Memoir of a Hollow Man

Once the cruise hit land in Miami, it was back to Ontario for ten days to close-up my “recovery-celebration” trip. I was looking forward to seeing my friends I hadn’t seen since my visit home before the operation and the chance to get back on track with my recovery in a more stable environment. I pushed myself as best I could on the cruise with the options I was presented, and I was pleased with what I accomplished, but the options weren’t really ideal in that early stage of recovery. I was keeping a close eye on my weight while away, but the scales I was using weren’t my own, so it was hard to really tell if my weight had been changing. It did seem as though my new clothes I got before my trip were a little bigger on me, but I couldn’t totally tell. After all, I had already lost around forty pounds since the operation, so noticing a couple pounds lost wasn’t as apparent. I was hitting the gym at least once a week while on my trip as well, but with my reduced energy I wasn’t really accomplishing much except piece of mind…which is something I suppose.

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Hurricane Irene was now in full effect and heading along the exact same route our cruise was planning on taking through the Caribbean. For a brief moment my mind started to wander, thinking about all of the incredible other destinations we might get rerouted to like: St. Lucia, St. Martin, Barbados, Aruba, but then I realized we only have five days and those destinations are usually geared towards seven plus day cruises. Looking at the size of Irene and her route there was really only one route that could possibly guarantee avoiding her, and that was a quick stop at Key West followed by Mexico. This didn’t really bother me, except our new port times were all messed up now with two super early ones. This means while on “vacation” you have to get up way before you would like to, and rush off the boat for a set amount of time before having to rush back to re-board the cruise. When I mean early I’m talking before nine in the morning. No that’s not early in real life, but when on vacation it can be, especially when you have to fit in the time spent lining up for and eating breakfast, along with the time spent waiting to get off the boat. That all adds up to a good hour and half and then add getting ready, and your looking at having to wake up at least two hours before docking time. Now, if you have no “signed activities” then you may get off and on whenever like, but shore time is also limited, somewhere between four to eight hours, so getting away from the “tourist trap” that awaits at the dock can difficult.

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My dad and I discussed a few options on where to go for our first family trip together, yes I said first…the first ever family trip that my dad, two brothers and I would be going on. You see, my one brother was born when I was thirteen and it wasn’t until I was twenty-three that my youngest brother was born, and I was already living in B.C. so I wasn’t around much. Actually when my dad remarried, the only family trip I can recall prior to this one was to P.E.I. when I was fourteen or fifteen, but then again I wouldn’t call it a “family” trip.

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Anyone who was around me during those first few months might not have known it was so difficult due to my lack of showing it or discussing it, but that’s how I roll. To be honest, it might have been easier had I been more candid about what I was feeling. I guess I wanted people to think all was ok and not to worry about me, something I feel a lot of people in similar situations do. It’s not fun telling people over and over something hurts, is uncomfortable or just plain sucks. You want to tell them, besides mild discomfort, that your doing just fine and life’s going on as it used to, and that’s what I was fighting for, a sense of normality and life as it once was or as close to it as I could get.

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I had thought I had some idea how hard this was going to be after speaking with my bio-mom, friend from the BC Cancer Agency, doctors and from what I had read; especially since I felt I had dealt with my fair share of adversity in the past. BUT no one, and I mean no one can comprehend the challenges this operation presents unless you have undergone this operation and experienced it. Like most of life’s extreme moments of adversity, this pushes you to the breaking point on every imaginable level possible: physically, mentally, emotionally and financially. Having a strong support group of family, friends and counselors or just about anyone who might care, is imperative. It can be hard to express your angst, especially when being as independent as I am. I found it tough to ask for help and still do to some degree, but people can’t read your mind, nor can they understand what you’re going through in most cases. Those first few months were by far the toughest; my life was completely changed from what I had lived the previous thirty plus years. Not only changed, but drastically altered forever, probably the only natural instinct and necessity that all creatures on this planet are born with to survive I no longer possessed…the desire to feed. Of course, suffering through those first few months was most likely better than the outcome had I not had the operation. Cancer would have grown, spread and I would have had to have the operation anyways, possibly too late, diminishing my potential lifespan.

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With my freedom granted from the hospital, I headed to a friend’s moms house which was so kindly offered to me to stay at. This was a very generous gesture and with her place being the closest to my apartment, my parents and the clinic I had to visit regularly, plus the fact that she is a very kindhearted person, made this the obvious option. If I didn’t have a place to go after checking out of the hospital where I would have someone to watch over me and assist me if needed, it would have been possibly too much to take. It was also nice to have my own bedroom and bathroom in the basement, separate from the rest of the house. My body was now operating in a different way and if I had to share a bathroom or was in the way of others it would have been a nightmare.

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The night after my surgery I faded in and out of brief moments of sleep. The nurses continuously checked up on me, which was nice, except every so often when it was for my suppository. They’d also come in to empty my catheter bag and drainage container, both of which got full quite often. If you were wondering, the drainage tube was stuck through a hole on the right side of my abdomen to drain any fluid/blood build up from the surgeries; it was kind of like a pump. None of the tubes bothered me more than the IV stuck in my neck though, it made turning my head to talk or sleep fairly uncomfortable. There wasn’t really much pain in general from the entire surgery, but it was certainly unpleasant anytime I had to adjust myself, the suppository procedure was absolutely the most strenuous movement by far. I couldn’t imagine how much it would have hurt if I hadn’t had my epidural still inserted into my spine.

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The day had finally arrived…

It was easily the most intense day of my life, going into surgery feeling healthy and fine with no idea how I was going to be afterwards, my emotions were all over the place. After all I had read and discussed with doctors, my bio-mom and new friend through the BC Cancer Agency, I had mixed thoughts on what the future might hold. I think I was mostly excited however. That may not make much sense, but to get this monkey off my back at last was something I was truly looking forward to. Don’t get me wrong; I was definitely nervous at the same time, not about the surgery, but about how I’d cope in both the short and long term without my stomach. I haven’t mentioned the lymph node surgery much, and to be honest it wasn’t really on my mind all that much. Yes it was a major surgery that alone might be something I would have taken more time to think about, but I imagine for obvious reasons, the removal of my stomach took precedence.

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With my surgeries only a week away I arrived back home in Vancouver only to takeoff for a quick two-night stay in Seattle to decompress from my two week adventure of gluttonous goodness where I had put on close to ten pounds, weighing in at just under 175lbs. It was a perfect little getaway to just relax and clear my mind of what was upcoming. 

My dad came out from Ontario to be around for my surgery and recovery, but with no certainty for how long he would stay, he wasn’t sure where to stay. The Vancouver Canuck’s were in the playoffs and it was extremely hard to find him a hotel room, so I found him in a very reasonably priced motel that some might consider to be a little shady. He was slightly hesitant at first, but once he gave it a chance he found the location not so bad and for the price it was quite the deal.

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