Wil looked really bad on our flight home from Albany.
Introducing Jake (Big Jake)
Denise on Lex and Terry-11-05-2008
WARNING: This blog entry is lengthy due to the intensity and ferocity of the shit storm that it entails.
Our story actually began back in May when Wil was bent over and booted out the door of his former employer. The summer forecasted chronic diarrhea storms with intermittent periods of intestinal calm (in additional to the typical Florida heat and humidity). We attributed this shitty persistence to the stress Will suffered from careerus interruptus. We took off for Albany, NY on September 1st to better weather and a nice change of scenery. Wil’s lack of intestinal fortitude presented itself with a vengeance: shit showers and odor pungent enough to top that of Princess’ (the Bennett resident pussy) litter box. Stock was taken in the Frabreez and Scott companies due to excessive use of both products. Wil’s appetite diminished after the 15th; and his sleep began to be interrupted by all night shit attacks. Toward the end of the month, Kristen noted that Wil was having rectal bleeding which led to a call to our doctor and the scheduling of an immediate appointment upon our arrival home. Lacking medical insurance (Thanks to the St Petersburg anal raping in May) and NY residency, Wil was hesitant to go to an ER or Urgent Care in Albany.
On October 1st we went to see the doctor. Wil had lost from 209 to 186 pounds, had a distended abdomen, and a rapid heart rate; and was immediately taken to St Anthony’s hospital by Pat, our doctor’s nurse. We were both in tears worrying about not having any insurance and not being able to pay. A GI doctor was called in to evaluate scheduling Wil for a colonoscopy and endoscopy for the next morning. Wil’s hemoglobin was 7.8 (badly anemic). An IV was started and he was given three units of blood along with fluids for dehydration, potassium, and antibiotics. To add to his misery, he had to drink a gallon of Go Litely (It should be called Shit Your Brains Out) to clear his GI tract for the upcoming tests. It was not fun trying to coax him to drink that nasty crap! It was a shame that ‘24’ wasn’t on that night because he could have played the Drinking Game using Go Litely instead of beer. He was not amused with that idea. There was no sleep for either of us as it took nine hours to transfuse the blood; and he shit all night. We wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway as we were both scared about the gravity of his situation. To add insult to injury, Wil was put on a clear liquid diet. Friends took Max and Titan to their house to care for them. At least we didn’t stress about that as the boys love going there.
At 6:30am on October 2nd, Wil was taken down for his endoscopy and colonoscopy. I watched the sun rise behind a beautiful palm tree while in the lab’s waiting area. The doctor came out and told me that Wil had the worst case of Ulcerative Colitis that he had ever seen in his career. He took biopsies for diagnostic purposes and told me that Wil would more than likely need to have his entire colon removed. He also told me that his rectum was so severely damaged that he may loose his ass as well. Ulcerative Colitis is not caused by stress; but stress can make the disease worsen. I am convinced that if Wil had not been screwed over by his former employer and treated like a human instead of a criminal; he would still have his intestinal fortitude and still be shitting and farting today. The doctors agree that the stressors of the past four months have added to the disease’s progression. While waiting for Wil to come out of recovery, I called Mom Mom (Wil’s mom who treats me like I am one of her own) as I felt like I had been punched in the stomach by what I had been told. She encouraged me to be strong in front of Wil and to go hide in the bathroom to have a good cry. I knew that she had been speaking from experience. Since Wil had been sedated for his procedures, the tech asked me not to say much about the findings until later in the day. What was Wil’s first question while going back to his room? “How are my intestines?” I told him that they were still there. The tech motioned to me to remain quiet and he shared a skeleton of the findings with him. As he dozed after his testing, I snuck off to the bathroom down the hall, called Elizabeth, and had a nice cry. As the day went on, we began to talk about life without a colon. Wil was not receptive to it at all. His belly was even more distended than ever from the air used to push the colonoscopy tube up his ass. The doctors wanted to put a PIC line (a catheter into a major vein in the chest cavity through the upper arm) in to give Wil TPN (liquid food in the veins). I had gone home for a couple hours; and he told the doctors that he had to consult with me and wouldn’t let them do it. I was met by his evening nurse in the hall; and told her that we had already discussed it and agreed that it should be done. Wil didn’t want to have it done until I was in the room. The PIC team was called to come back; but never did on that day. Wil was miserably uncomfortable with all of the gas build up in his body. Around dinner time, he rolled over on his belly and expelled a fart like I’d never heard before. Unfortunately, I had no recorder with me or it would have been a podcast all by itself. Wil and I were both very nervous and scared by all that was going on. He was now on IV fluids with the antibiotics and a suppository for the colitis. He kept telling me that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. We told the nurses who listened to his lungs only to find them clear. Wil’s hemoglobin had risen to 10 which was a bit of a relief to us. Wil had another miserable night with pain, mega shits, and woke up a couple of times telling me that he felt like he was choking.
