After my trip to the beach on Friday I had a really rough weekend. I mean REALLY rough. I didn’t think it was possible to feel that much pain. Saturday was fairly manageable but Sunday?…holy hell…I felt what it’s like to be on the brink of giving up or going on. I didn’t know it was possible to feel suffering like that. However, with the help and support of an incredible medical team and a husband that I now swear is a superhero, I got through it.
In fact, not only did I get through it, but, 16 days after my admission, my surgeon agreed that I’d settle more quickly out of a hospital environment and agreed to let me return home. Oh my goodness what a feeling! I’m not usually the sappy type, and would never have labelled myself a ‘home bird’, instead always loving to travel, but I have never been so grateful to see my house, sleep in my bed, stroke my pets, walk through my garden. Life felt good again.
I on the other hand felt knackered and so went to bed soon after I arrived, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
The next day was hard. Whilst still over the moon to be at home, I had completely underestimated the pain the two hour journey would cause my body. I’d also completely underestimated how little I would be able to do and how much I would have to rely on my husband. I mean, literally, he suddenly had to take on the role of an entire medical team, including administering nearly 30 tablets a day, whilst simultaneously looking after the house and our ‘zoo’ of pets. He is my hero!
Just hours into our first day I was lying on the floor screaming in pain, unable to cope with the reality of the situation either physically or emotionally. In too much pain to move I was unable to take the breakthrough morphine I’d been provided for this situation and instead lay surrounded in cushions on our kitchen floor until I found the strength. Again I faced that choice – the choice of quit of continue. This one felt harder than whilst I’d been in hospital. I saw the pain in my husband’s eyes and knew I was the cause. I also knew there would be more days like this. More pain to come. But I saw something else. I saw the love in his eyes behind his pain and helplessness. Together we made it through to the sofa. I managed the tablets and I slept.
The following two days showed gradual improvement: although I woke several times through the night in pain, I took breakthrough morphine as soon as I needed it; I was still being sick sometimes but I was also managing to eat small mouthfuls; district nurses were making daily visits; and suddenly the light at the end of the recovery tunnel began to shine a little brighter. On one of these days my wonderful GP came round and upped my daily morphine dose. She agreed the dose was tiny and the reason for my sleepless nights and screaming. I felt supported and listened to – it’s made a huge difference to me that she has cared for me since before ‘cancer’ and still talks of my personality and approach rather than my condition.
Things were hard yes, but things were also beginning to look up. For the first time since my operation, I began to feel that things could truely slowly improve, bit by bit, day by day.
Love and light, Fi xx