Bonjour mes amis and again the warning of bad language and/or graphic details. Remember, curiousity causes offence so don't read if you are a little sensitive.
First and foremost I did not post yesterday as a mark of respect for the sad loss of Veronica. It just didn't seem right to have a giggle on the forum yesterday.
Someone asked for a story, so you have one. Get a cuppa. On Monday, a visionary ward doctor told me that she thought I had a blood clot as my right arm was swollen. I don't know what she was on to cause the vision but of course the scan was clear. Perhaps she had been at the morphine in the store cupboard. It must be a temptation sometimes. My own morphine fairies and pixies continue to cause havoc and mayhem. Yesterday morning they decided to spill the contents of my cream bag onto the floor whilst the nurse was changing my port needle. There was this dreadful smell of FISH!! Of course I assumed it was me since I'm rotting away from the inside out. The spreading carpet of liquid, which I've dreamed of being rich cream all this time, was now leaving it's foul stink everywhere, but mostly in our lungs. At least we have discovered the Source of the Vile. (Couldn't resist that one, sorry). Previous occupants must have been on the same regime. I swear the stuff is oozing through my skin now. After a shower I still smell like a herring - and it ain't pleasant. No movement in the nether regions either so I was taken away for an X-ray.
As I had been on 24/7 morphine since the weekend, the journey was quite bizarre. I had the strangest feeling that the lift was Willy Wonka's and that we were going to burst out of the roof at any moment. After the X-ray I ignored the wheelchair and wandered off instead of waiting for my armed escort back to the ward and found myself outside in the car park. Sunshine and trees. Lovely. Eventually I made it back, much to the relief of the porter who had been sent to collect me and saw only an empty wheelchair in an empty corridor. I'm sure they were giving me too much morphine. I am a lightweight where drugs are concerned. Still, whilst I was away the fairies and pixies had painted the walls sparkly green, with zigzags. I preferred the pink. I slept.
I was awoken by Dr Z. A lovely lady oncologist of about 12 years old who comes no further up than my chest - and I'm only 5ft 3ins. Here, all senior medics wear long white coats and this poor wee thing has one which reaches the floor. As she weighs so little and stands so small, the coat engulfs her and she reminds me of the old fashioned loo pull chain handles we used to have. She just seems to glide along without touching the floor. She has very limited English but insists on using it. More's the pity. I see her sometimes at the chemo clinic and it's the same problem. She said that my X-ray shows a blockage where, "Little bowl joins big bowl, here (pointing lower right side). And here in bowl, (pointing lower left side) there is big fœtus but you are not in danger". What? Not in danger? There's a large fœtus in me and my husband's had a vascectomy, of course I'm in danger. I knew what she meant so explained her error and we just laughed about it. Phew. Still, I wonder what colour hair it may have had and whether it would look like me or himself. Would he/she have been a doctor? Shut up Kryssy.
Dr Z decided that it was time to introduce some explosives. She had ordered a tanker of nitroglycerine and they were going to get all the muck out one way or the other. One half glass of clear thick liquid appeared and I was told to drink it slowly over 5 minutes. Oui. One hour later nothing. A full glass appeared and I was told to drink it quickly. Oui. I went for a walk. Nothing. After another two hours Nurse Brillo brought in a couple of packets and mixed them with water in front of me like a bleeding cocktail. No cherry on a stick though. Not even a paper umbrella. Told to drink this quickly and to "be ready". I went for another walk and decided it best to stay away from naked flames as if predictions were right, when I exploded I would be taking half of the good citizens of Limoges with me.
By the time I got back to Stalag 3001 I had christened my bowel Winnie the Poop and the small intestines The Wind in the Pillows. I spoke to them nicely and begged them to do their best. At some point soon after they converged and I had the first movement of what was going to be a very long played out symphony. Several passes of cacti later, and many swear words, some of which haven't been invented yet, and the pain subsided and I was able to crawl back to bed. I was fearing the dreaded raspberry flavoured liquid paraffin from last year and how it spontaneously leaked out the same way as it went in. It was etched on my memory - and much of my underwear. So, big knickers went on and I was ready for the night, but Nurse Brillo has assured me that there was no liquid paraffin in the mix. Dr Z said that I have the right attitude. What's that then? Madness?
I spent the evening watching The Vicar of Dibley back to back. I laughed so much that it shifted some more Winnie and hopefully some blockage from the other side too. My boys are delighted. That's the weirdest thing to write. My boys are actually thrilled that their mother has been able to have a shit. Life can be the funniest place sometimes.
There were a whole lot of new faces on the night shift last night - another weird beard too. A lovely nurse whose just returned from holiday all tanned. I look like a corpse in comparison. She wants to see my next Winnie to assess how much is there. Jeez, what a job.
Update on today. On my morning walk - 7.30am through a deserted hospital - I was caught out and had to nip in the public loo for a Winnie. No chance of having it assessed so I must wait for the next one. No lookie at poopie - no foodie. As if I'd lie about it. Had a really bad night of Wind in the Pillows so went back on morphine again. Weirdness overcame me but sleep didn't. Have been asleep for most of the day today. Tonight they are giving me sleeping pills. At last!! When I woke up this afternoon there was a horrible dark monster in the corner staring at me. But it was only hubby. He'd come for a visit but didn't want to disturb me. I would like to say that he frightened the shit out of me, but it didn't happen. So we continue to wait.
A bientôt mes copains et bon courage.
Kryssy xxxxxx
In hospice now
Never any good news from me
Update on Mum 71 after emergency bowel removal last Tuesday
