The weeks where I was not eating due to Paralytic ileus, there was a lot was happening. I was hooked up to IV antibiotics for most of the day and night. At times during the day I was disconnected for various reasons, for things like having a wash, which was done by a nurse or my mother, or for physio, which was was to help me breathe and walk properly again. There was a constant pain in my lungs and I was unable to stand up straight because of this. This presented a problem during my many CT scans, as you are required to stretch your arms up over your head, which was agony for me.
Bloods were taken daily, which left me bruised and sore. This was due to the antibiotics being administered through a cannula, but the cannulas were only lasting a maximum of two days before needing to be replaced. This was a really painful task for both me and the nurses as my veins were collapsing and it was causing pain and severe bruising when looking for veins.
Disclaimer, the below images are graphic, scroll quickly to skim past :)
After twelve days they decided to put a Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter (PICC) line in my arm, a PICC is a
Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter (PICC), also called a PICC line, is a long, thin tube that's inserted through a vein in your arm and passed through to the larger veins near your heart.
This was used to administer antibiotics and to draw blood. I remember at the time feeling huge relief, as having the PICC meant no more searching for veins. I was told a PICC can last up to 6 months but unfortunately mine only lasted a week. (another one was to come a few weeks later).
A significant moment came thirteen days after the initial emergency surgery. A plan was put in place to remove the stables from the wound on my abdomen. The plan was to remove two staples per day over the course of a few weeks. I was starting to walk unaided and didn't require oxygen after my walks. My antibiotics were being reduced and finally, on day 16, the infamous NG tube was removed and I was back eating lightly again. This continued for a few days and eventually I was only on one antibiotic, I felt better in myself but was still very weak and frail, but it was beginning to look like going home was very close.
When the last staples were removed, the on call doctor came to check my wound (they had taken a swab earlier in the week as it looked angry and inflamed). He was shocked to see the condition of the wound and told me I was in "a risky environment" and needed emergency surgery immediately. I had developed a post surgery condition known as Fascial Dehiscence.
Dehiscence is the separation of the fascial closure of the operated abdominal wound with the exposure of intraabdominal contents to the external environment.
Basically what this meant was that after they removed all the staples from my wound, the wound opened and my small intestine was exposed to the air. I was in absolute shock to hear this, I thought I was going home any day now. I rang my mother when the doctor was still with me and he explained in detail to both of us what was going on. She came to be with me in the hospital, and when she arrived I cried and cried. I couldn't believe I was going for my third surgery in 3 weeks, and to be honest I was terrified.
The Surgery went well, and the surgeon washed more infection from my abdomen. I actually felt great after this surgery, and I think it was a mixture of being high from the anesthetic, and also knowing more of this horrible infection was gone. I ate some yogurt as I was starving, luckily I did because by night time the NG tube was back down, and I was back to sipping water again. This was torture.
The Doctor explained that they would need to go back and give the wound another washout. To ease the next surgery, they had left a small opening in the bottom of the wound. This was essentially a hole at the bottom of my scar, big enough to fit my thumb inside!
The week running up to the second washout was very difficult. I was struggling to talk with the NG tube as it was hurting my throat. There were nights where my mother would come visit me and I wouldn't be able to speak to her I was in so much pain. Along with the NG tube I had multiple drains coming out of my abdomen. There was a drain on my right side going into my pelvis, this was very painful and I struggled to walk with it. On the upside, I was after starting to empty the stoma bag myself which was difficult to do. However, my mental health was really starting to suffer and I began to think that I needed someone to talk to.
Finally, the day came that I was to go down for the second washout of my wound. I had mixed feelings about going for surgery again, I was nervous and scared, but also excited, because I felt so good after the last washout. This was now my fourth surgery.
The surgeon came and explained to me that it would be very straightforward, and it would take around an hour to do. My mam was with me, and she also seemed happy enough about it. I put on the surgery gown and signed the consent form. The nurse to aspirated my NG tube before I went down, which means she used a syringe to take all the fluid out of my stomach. They came in to wheel me down for surgery in the hospital bed and my mam walked with me till we got to the theatre room where she couldn't come in. We kissed and hugged and said our goodbyes and I told her I would text her when I wake up from the anesthetic.
After I woke up from surgery, I felt that something wasn't right. I was in my own head, talking to myself, telling myself to just wake up. I heard a nurse walk in and call my name 'Nadia?', 'I am here!' I tried to answer, 'I am ok!' but I couldn't. I heard her walk out of the room when I didn't answer. I didn't know what was happening... although I wasn't panicking. I tried to open my eyes as hard as I could but it didn't work. I then tried to move my hands but again I couldn't. I remember thinking to myself "am I dead?"... I think I eventually fell back asleep, unclear about what was happening, but seemingly strangely calm and relaxed.