Struggling to be free

I am encased in an Iron Maiden. I can't move my legs, my arms, or even my head. I can't breathe.  There are red-hot needles pricking the back of my right hand. A dagger is stuck in the right side of my neck. There seems to be an iron pike stuck down my left nostril. They even had a virginity belt strapped on to me. What's more, they keep forcing an iron mask over my face. Torture! I decide to fight to be free.

I claw at the dagger in my neck. I want to pull out the iron pike in my nostril. I try to tear off the needles in my hand. And that iron mask! Isn't being encased in an Iron Maiden pain enough? Heartless Inquisitors!

When the effects of my hallucinatory drugs start to wear off and I become a bit more lucid, I realize that I am in my hospital bed. I remember that I have just had what was supposed to be a sigmoidectomy, or the removal of a small portion in the lower part of my colon near my anus, to remove a growth that was revealed by my colonoscopy.

I had the colonoscopy yesterday, so the sigmoidectomy was my second medical invasive procedure in less than a week. I move my hands under the blanket and I feel a piece of plastic over my stomach. I stop moving my hands because I have no idea why that plastic is there. Cris and Michael are in the room with me, but I stay still, close my eyes, and go back to sleep. The pain reliever drug helps.

When I wake up again, I feel less drugged. Cris gets up and comes over to my bedside. She smiles and gently strokes my arm. (The time for the “pisil-pisil” is not yet.) My surgeon and his residents pay me a visit. They explain that the sigmoidectomy didn't push through. The growth had calcified and removing it would have caused more damage. They exposed a portion of my colon on my tummy and bore a hole and covered it with a colostomy bag. That's the plastic I felt over my stomach. I had been hoping against hope that it was just plastic. Colostomy bag confirmed.

My surgeon added that after some weeks or months, when the tumor size is substantially reduced, and I was stronger, they might be able to proceed with another surgery to remove the tumor and put the colon back inside the tummy. My surgeon, who loves to make jokes, related that his father had a colostomy bag for 13 years which he learned to empty and clean himself, and was able to live comfortably with it. He told the story to encourage me about having the bag. Unfortunately, after 13 years, on a visit to the States, his Dad was run over by a newly-licensed lady driver while crossing the street a few steps ahead of his wife. C'est la vie, ou le mort, I suppose.

That evening, Cris told me the facts about my struggles for freedom. The dagger in my neck was the IJ (intrajugular) line inserted to allow administration of fluids direct to the heart and free my arms of IV (intravenous) lines.  Soon after my restless delirium, the IJ leaked then got dislodged.  The cardiac surgeon who inserted the IJ in the Operating Room, later wondered how it got pulled as the line is quite deep, and sewn to my skin!

The iron pike in my left nostril was the NGT (Nasal Gastric Tube) to help the removal of whatever gastric juices had to be released from my stomach. The virginity belt was of course, my catheter and diaper.  I pulled at my catheter, and fortunately Cris was able to reattach the joint quickly.  

The iron mask that was being forced over my face was nothing more than my oxygen mask, supposed to help me breathe better. It was being held over my nose and mouth by Cris and Michael, and I kept warding them off in my delirious thrashing about.  I kept saying, “I'll just drink it instead” and would get it and hold it to my mouth like a cup.  

Cris and Michael looked at each other, and could hardly stop from laughing. “What is there to drink from an oxygen mask?” Anyway, to humor me, they tilted the mask like a cup over my lips. They said I calmed down after that and went to sleep.

I woke up enough to hear the nurse say the doctors had ordered me to be restrained. What! I had just won freedom over the Iron Maiden and the Iron Mask, and they wanted me restrained to my bed? I know that in my half-consciousness, I vigorously protected my freedom. No restraints; no way. I don't care what the doctors want. The nurse asked Cris whether she was willing to sign a waiver for the restraints. I told her to sign anything they wanted, as long as I was not restrained. I even promised not to thrash about again.

So, they left me alone to enjoy my relative freedom, but kept very close watch by my side. I was wrapped in my blanket, unable to move much anyway. Orderlies change my diaper and wash me up. Nurses drain my bags, and administer my medicines and pain relievers. I wake up at 6am when the surgery residents would come to dress my wound and poke it. They were Cris' poking teachers.

More later of how I got to be in the hospital and what the next steps are supposed to be, as we continue going through Benjie's life together.