I don’t usually write about short trips. The day trips that I sometimes take involve a bit of sightseeing and might include a lunch or dinner in some small Nebraska town but do not have enough Traveling Dean elements for me to write about. However, over the years I’ve made a few exceptions in my postings, and this is one of them.

While travel for this adventure took place from May 9 to May 24, the story begins on March 26 when I reported for my regularly scheduled, every five years, colonoscopy. I have colonoscopies at five-year intervals because polyps have been found several times during previous exams.

I arrived for the plastic probe up my butt procedure on time and cleaned out on the 26^th, ready to get it over with. I drove up to the outpatient clinic at 7:30 am and was quickly processed and gotten ready for the 8:30 am action. I gowned up, got hooked up by the staff, and was visited by the sandman who asked me questions about my previous experience with anesthesia. My colonoscopist stopped last, reviewing the process that I have come to know fairly well. Then there was a short trip down a brightly lit hallway to the procedure venue. From there, I moved to the table where all of the probing would take place, rolled to my left, and was connected to the drug that would knock me out. I was quickly gone.

The post-procedure fog was normal. I felt as if I had just awoken from a nap and my brain was sort of functioning to the level where I was wondering what was found. That’s when I heard it: two polyps, not unusual for me, but one was flat and large, four cm or so, and could not be removed. I needed surgery. My colonoscopist/colorectal surgeon would remove 12 inches, about 20 percent of my colon. Holy shit.

For several reasons, including our travel to France, my surgery was delayed until May 9. I was prepped and ready to go for my 1 pm scheduled surgery. This time I went to Methodist Hospital here in Omaha, about a 13-mile drive from my home in Waterloo, Nebraska. The re-section of my colon, so I was told, would take about three hours. I expected to be in the hospital for three nights. While no component of the scenario seemed good, I sensed that I would be fine. I would stay focused on doing all that was necessary to make sure that I was home four days after surgery. My last thought about my surgery as I was moved from gurney to operating table was that the table was terribly uncomfortable and the operating room was freezing. Then the sandman took over and I was gone.

The picture above is of the whiteboard in my hospital room on the day I was discharged, May 24. Simple subtraction shows that I spent 15 nights, 16 days, in the hospital, Room 629 in the South Tower of Methodist Hospital. Also, note the two hand drawings on the right and center sections of the board. Two different surgeons drew pictures of their handwork, a lot more than was promised prior to my surgery.

Early on in the re-section of my colon on May 9, it was discovered that the flat polyp was located very close to the artery that supplies blood for the entire large intestine. Quickly, the surgeons, now numbering three, determined that the resection had to involve the removal of three feet, about 60 percent, of my colon and that considerable work would be needed to re-attach the small and large intestines. A three-hour estimated time for surgery became a 4.5-hour affair. I wouldn’t be going home after a three-night stay.

 Waking up to the news of my surgery left me stunned. The next day I had a tube inserted through my nose to address a build-up of gas and fluids in my stomach. Three days later I had a Pic line installed to ensure that my body was getting proper nutrition. By then I had not eaten in nearly one week and felt tired virtually every minute that I was awake. Each day and night was filled with checks of my vitals (at 3 am?), injections of Heparin to keep me from having blood clots, blood draws, poking, prodding, short walks, visits from social workers (do you feel safe at home?), physical therapists, occupational therapists, a dietitian, and conversations about what would need to happen in order for me to be sent home. As explained to me, our intestines go into shock when they are subjected to the trauma from a surgery like mine. They have to “wake up” and start functioning before I could be discharged.

It took my intestines longer than the average length of time to wake up and recover, thus my extended hospital stay. It’s certainly good to be home, although it will be many weeks or more before I arrive at my new normal.