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Forty minutes
Forty minutes
28th June 2007
That’s all it takes; 40 minutes to reverse the mess, the pain and discomfort of the past 18 months. Less than an hour to stick a patch on the hole in the colon, repair the hernia and push the whole ghastly mess back from whence it came.
I feel cheated – it should take longer given the hold it’s had over me for so long. 40 minutes is trivial – a blink of the eye. Actually it’s far, far less than that.
The rain keeps me from mowing the lawn and I estimate the number of minutes in 18 months. It’s around 800,000. So as a percentage, the reversal works out at around 0.005% of the time I’ve endured this thing. That’s 5 thousandths of 1 percent. I do some more sums. I’ve lived with an ileostomy for 2.5% of my life to date. Some people have to live with this permanently.
I see the Bag-Lady for the last time. I usually see her in the afternoon, but today it’s around lunchtime. I walk past the ward that I’ll be staying in next week and the smell hits me – a mix of mince and antiseptic. I’d forgotten the smell of hospital.
Our meeting is very emotional – flowers from me and a box of chocs from Annie. I know she’s only doing her job – but it’s the how that counts. A final wax and polish and I’m ready for the knife. I’ll miss her. We joke about what to do with my supply of bags. She suggests a party game - filling them with pickle or tomato ketchup and getting people to empty them without making a mess. Oh we did laugh.
The phone wakes me out my reverie. Someone trying to persuade me to part with money in exchange for a promise of good times to come. I decline. I ask them to take me off their list as I’m not in a position to invest any money. I sometimes use the cancer card to get rid of unwanted calls – someone said you can only play it once. I guess I’m pushing my luck. And – it doesn’t always work - this in the middle of chemo:
Man on phone - usual salutation then: I have a unique investment opportunity for you.
Me: sorry – I’m not in a position to make any investments.
Man on phone: why not?
Me: I have cancer.
Silence
Man on phone: it’s a really good investment.
Me: did you not hear me? – I have cancer.
Man on phone: yes but, it’s one of our best opportunities.
Me: look - I have cancer. I may not be around to collect.
Man on phone – after long pause: we have one where we only need to tie your money up for 6 weeks.
Silence: - 4 weeks then?
Another phone call. Stepdaughter Helen has her results; a First. Can I make the graduation ceremony? 10 days after the op and 120 miles away. It’ll be touch and go. If ever I needed a matter transformation machine – it’s now.
And so to bag. Farewell my lovely. Thank you for behaving these past months – no leaks in almost a year. But I’ll not shed a tear at your passing. Anyway - I’ll be out of it when you finally go. A new life in 40 minutes. A miracle really.
jj made this comment,
40 mins. I'd expected rather longer than that. I
was reminded of those gruesome tales of limb
amputations from years past where the skill of the
surgeon was measured by how few seconds it took to
change someone's life. I cannot remember how many
seconds some chaps could do it in but I think it
was far less than it took to make a cup of tea-
even with the water boiled. 40 mins sounds quite
lengthy by comparison there.
40 mins. I wonder if they regard operations of
that length as Minor ops? Minor in a sense of time
but major by effect.
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comment added :: 28th June 2007, 15:09 GMT
Darren made this comment,
Best wishes on the bag removal op; I'm sure in a
funny sort of way you'll kind of miss it (for a
couple of minutes). Hopefully over the next few
weeks/months your life will start to go back to
how it was before the big C.
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comment added :: 30th June 2007, 19:47 GMT
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