Chapter 13
It was rush hour in the town of Bracebridge when we left the hospital. Bracebridge is a small town in the Muskoka region also known as cottage country where the area population literally triples during the summer holiday season. Getting anywhere in town during the summer months usually takes twice as long. Today however Sherry had elected to take the back roads to my condo so as to avoid a couple of traffic lights and the rush hour congestion on the main street.
Being the winter still we probably saved a minute if any in traveling time.
It was an agonizing drive in Sherry’s little Suzuki. I think she hit every pothole and bump on the way home and I felt it. Within five minutes we arrived as Sherry parked the car right at the front door. I was not looking forward to ascending the three flights of stairs up to my top floor apartment. I was in pain and I knew those stairs would be my biggest challenge yet since the big operation.
I could still barely talk as I struggled to tell Sherry that I wanted to walk up without any help. It was important for me not to be defeated by those stairs. On any normal day I would have walked up to my condo from my car within half a minute or ten seconds if I ran.
Sherry opened my door as I struggled to get my six foot four frame out of her compact car. Sherry opened the building's front door and I shuffled into the foyer immediately grabbing the staircase handrail. My heart was already pounding exactly the same way as when I would run up those stairs pre-surgery.
I had not even conquered the first step yet.
I finally made it to the top; it probably took me close to five minutes. I needed to rest by leaning on the handrail every few steps. Sherry opened my apartment door and got me seated in my chair with my feet resting up on the ottoman. I booted up my laptop and turned the television on.
I was now totally exhausted.
I had made up my mind about what I wanted to eat, my first real food if you call McDonald’s real food in eight days. Two cheeseburgers and a big chocolate shake were what I was craving.
Sherry was back within fifteen minutes with the food.
I never remember McDonald’s ever tasting so good.
It was that night I would again make another promise to myself. I had been defeated after those twenty-eight stairs had taken so much out of me and I felt as it I was a hundred year old man on the staircase.
I vowed I would climb the CN Tower’s 1776 steps the following spring for the annual WWE fundraiser. I told Sherry of my goal and she was very supportive that I would be able to do it. In fact she agreed to do it with me. She was my biggest cheerleader, but I could tell deep down she did not think it would be possible. There was no way she believed that we would be climbing the CN Tower within a year.
I now had two promises that I made to myself and for both the odds were stacked against me. One, I would be back on the ice within a year on October 25th. Two, I would be climbing the CN Tower next spring in April.
I now weighed 170 lbs, almost 25 lbs less than when I entered the hospital and I was sickly looking. I was weak and I was in pain, but I was grateful to be finally back at home. The worst was now behind me and I knew things could only start getting better from here.
I made another two decisions also on that night. The first decision was to throw my blood stained T.E.D. stockings into the garbage. I had worn them for seven straight days and I would not be needing them going forward.
The second decision I made that first night home was to sleep on my couch. I was still getting used to having the bag and it seemed like I was always emptying the contents. If the bag was not full of the green waste then it would fill up with gas.
Having an ileostomy you still do get gas, but you pass gas into the bag through the stoma instead of farting out your butt. This causes the bag to fill up like a Whoopee cushion and you need to release the gas the same way you release the waste through the bottom clip.
Trust me there is nothing worse than the smell of warm bag gas being released. What a putrid stench that is.
I decided there was absolutely no way I was sleeping in my king size bed and risking the bag leaking or even worse, me turning over during the night causing it to rupture. There was also no way I was sleeping with a plastic mattress liner like a child who wets the bed. So on that first night home I resigned myself to sleeping on the couch until my reversal which would be in about six months.
It was actually better for me to sleep on the long narrow couch since it prevented me from turning over onto the bag, potentially causing it to rupture.
I knew I did not want to go down that road.
That first night home I got all cozy on the couch while Sherry tucked me in. The kitchen light was still on and I could clearly see from where I lay my calendar on the fridge with the big black circle signifying my return to the ice in October.
Being the winter still we probably saved a minute if any in traveling time.
It was an agonizing drive in Sherry’s little Suzuki. I think she hit every pothole and bump on the way home and I felt it. Within five minutes we arrived as Sherry parked the car right at the front door. I was not looking forward to ascending the three flights of stairs up to my top floor apartment. I was in pain and I knew those stairs would be my biggest challenge yet since the big operation.
I could still barely talk as I struggled to tell Sherry that I wanted to walk up without any help. It was important for me not to be defeated by those stairs. On any normal day I would have walked up to my condo from my car within half a minute or ten seconds if I ran.
Sherry opened my door as I struggled to get my six foot four frame out of her compact car. Sherry opened the building's front door and I shuffled into the foyer immediately grabbing the staircase handrail. My heart was already pounding exactly the same way as when I would run up those stairs pre-surgery.
I had not even conquered the first step yet.
I finally made it to the top; it probably took me close to five minutes. I needed to rest by leaning on the handrail every few steps. Sherry opened my apartment door and got me seated in my chair with my feet resting up on the ottoman. I booted up my laptop and turned the television on.
I was now totally exhausted.
I had made up my mind about what I wanted to eat, my first real food if you call McDonald’s real food in eight days. Two cheeseburgers and a big chocolate shake were what I was craving.
Sherry was back within fifteen minutes with the food.
I never remember McDonald’s ever tasting so good.
It was that night I would again make another promise to myself. I had been defeated after those twenty-eight stairs had taken so much out of me and I felt as it I was a hundred year old man on the staircase.
I vowed I would climb the CN Tower’s 1776 steps the following spring for the annual WWE fundraiser. I told Sherry of my goal and she was very supportive that I would be able to do it. In fact she agreed to do it with me. She was my biggest cheerleader, but I could tell deep down she did not think it would be possible. There was no way she believed that we would be climbing the CN Tower within a year.
I now had two promises that I made to myself and for both the odds were stacked against me. One, I would be back on the ice within a year on October 25th. Two, I would be climbing the CN Tower next spring in April.
I now weighed 170 lbs, almost 25 lbs less than when I entered the hospital and I was sickly looking. I was weak and I was in pain, but I was grateful to be finally back at home. The worst was now behind me and I knew things could only start getting better from here.
I made another two decisions also on that night. The first decision was to throw my blood stained T.E.D. stockings into the garbage. I had worn them for seven straight days and I would not be needing them going forward.
The second decision I made that first night home was to sleep on my couch. I was still getting used to having the bag and it seemed like I was always emptying the contents. If the bag was not full of the green waste then it would fill up with gas.
Having an ileostomy you still do get gas, but you pass gas into the bag through the stoma instead of farting out your butt. This causes the bag to fill up like a Whoopee cushion and you need to release the gas the same way you release the waste through the bottom clip.
Trust me there is nothing worse than the smell of warm bag gas being released. What a putrid stench that is.
I decided there was absolutely no way I was sleeping in my king size bed and risking the bag leaking or even worse, me turning over during the night causing it to rupture. There was also no way I was sleeping with a plastic mattress liner like a child who wets the bed. So on that first night home I resigned myself to sleeping on the couch until my reversal which would be in about six months.
It was actually better for me to sleep on the long narrow couch since it prevented me from turning over onto the bag, potentially causing it to rupture.
I knew I did not want to go down that road.
That first night home I got all cozy on the couch while Sherry tucked me in. The kitchen light was still on and I could clearly see from where I lay my calendar on the fridge with the big black circle signifying my return to the ice in October.
It made me smile and it was a nice way to end my first night home.