A Bum Deal

First of all, a shout out to Uncle Jim and Aunt Wanda. Love you guys!

Secondly, a quick summation for Carole. All is well. :-)

Now for the details...

The effects of the chemo are gradually and blessedly going away. People are actually starting to comment on how well I am looking. My hands and feet still have a few cracks but nothing too bad. I can walk well and grip things again. All good stuff. Sadly my appetite is back and my weight is climbing. So much for the cancer diet. Now I'll have to actually watch what I eat and exercise like everybody else to stay fit and trim. Fortunately, my energy is also returning.

My final surgery is scheduled for Wednesday morning, June 15th, just two weeks from today. The procedure is called an ileostomy takedown, which sounds like a wrestling move to me. ("That's two points for Dr. Sklow for the takedown!") The purpose of the takedown is to reverse the ileostomy, allowing traffic to once again flow through what is left of my large intestines and into my new plumbing. If everything works correctly, it will then leave my body in a controlled manner, at my bidding, through the original exit God gave me at birth.

Two tests were performed to ensure that all is healed and ready for use before the flood gates are reopened. Last Thursday, Dr. Sklow was kind enough to insert his finger well into my bum checking for any strictures. (Yes, I'm going to let you look that word up for yourself.) He smiled and said I had no strictures. Green light for test number two (let's say the pun here is intentional). Yesterday, I went back to the hospital for the pressure check. That's where they look for leaks in the new plumbing. Since I know many of you are curious, I'll explain how this is done.

The Mother of All Enemas

I lay on my left side on a table in an xray room. I am wearing my birthday suit and a lovely hospital gown open at the back. A man wearing a lead vest and a lead collar inserts a magic wand into my bum. Wait, let's call it a plastic tube with a bulbous tip about the thickness of Dr. Sklow's finger. Me, I am prepared for this. I am biting on a rolled up wash cloth which Carla (who must now remain in the waiting room) brought me after witnessing last week's stricture stress. Only a muffled scream escapes my lips.

Within moments I am being filled with a contrast fluid from a large bag hanging on an IV pole. That's lab technician number two's job. Squeeze the bag until I'm full. My job, he explains, is to hold it all in. No pressure there! Xray man number one keeps the wand in place with one hand while he guides a movable xray arm thing-a-ma-jig across my body all while looking at a monitor out of my view. He has me roll this way and that for several minutes getting images of my glowing intestines from all sides.

"Anything leaking in there?" I ask during a brief lull in the process. Mind you, I feel like a ballooned up puffer fish at this point. "You'll have to ask your doctor for the results," he replies. So I am guessing that no news is good news. I'll head in for surgery if I haven't heard from Dr. Sklow before then.

And finally, all good things have to come to an end (or out the end as the case may be). I am invited to use a toilet just off the xray room so I don't have to waddle back to the changing room. Ten minutes and several pints later, I am guided back to the dressing room where there is another toilet calling to me. Eventually, I make it out to the waiting room to see Carla, when suddenly I have to high tail it to yet a third toilet down the hall. When Carla sees me next I am shaking, exhausted, weak and sweating. I guess the third time is the charm.

It would be half an hour more before we got me out to the car for the trip home, but at least I was empty at last. I told the technicians when I first walked in their little torture chamber that I thought I was getting a bum deal.