I’ve faced a lifetime of chronic illness and medical challenges, but with my family’s love and support. I keep fighting every day.
The G.I. specialist ordered test after test, trying to figure out why I was so sick and unable to get any relief. Those tests were awful. Invasive and exhausting. My diet was a mess and eating always made me feel worse. I got no relief from sleep, and even that had become tricky.
I was constantly bloated, to the point people were asking, ‘How far along are you?’ or ‘When are you due?’ If only they knew I was slowly dying on the inside and never able to have another child. By now, I had been to the ER/urgent care at least ten times. I had so many enemas I was on a first-name basis and talking trash to the nurses. ‘Butt Stuff’ was a frequent thing and no longer humiliating. SO many doctors and nurses saw or had to touch my butt, it was a running joke. After months of misery, doctors, and testing, we had a culprit and a plan to see a surgeon.
Months of medications, laxatives, side effects, and a definite change in everyone’s mood. We were scared, confused, and lost. I had been so close to death; we had plans made. The children would have what they wanted of mine (clothing, jewellery, pictures, and such). My husband would move on and have a happy life maybe even remarry. I did not want to be on life support, but I wanted to be given a fighting chance.
My body may struggle, but I’m still fighting g=hard to live, to stay strong and to be here for my children.
April arrived, and after being told in late February I needed emergency surgery, the day was FINALLY here! I was prepared and so ready for this next step. My dad arrived and we a got hotel close to the hospital my operation would be in. We spent the last night there before surgery, so there was no rush for our 5:30 a.m. check-in time. I could barely sleep, I had so many emotions. Before I knew it, it was time to go surgery day! Prayers were said, love was given, and promises were made as I was rolled away.
The medications were slowly calming my nerves as we went down the long, cold hallway toward the operating room. Waking up, the first thing I remembered is needing to know where my husband and father were, and if I could have cranberry juice. I always want cranberry after some sort of procedure. Next, I noticed the pain was COMPLETELY different than what I had grown so used to… then back to sleep.
Time to move around and get clean! Oh my, the shower was incredible! The water ran down my body and over my new incisions, and it stung. My husband helped me get dressed and then it was time to go home and start healing… or that was the plan. I was released after being at the hospital for a total of 4 days.
The drive from the hospital to home was exactly an hour-long drive, but our stops made it longer. I was sure people were concerned when my giant, teddy bear of a husband practically carried me into a bar to use their restroom. The looks we got as he went into the bathroom with me, as I was unable to completely do it myself, but this is not the first or last time we got looks like this.
I was on day 3 of being home, day 7 post-op, and something just was not right. I asked for some soup, trying to get some comfort apparently potato cheddar was the wrong choice. No sooner than I take a couple of bites, I was crying from the pain. We try medicine, switching positions… no change. Once again, we were rushing to the closest emergency room, and I was struggling to fight for my life.
We got to the hospital in record time, and per usual it turned into a waiting game. We tried to explain I needed immediate help, but they pushed us aside. It was not until I was throwing up bile they even thought to offer a bed instead of a wheelchair. Remember, I was only 7 days post-op from a MAJOR abdominal surgery.
So, they finally got me in a room and my husband called my surgeon to explain what was going on. The surgeon got on the phone with the hospital doctor (who I had been treated by several times by now), and the next thing I knew, I was finally getting medicine AND being transferred to the hospital where my surgeon was.
I’ve faced painful medical crises and countless challenges, but I keep fighting with strength, hope, and the love of my family.
