WRITTEN BY MICK
First up, at the risk of boring some of you, it’s worth repeating a generic text I shot out last night. It read: Just spoke to surgeons and they’re very happy with how it went. They said squatter had shrunk significantly and they had a good go at it. They said pathology tests will indicate degree of success.
When the guys who’ve just dissected you utter the words ‘very happy’, you’ve gotta be very bloody happy. Obviously, many fingers will be crossed re those pathology results.
The day played out with us rising at 5.00am to be in Lismore by 6.40am. Only the eviction of a bowel squatter could justify travelling to Lismore at such an ungodly hour. We first met with Stoma nurse, Bill Tyrell, an incredibly up beat bloke, who marked the ominous ‘X’ on P’s midriff before we proceeded to the pre-op department. My sense of deja vu was justified given 10 years ago Bill marked my six pack in the very same way. Well, maybe not a six pack, probably more resembling an inflated cask bladder.
Cutting to the chase, four hours later my girl was no longer encumbered by an angry arsehole (no, she didn’t dump me), a burnt bowel and all the painful crap that went with it. Yes, she did look and act as though she’d been hit by a Kenworth, but having just spoken to her now she’s recovered really well. The nurses are stoked with where she’s at and reckon her brand new stoma looks beach-ready. No more pain, no more incontinence, no more roids and fingers crossed… no more bloody squatter.
I’d call that a good day. Thank you all for your kindness, love and support. It’s very humbling. We really get it that this is not just about us. When we feel your pain over this it breaks us up.
Big Byron Hugs from us both.