Having to write this update breaks my heart.
On Friday, August 10th, I sat in the pre-op waiting area at The Johns Hopkins Hospital waiting for my 5th surgery. I shifted unconfortably in the oversized gown and socks and listened to the buzz of voices around me. My stomach was tied in knots as, one by one, I saw doctors, anesthesiologists, and nurses in preparation to go back to the operating room. I met with my surgeon who discussed the surgery with me and my mom. It was going to be a simple surgery to go in an drain the abscesses in my pelvic area and make sure that there was not any damage to other organs when my first abscess ruptured. I found comfort in knowing that my surgeon was confident in the success of the surgery and that it would be miniscule in comparison to my previous 4 surgeries.
After what felt like hours, it was time to go back to the operating room. I hugged my mom and felt my nerves surge as I was wheeled into the freezing cold operating room.
Hours later, I opened my blurry eyes to a nurse at the foot of my bed typing on a computer. I tried to move, but quickly realized that I was in pain. A lot of pain. Tears started streaming down my face as the nurse came to my side with pain medicine. Once I regained more consciousness, the nurses allowed my mom to come back and see me. I immediately began asking questions about the surgery. My mom explained to me that during surgery, my surgeon said that he found much more than he expected. Instead of simply draining an abscess or two, the surgery was much more extensive and involved a large incision that would need packing daily to prevent more abscesses from forming. The next three days, I would endure once daily removal of the packing in my wound and insertion of new packing. Now, I have endured a lot throughout the last 2 years, but the packing and unpacking of this wound has been one of the most painful things that I have faced.
On Sunday, I met with my surgeon again to discuss the progress of my wound. It was at this time that he informed me that I would be undergoing my 6th surgery early in the week to close my wound interally with stitches, externally with staples, and place a drain for several weeks to lower the risk of more fluids collections forming. My surgery was scheduled for Tuesday, August 14th.
The next two days leading up to my surgery involved more painful unpacking and packing of my wound, but slow progress. I took walks around the familiar hallways of Marburg 2 and regained my appetite back slowly. I was in pain, but I was determined to do everything in my power to help my body heal as quickly as possible.
Tuesday arrived and I found myself back in the pre-op area waiting to be taken back to my 6th surgery. My nerves were far more unsettled this time around as I watched the hustle and bustle around me. Between visits from doctors and nurses, I could feel hot tears welling up in my eyes, but I quickly blinked them away. However, minutes before being taken back to the OR, I could no longer fight my burning eyes and the tears began to flow as I turned to my mom. "I'm so tired of getting knocked down again and again like this," I said between sharp breaths. I was in pain, physically and emotionally exhausted, and feeling so defeated. I did not want staples or a drain tube. I did not want months of recovery that would follow. I knew it was for the best, but it still was not easy to accept. The nurse handed me a box of tissues to dry my splotchy red face as the OR nurses arrived to take me back. I wiped tears from my eyes until I feel asleep in the operating room, feeling the weight of the last 6 surgeries on my shoulders.
I woke up after surgery in more pain than my surgery on Friday, as the 10 staples, stitches, and drain tube proved to be just as uncomfortable as they sound. The good news? My surgery was a success! The days of painfully packing my wound leading up to the surgery had helped in the healing process and made closing the wound much less risky. Now it was time to rest and recover. Fortunately, my surgery brought much less nausea and I was eating the same evening and walking the next morning, prompting the doctors to discharge me on Wednesday. That's right- a day after surgery! I was more than excited to come home to my fur babies, but worried about the long drive back to the mountains of West Virginia. If you have never been to Baltimore, let's just say that potholes tend to run rampid, making it a very painful trip for someone fresh out of surgery. Once we were sure that my pain was well-controlled, we left The Johns Hopkins Hospital Wednesday evening and began our journey home.
Kristen's Chronicles is a journal of my battle with Inflammatory Bowel Disease and through that, I strive to share both the good and bad times in my journey. Therefore, in the name of authenticity and honestly, I want to share with you that my recovery from my 5th and 6th surgeries has been challenging. I strive to remain positive as much as I can, but pain is similar to waves crashing against rocks. Slowly, the waves begin to wear down the rocks after repeatedly crashing into them, just as my pain slowly begins to wear on me after days of carefully navigating simple daily tasks such as getting out or bed with staples and stitches digging into my skin and a drain tube pinned to my clothing. I am optimistic and hopeful for the future ahead of my recovery from these surgeries, but in the current moment, I cannot help but feel a rollercoaster of emotions as well. When going through a setback such as this one, my first instinct is to always ask, "why?" Why did this happen? Why does it have to be this way? Why. But I have learned throughout my illness that asking "why?" can be more hurtful than helpful. Instead, I try to redirect my feelings from "why is this happening?" to "this is happening for a reason." I may not know the reasoning behind this setback right now or even years down the road, but somewhere, there lies a much greater reason for everything that has happened and I find peace in knowing that.
I also find peace in knowing that we are never given more than we can handle in this life. The discpency lies within ourselves and the lack of belief in the true amount of strength and grit that we actually have. We are capable of incredible feats and have the amazing ability to bounce back from even the toughest of battles.
While being back in the hopsital after almost a year was scary, exhausting, and overwhelming, I was met this time around with the familiar faces of the nurses that have been with me throughout my entire journey. These nurses have seen me only 72 pounds and fresh out of my very first surgery. They have seen me in pain and at some of my lowest points. They have become friends and family to me and I will forever be grateful for their love, support, and kindness.
Life is this crazy, beautiful journey full of so many unexpected challenges that often lead us to where we were meant to be all along. My journey with Inflammatory Bowel Disease has been the most challenging thing I have ever faced in my life and it has forced me to push through moments that I never thought I would get through. But here I am: alive, breathing, and thankful for every single day I am given. And to anyone out there facing health struggles or any kind of struggle in their life right now: please do not give up. Even in the darkest of times, the light will always find a way. Shine bright, always.