Friday, October 3rd came in with a visit from Max and Titan bringing me breakfast. Poor Wil was still strictly on clear liquids. I helped him get a nice sponge bath. When Wil’s GI doctor came in around lunch time, Wil was doing his most frequent activity as of late, shitting. The doctor was concerned that the PIC line had not yet been put in; and that he was afraid that Wil’s colon was going to perforate. He wanted to see how Wil did over the weekend, wait for the biopsy results, and consult with a surgeon on Monday. We discussed our concerns about life without a colon. Wil was openly scared of the whole process; and I was inwardly squirming and trying to remain the strong rock (like always). Fr. David Thompson called us and prayed with us which made us both feel better. The PIC line was put in around 3:15pm and a chest x-ray was taken to verify the stability of its position in Wil’s chest. Our primary care doctor showed up in the doorway and told us that the chest x-ray revealed Wil had free air pushing under his diaphragm which indicated colon perforation. Surgery was not an option; but now mandatory to save Wil’s life. A whirlwind of activity began. His hemoglobin was 11. His IV fluids were run wide open. A surgeon appeared and told us that she had one gallbladder to remove; and then she would complete an exploratory laparoscopy, complete colonectomy, and ileostomy. I signed the consent forms for this nightmare. Wil was so sick, his skin looked ashen. Wil expressed concerns about living without a colon; but neither of us had time to process much with the gravity of the current situation. IV antibiotics were hung and run wide open. A critical care doctor appeared in the room. The plan was to monitor Wil in the ICU until he went to surgery because of the tachycardia. The critical care doctor took Wil’s chart with him to ICU. The OR called and told the third floor staff (Wil started out in room 356) that they were ready for Wil. The staff was looking for his chart. We were both telling them that the critical care doctor took it with him to ICU. They took Wil, bed and all, down to the OR recovery area where he could be monitored carefully. I squeezed my fat ass into the elevator with the staff and bed to go with him. I was shown the waiting area while Wil was taken away. I paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as I was way too upset to sit on my ass. After about fifteen minutes a nurse showed me the way to the OR recovery area. There were two anesthesiologists asking questions and prepping him for surgery. Wil was so ill that I gave most of the information that they needed. The IV pump was going so fast it sounded like it couldn’t keep up with the flow of the bags of fluids. It was like a trauma scene from ER or House. I was able to be with him there for about twenty minutes. At 6pm Wil was rolled away from me after kisses and love you’s. He told me he was going to miss me. I told him that he would be forgetting my name in about five minutes. One of the anesthesiologists told him that he would be forgetting everything in about five minutes. They told Wil that his surgery would probably take an hour and a half; but I knew it was really bad and would be much longer than that. I sat by the window in the waiting area next to the palm tree that I had befriended the previous morning and made phone calls (Mom Mom, Elizabeth, A friend, and Kristen) stuffing all of my urges to cry. At 9pm, the surgeon came out and told me that it was really bad. Wil’s colon was badly perforated spilling a large amount of stool into his abdominal cavity; and that we could expect him to get much sicker over the next few days. I knew she was referring to sepsis; but no one ever spoke the word out loud. She also told me that she had to take most of his rectum as well as his colon due to the severity of the disease; and his ostomy would more than likely be permanent. I told her that it didn’t matter to me as long as she gave him back to me alive. I made repeat phone calls to update Wil’s status. Mom Mom, Elizabeth, A Friend, and Kristen kept all of our family and friends updated for us. I could feel the love and prayers coming our way from everyone. A recovery room nurse came to get me around 10:00; and I began to stuff my upset by deep breast (just like I did to stuff my emotions as a child). The nurse told me, “No crying in baseball.” Wil was lying there covered from the waste down. I noticed right away that