beeeep beeeep beeeep…

awake… door open, steps approaching, nurse presses the button to silence the IV machine, open my eyes and see the attending doctor see my eyes open: “Hey there, any bowel movements yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Gas?”

“No.”

“Are you still feeling nauseous?”

“A little bit.”

“Can I see your stomach?”

“Mhm.” Gown aside, swollen. Incision from belly button to pelvis under bandages, and the crater where the stoma was stuffed with gauze.

“Alright, it looks a little distended to me, if we don’t get any production soon we might have to use a nasogastric tube to keep the gastric fluid from building up, keep me posted.” Need first signs of function from my reconnected rectum.

“Will do.”

He walked back out.

“Well it sounds like we better get you walking to get your stomach moving,” said dad from the bedside chair. Stand up to let gravity help.

“It’s past the point they were expecting to have some progress, and I think they’re getting worried.”

“Mkay, just a minute.”

Deep breath yawn stretch, collect, compose. Feel around to find bed remote bvvvvvvvvb incline the backrest mmmmmph heavy to sit up, swing feet off the side of the bed cliclick need the dilaudid if I’m going to walk even though opioids constipate.

“Okay.”

Dad got up, unplugged the IV cord from the power strip and hung it around one of the extra hooks on the top of the machine. Feet on the floor, but weak-kneed, dad sees and offers a braced forearm. Any sphincter pressure?

“I’ll try using the toilet first.”
“Okay,” he helped me wheel over.

Door closed, squat, push…

but feels like a tight knot that needs untied, not loosening, I got up and walked back out.

“Anything?”

Shake.

“Alright, let’s go for a walk.”

Slow hunched over, something pinching in my knee as we lapped around the nurse’s station with smiles of encouragement.

“That’s good. Want to go down the hall?”

Shake. Nausea.

“Gotta go to the bathroom.”
bluPp… Coming up, faster steps. Open door wheel me in, quick bend down over the cold porcelain BbLlarrruuurrrghghh… HHHccKKhhh…

“I’ll go get the nurse.” Nod.

 BBLaauuAARRGGGghhhhckck…

Cold bones on tile with a lighthead, but not done… 

BBLBLBLBbbAaaAuuRgHgHgGghhh…

Bblluppprrgg… ptTooooey

Phew. Over to the sink, rinse mouth, wipe face, look in the mirror, alive, already here in the hospital. Wheel back over sit down on bed, cliclick, Dad came back in with a pitcher of water and ice chips and the nurse followed with supplies.

“Alright, since you’re not digesting food properly we’re going to go for the NG tube, I’m going to put it down your nose and into your stomach and it’ll start to relieve the pressure, basically to drain the rest of what’s not digesting so you don’t have to throw up anymore. It’s very thin but it will still be a little uncomfortable, if it becomes painful let me know and I’ll stop. Small sips will help it go down as I insert it.”

He poured me a cup of cold ice water, measured the tube, and put lube on the end of it.

“This will only take a minute. Alright are you ready?” Nod.

In nostril and down… chhhkauckkYAauhckaguckghh

“okay, tuck in your chin and take a sip,”

throat aCuhhggcck sip swallow obstructed

sip.. esophagus cuhHuckkhuw

sip until…

“Alright, it’s in place.”

He taped the tube to my nose, then attached to a vacuum for sucking the stomach fluid.

“Ow log do I deed id?” cughckk

“We’ve gotta clear all the stuff that you’re throwing up since it’s not going through your system, hopefully tomorrow morning.”

Nod. This, through the night?

“Alright, I know this is uncomfortable, but it’s going to help resolve the blockage and once your intestines start to function we can let you go home.”

“Danks.”

“And to help keep it comfortable I’ve got this Chloraseptic spray for you, say ah.”

ahhhhckk

cool numbness to the back of the throat

“I’ll leave it here for you, use it when you want but no more than five times every two hours. I also recommend ice chips to keep it numb back there.”

Nod.

“Do you guys need anything?”

Shake.

“No I think we’re okay,” said dad, “I’ll come get you if anything comes up.”

“Alright, just hang in there, this should do the trick,” he said as he left the room.

“Alright well this is some nasty business,” said dad. 

Nod.

“Hurts to talk?”

Nod.

“Here, if you need to say anything longer,” he ripped a paper from one of his sketch pads, and set it down on my table with a pen: dont know if Ill be able to sleep with this thing.

“You’ll be alright, it’s okay to feel the time tick by slowly sometimes.”

Can’t watch the clock.

“Tomorrow will be here soon.”

Daylight dimming out the window, tongue a few ice chips from the top of the cup and let them melt in the back of my throat.

“And lucky for you the Yankees are playing the Red Sox today.”

Pen: great American pastime 

Show to dad, “That’s right.”

today, I consider myself…

“Well, you’ve certainly got an awful lot to live for.”

Courage pure radium, bed remote recline for comfort but not too far, need to stay sitting up to breathe, and then turn on the television and channel surf until I see pinstripes on the green velvet grass mowed in a flannel pattern, hushed reverence as the loudspeaker announces:

Now batting for the Yankees… Number two… Derek Jeter… Number two… 

Cliclick…