I don’t want anything to stand in the way of this recovery, afterall, I’m no longer a teenager fighting for her life. I’m an old lady who just looks like one!
They called me a miracle then, and now Dr. Geisler says the same. God’s given me another chance. I really gotta get my shit together now. I need this to be it. I need this to be the last time I set foot into an OR for a long time. I need the chance to see the world, find the job I’ll retire with, the chance to fall in love. Heck, I need to finally be able to ride this damned bike I bought four years ago! Six weeks to go. I can do this because I’m a miracle!
Tippiness in Blog Form 
