The idea of clear liquids is a bit of a misnomer. Beef and chicken broth aren’t exactly clear, but after a day or so of ice chips, I’m not going to question this. The hospital’s liquid meals tend to be brown – iced tea, coffee without cream, apple juice, and broth. I inhaled everything except the Jell-O, which wasn’t brown, but 80s Day-Glo green and yellow and too sweet for human consumption.
- Ice/water until I start belching
- Clear liquids until I start farting
- Solid foods
- In the hospital until I start pooping
After a day of clear liquids, I still hadn’t farted. Every doctor and nurse who stopped by to poke, prod, and probe me asked about it in some way or another. “Have you passed gas yet?” was a favorite, as was the soft-eyed look of sympathy when I said no. I knew that I was right on recovery schedule, but the cumulative effect of having everyone ask had an impact. Ok! I’ll get my taxes done! It’s only January 7th, but I’ll do it already!
But wanting to fart and being physically able to fart are two very different things after a takedown from having an ostomy bag. The bowels have been asleep and the muscles gone unused. As Lisa snoozed on the foldout chair/bed, I started playing with the hospital bed’s controls, looking for way to get gravity to help out. I raised my feet and lowered my head as much as possible and waited. I thought I felt some movement, but nothing happened. Then I tried the opposite. Same results. Nothing.
The next morning (Friday) I had the IV taken out, which made getting up and around much easier. Gone was the magic button of pain meds, replaced by oxycontin pills. Lisa had gone back to the house to take care of the cats and go into work for a few hours. Another round of brown food arrived and was dispatched. As I got up to do the morning walkabout on my hospital floor, it happened. I cut the cheese, passed wind, dealt it and smelt it, dropped ass, built a Dutch oven, pulled my own finger, did the one cheek sneak, let out a squeaker, passed gas, did the gas face with my butt, broke wind, and passed gas.
- Ice/water until I start belching
- Clear liquids until I start farting
- Solid foods
- In the hospital until I start pooping
It was too late to get my lunch menu changed. My friend Jen, the person I’d met Lisa through, was in town for a wedding and stopped by with a book: The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson. The bookmark with it said: “Here’s a book about poop. For a champion pooper.” It is a great book about poop, cholera, and how bad ideas survive in the face of better evidence. While we were talking, the nurse brought me crackers. Saltines and graham crackers.
- Ice/water until I start belching
- Clear liquids until I start farting
- Solid foods
- In the hospital until I start pooping
A greatly anticipated dinner arrived and disappointed. Some chicken something with green beans and more brown liquid. I picked at it while Lisa ran down the hospital food court and got me a 6-inch Subway Turkey sandwich with chips and a cookie. I’m not a fan of Subway at all, but anything as a first solid meal in four days was going to taste pretty good. Maybe even Taco Bell.
With real food in the system, there’s only two options for it to go: north or south. North is bad and potentially very painful. South is good, but no fun and entirely necessary. My system broke south Friday evening with a vengeance. Repeatedly. Lisa and I were prepared for this with Baby Wipes, one of the truly great innovations of the 20th century.
- Ice/water until I start belching
- Clear liquids until I start farting
- Solid foods
- In the hospital until I start pooping
I woke up Saturday morning with every intention of being told I could go home. However, a nurse came in and told me that my potassium was low. Before I knew it, I was being hooked back up to an IV line with a bag of potassium juice. I knew I’d lost some vital body fluids, but was I so lacking in potassium that I really needed a drip? Can’t I just have a banana and call it good? Within a minute or two, my hand started aching. It felt as if my bones were shrinking. And then on fire. I quickly called the nurse, who brought me a bag of ice for my hand and reset the IV to dilute the mixture. Lisa and I worried that this would keep me from being released.
A doctor came in and frowned when he saw the IV. I explained about the potassium and shook his head. “You want that removed? Do you wanna go home?”
Um, yes.
The doctor chalked up the IV to an overzealous RN. He turned off the IV and arranged for some potassium pills. A little bit after noon, I was signing the release forms. Like with the first surgery, I decided against having a wheelchair and walked out with Lisa handling my backpack. Three and a half days and I was out.