his color looked a hundred percent better. He had an ostomy bag to the right of his belly button and a foot long bandage to the left, an NG tube down his nose, and oxygen on his face. He answered when I spoke to him. The nurse said his temperature was 101.6; and to expect it to rise much higher over the next few days. They asked me to return to the waiting area while they transferred him to ICU (2nd floor near OR). This time I sat in an interior waiting area as it was so late that the lights were turned off (accept for emergency lighting) and I was the only soul in the place. I continued to keep my strong face on. I had a quiet chat with God about not being ready for Him to take Wil from me at this time. I wore his wedding ring on the finger next to mine and would keep it there pending the outcome of this ordeal. Elizabeth was on her way to be with me; and I prayed that she was not coming to help me bury him. The almost certain probability of sepsis and its known outcome in these types of cases had the odds stacked against Wil. At 11:15 Wil’s ICU nurse came and got me. He told me that Wil was stable. Wil responded when I spoke to him. I teased him about delivering a baby stoma because we had still not managed a pregnancy in almost five years. He laughed at me. The nurse took Wil’s temperature again and it was down to 98.2. I was amazed. I left for the night and was told that I could stay with him the next day from 10AM to 6PM. A friend picked me up a little after midnight and fed me at the Waffle House. I needed to unwind and cut up before going home to sleep at a bout 2AM.
After about six hours of exhaustion induced sleep and Wendy’s on the run, I was back in the second floor ICU room to sit with Wil. Since he looked peaceful and resting upon my arrival, I sat quietly until I heard him say, “Find the curb.” I walked over to his bedside and asked him if he was dreaming of Max. He affirmed telling me that some guy had written ‘I love you’ in turds and had been throwing them on people’s cars and in the hospital’s PA system. I asked if he was going to clean it up and he responded that he had to find the bastard and make him clean it up himself. It was evident that the morphine was working nicely. Wil’s nurse told me that he had only been medicated for pain three times during the night; and he wanted to get up and walk when they cleaned him up earlier that morning. They were giving him constant IV antibiotics along with albumin and potassium. He also received two more units of blood with a hefty shot of Lasix between them to reduce volume overload from the flooding of his body with fluids. The critical care doctor informed me that when the body goes through a severe trauma such as this, everything tries to shut down. The bone marrow even stops producing red blood cells. Wil was responsive when I spoke to him; but I didn’t say much as I knew he needed as much rest as his body could take. I sat quietly dozing when I heard him say, “Do you want to take some of my solids home with you?” Knowing the power of morphine over the brain, I remained quiet. He repeated his question louder and called me by name; “Do you want to take some of my solids home with you, Denise?” Snickering to myself, I answered “Yes, I’ll take them with me when I go home.” He quieted down for awhile; and then I heard; “I’m ready (short pause) to crap.” I was sure that his mind was processing the loss of his colon even under the influence of morphine. He told me that he hated for me to sit there being bored all day; and I told him that it was a welcome relief to sit and doze together after the nightmare of the previous day behind us. As I stood next to his bed holding his hand, before leaving for the night (6pm), he said “Nice boob.” I asked “What???” Again he said (and louder this time) “Nice boob.” I told him that I was standing and that he knew that my boobs were nowhere neared dragging to my knees. He chuckled and he said ‘Oh, that’s my own thigh”. His temperature remained normal (and remained that way for the duration) which was a miraculous and wonderful relief to everyone. Friends picked me up and took me to Ale House where we celebrated Wil’s being alive. I then spent the night at their house where I could be with the boys and relax.
Knowing how hard it was for Wil to deal with the thought of living without a colon, a friend and I came up with a list of pros for having an ostomy:
* Play the stoma hole (fart) instead of bagpipes.
