After the support group on Friday I got a call advising there was some disagreement over the chemo plans, so they ordered more testing over the weekend. It meant I was kicking my heels, but no bad thing.
I took it steady Friday night, since Saturday AM I had planned to do a park run over at Yeovil. For those unaware, park runs are organised 5K runs at a multitude of venues over the UK and further afield. Free to take part, surviving on the goodwill of volunteers and donors. It was a stunning country home, albeit on a hilly route. Given it was my 1st time out in weeks, my time was slow for my gender/age group, but fairly sure I won the bowel cancer stage 4 category.
After a coffee and slice of cake to celebrate my (sadly unrecognised) podium finish, I headed home to get cleaned up and run some errands.
Saturday night I met a couple of friends, well the ex-boyfriend of my sister-in-law and one other lad. It never ceases to amaze me how people, however seemingly distant, have rallied to show support. Anyways, we had a few ciders at the local and had a splendid time.
On Sunday, a close friend from uni popped over to take me to lunch, catch up, entertain me with her inability to parallel park and also made me laugh at a hell of a clanger. She was asking after my family, sister, niece and nephew etc. When she got to my mum, my response of "Still dead." threw her a little. She later admitted to a mutual friend that she almost replied with "are you sure?". Given we cremated her 2.5 years ago, I felt very confident I was in the right. However, that was just a final amusing cherry on a cake of jollyness.
Sunday evening and most of Monday was spent helping my wife result a flight woe and then, having got the nod that I was booked in for Wednesday AM admission, I had to stop at an outlet mall and ask them to dress me for stylish hospital clobber. That didn't work, and I ended up with an assortment of gems in the reduced to clear rack.
Tuesday was a good diversion from thinking about surgery. 4 of us (me, my wife, 2 friends) went to Bristol to watch England v Pakistan in the 3rd ODI. Cracking day in the late spring sunshine as we watched England make their largest run chase on home soil and set it all up nicely for another World Cup capitulation. England out-Englanding themselves extends beyond football.
Wednesday morning came around. We got to admissions early doors. Waited a bit, met the anesthetist (who looked about 11, must be "bring your son to work day" today). But he had a lovely beside manner, and I hope he picks sciences for his GCSE options next year.
We waited some more and then met the consultant. He described the scheduled op. And in these times of full disclosure, also covered all the possible complications in gory and full detail.
We waited some more and next batter up was the nurse to do all the pre-op checks. Easy enough and then we were allowed to go out for a wander for a couple of hours. We drove over to a nearby park. And strolled about the duck pond and flower beds to get some fresh air and enjoyed nature and sun for a bit. All too soon though we were heading back and my wife dropped me off.
I then got called to get changed into the gown, affording the chance to christen my new slippers, and also to slip into my 30 year old dressing gown we had found at my mother-in-law's house. After yet another wait I was called for anaesthetic, and walked over by another legend on the NHS staff who took care of me the whole way through prep. After a spinal injection, you may feel a little prick and a bit of oxygen, that was it, I was done.
Some hours later I came to in recovery, with a couple of nurses hovering over me. At this point I think I may have seen the consultant and got a general thumbs up. But, as a I later described it to a friend "I was still high as a kite in recovery but fairly sure I saw him [the surgeon] and he said it went well. Then again I think I also saw Elvis riding a flying unicorn with Abraham Lincoln, so make of that what you will."
After that I was wheeled to the ward. And like my wife 2 days prior, my bag had not made it. I described the appearance to a Health Care Assistant who offered to look for it. When I got to the point of "it has a Darth Vader luggage tag" I heard him mutter "sad bastard". The same HCA appeared later to empty my bladder catherer and when he wheeled away, commented "don't worry, just taking the piss".
And with that I caught up with friends and family and drafted this post (excuse typos for now.) Thank you to everyone who has checked-in in recent days. It all helps.