Recovery is not a straight line, my surgeon, Dr. Guru, said Thursday in Roswell Park Cancer Center, moving his hand up and down to illustrate. Seeing one of the downs before him at this first post-release examination, he declared me dehydrated and ordered an infusion of saline solution.
So the two-hour visit went into overtime -- a morning-long IV session, with a half-hour search for a workable vein ending at the base of my right thumb. Please, I entreated the gods who look after you in situations like these during one of my gassy abdominal cramps, don't make me deal with a bowel movement while I'm hooked up.
The IV worked. My weary voice perked up. My shuffling step was springy enough that I turned down a wheelchair and exited on my feet. Nevertheless, on Friday, when a technician was checking my sleep apnea machine to see why it was drying out my mouth all the time, he turned to me and said, "You look dehydrated."
So I have renewed my quest for fluids I can swallow in quantity. Beer doesn't count, I'm told. What a shame. I've fallen back on Vitamin Water (about to polish off my second of the day) as an alternative to just plain Poland Spring. Health proxy Bill Finkelstein bought me a mango-pineapple smoothie from McDonald's, recommended by one of the bridge players who relied on that while recovering from colon surgery. Could be a winner. It has real fruit in it and it's definitely tasty. Recommendations, anyone?
Recording my fluid intake now, with the goal of least three quarts a day, I see all I need to do is six to eight ounces per waking hour. Doesn't sound that hard. But it is.
Anyway, once I was hydrated, the leak revived through the small incision scab next to my navel. Coincidence? And once again, the struggle was on to patch it up and keep it from soaking me from the waist downward.
Monica finally turned to a mini urostomy bag like the one that worked so well after Dr. Syed applied it at Roswell a week ago. But the bag caught nothing. The incision still leaked. Maria, the visiting nurse, gave it a try this morning (Saturday), using some paste to improve the seal, but again no luck. Finally, Bill set up another visit to Roswell, where a nurse on my last ward, Seven West, determined that the nearby bag collecting urine might be the culprit. Now, with two new bags, so far I'm dry. Bliss.
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