* Use less spray (Fabreez)
* Buy less toilet paper
* Save time by not sitting on the john for hours
* No more burning asshole
* No more abdominal cramping and diarrhea
* No more shart (shit/fart) tracks in underwear
* No more dingle-berries
* No water splashing up on your ass from dropping a heavy turd in the bowl
* No hemorrhoids
* No more Tucks pads
* No old age walking farts
* Never need to wear Depends
* You can make money in bars by betting others that you can shit standing up; and without pulling your pants down.
The morning of October 5 brought warm sunshine and two golden retrievers in the bed with me. I called Wil’s ICU room to be told that he had been moved out to room 306 earlier in the morning; and that he was stable with no fever. The nurse connected me to his room; but the voice did not sound like his. The NG tube down his throat made his voice seem much higher, not to forget that he was extremely weak from his ordeal and flying high on morphine. After telling him that I would be there later in the day, I laid in the bed talking to everyone who called me until noon. When I got to the hospital, Wil was still pretty much out of it thanks to the morphine. His nurse had to change his ostomy bag which caused him considerable pain. His body had begun to produce bile giving me my first view of life with a stoma. A nasal swab of the patient in the other bed prompted the unexpected transfer of Wil down the hall to room 301. Wil tells me that he has no recollection of any of the events from this weekend. I feel that it is best that he doesn’t in hopes that he also forgets its pain as well. He was given a sixth unit of blood and was allowed nothing by mouth other than ice chips. Elizabeth arrived early in the evening and would stay until Friday morning of that week. She kept Wil’s side of the bed warm for him in his absence.
Each day of this week was a process in recovery for Wil. I began emptying the bag on Monday as I wanted to be able to help deal with this life change from the beginning. The weather outside was sunny and warm; but shit storms erupted under the covers as the bag overfilled, was improperly clipped, or just blew out. Our new baby stoma was given a name, Jake (Big Jake). The doctors came and went daily noting his progress. Infection developed in a portion of the incision site. Some staples were removed; the wounds were packed for healing, and covered. One of Wil’s biggest challenges was dehydration. The PIC line carried nutrients through his veins while the NG tube was removed on Tuesday and a clear liquid diet resumed. Wil was physically weak and emotionally down; and did not want people to see him as ill as he was. Mom and dad were going to surprise us by showing up at the end of the week; but a friend called and let the cat out of the bag. Wil told Mom that he didn’t want them to come; and of course it majorly pissed her off. Knowing how fragile her health is, we feared that the stress of the whole situation would literally kill her. Elizabeth was a big help and a rock for me to lean on (as she has always been). She went to Sam’s and stocked the house for us; and gave us an Answered Prayers cross which will hang over our bed. She also took care of the paperwork and acquired a handicapped parking permit for Wil. After she left, I slept on the couch as the bed was too big and empty without Wil in it. The boys were expressing their own desires to return home. Max began acting out by shitting on the carpet after he heard Daddy’s voice on the phone. I’m sure he was upset about not being able to find Wil after the voice was gone. When Mom and Dad arrived on Friday afternoon, I could tell that she was much worse for wear by making the trip. Wil was moved to room 310, a private room, to ease the emotional stress of his recovery. He was graduated to full liquids and then to solid food with special attention to diet in regards to having a new ostomy. Mom and Dad made sure I had good meals before and after being at the hospital. Wil was begging to go home by the weekend; but was kept pending lab results of a lower white count and better hematocrit. He was again moved to a new room, 628, as he no longer required cardiac monitoring. An ostomy nurse gave a brief demonstration of how to deal with the changing of the bag. Theresa continued to care for the boys by stopping by the house to park and feed them. They were fine as long as I came home at night. On Tuesday, October 14, Wil was finally discharged from the hospital with no new medication requirements. Home health would come and assist with wound care and our adjustment to changing Jake. It was such a relief to have him home. He was weak; and I was thoroughly exhausted. After having breakfast with Mom and Dad on the 15th, they returned to Augusta.
Home health had come on the 15th and 16th. Wil woke me up early on the 17th by telling me to look as he claimed to have taken a shit. I told him that he couldn’t shit anymore because that was Jake’s job. I looked in the toilet to see nothing but blood. He said he wasn’t finished and sat back down. I called a friend who came right over to take us to the ER. I hurriedly got dressed and grabbed Wil’s ID and a bath robe for him. Theresa put towels down in the car while I was to help Wil put the robe on and come outside. He stood up, fell over, and was totally unresponsive. I ran outside to yell at Theresa and then dialed 911. The bathroom looked like a scene from CSI. I felt as if I were going to come out of my skin; but knew I could not do that and controlled my urges to panic. The EMT’s and fire department showed up within five minutes, gathered information, got Wil on a stretcher, and out the door we went as I was allowed to ride in the front to the hospital. I conscientiously took deep slow breaths so that I could maintain control of my strong rock self (on the outside anyway). A friend took the boys to her house and dealt with cleaning the murder scene at our house. In the ER, Wil was given a unit of blood; then transferred to ICU where a second unit awaited him. During the five days spent in ICU, his blood levels were monitored; all staples removed, and wound care instructions were given to me by a wonderful and patient nurse. Tests (sigmoidoscopy) and x-rays (barium enema series – lower GI and barium swallow – upper GI) showed the formation of a fistula between ileum and rectal wall resulting in a mild degree of shitting. Wil said that this anal raping was much like the one he got when he was bent over in May. More suppository meds, steroids, and stool enemas were given to calm the savage Ulcerative Colitis flare up. I talked to Dad every night as Mom was also in ICU in Augusta. We agreed to tell Mom and Wil that the other was doing fine; and only fessed up to each of them when they were well enough to handle it (like we needed more drama and stress). On October 21st Wil was moved to a private room, 309, until his release on the 23rd with a graduate to measure Jake’s output and a toilet hat to measure Asshole’s output. A $300.00 prescription (10 days worth) was given along with Prednisone; and home we went for a second time (by cab due to drunkenness – mine). Neither of us wanted to go back into our bathroom after this traumatic episode (me on the 17th and Wil on the 23rd). I had a melt down on the 22nd after unsuccessful attempts to procure a Rays cowbell for Wil. On the 23rd, a friend and I sat vigil for one (again unsuccessful) at Ferg’s sports bar, got wasted on Blue Moon’s, and showed up inebriated to spring Wil from the hospital (a friend had to dump me and run – luckily she made it home). Oops!!!
All seemed to be going well and we had high hopes that Wil’s hospital days were over. We woke up on the morning of October 30th to a repeat performance of that on the 17th. This time we were measuring output (over 700ml). I called a friend (who by this time began to panic if I called her before 7am on any morning); and then put a message in with the doctor’s answering service. When a friend got here, the doctor called and upon my report of the blood loss instructed us to get Wil to the ER. De je vu – Wil stood up, fell over getting carpet burn on his cheek (no wild sexual encounter to blame it on); 911 was called; and see October 17th for the rest. Again, a friends took care of the CSI scene cleanup and the boys. And again, Wil was given two units of blood in the ER (making a total of 10 for the month) and transferred to a regular room, 307. He weighed 160 pounds. The emotional roller coaster of the past month was taking its toll on both of us. More tests (sigmoidoscopy) and a bleeding scan of the abdomen and pelvic areas revealed no new source of bleeding. The bleeding scan did reveal that the blood vessels in Wil’s penis were very prominent during the test. I told the doctor that Wil had been dreaming about me. Since his penis had no formal nickname, its new Delta Tau Chi name is Mr. Prominent. He will never be caught singing Viva Viagra. The doctors put him on different medications and sent the horny dog home on November 3rd.
After more than two months home, Wil still experiences anxiety when releasing ass mucus; and it makes me panic when he has any kind of pain or says things like ‘here we go again’ with the wrong intonation. He has gained 25 pounds back and can resume his weight training. Through the whole ordeal it is Dee (from Lex and Terry) that I hear in my head saying “You ain’t goin beat me! You ain’t goin beat me! ….. You can call me what ya wanna; but you won’t call me looser!” I called to wish Dee a happy birthday and to thank him for spurring us on through such a hard time. Lex and Terry have known us for the ten years that we have been listening and know that we are both true survivors. We ended 2008 thanking God for Wil being alive; and for us being together. We look forward to 2009 being a much better year.
Until next time…
[...] wait for denise’s post so we could both relate our experiences of 2008. In her post entitled, “Introducing Jake,” Denise introduces you to our new way of life as we know it. Below, you will find my account of what [...]