The daily visits by the doctors seemed to meld together, echoing the remarks and questions of the previous day. "Any bowel movement yet?" "No." "Gas?" "A little." The questions had taken on the pure monotony of a scratched record which played the identical phrase over and over, into oblivion. How many days, I wondered, would my ears endure the repetition before the doctors were assured of the normalcy of my stomach and pancreas? I tried to close my mind to distressing thoughts; I knew nothing of my physical condition and through the doctor's restrictions, I would return to health; I had far too much confidence and hope to fly to the arms of despair, for in despair one finds no warmth or comfort.
Having passed my third week in the confines of the hospital, the doctors finally concluded that the signs were such that they could risk the removal of the nose tube and allow me to slowly test my stomach's endurance and tolerance of a liquid diet. The prospect elated me, and I promised to abide by their cautious instructions.
Removing the tube which issued from my stomach through my nose was no major operation; before I had enough time to be scared, the tube was out and my nose, clear. Dr. M. said that the tube would have to be analyzed for bacteria in the laboratory and, at the sight of the grisly thing, I immediately pitied the individual who would be assigned to the horrid occupation. Turning my thoughts inward, I found that, other than a soreness of the throat, I had no complaints to offer; to be free of the tube improved my appearance and heralded the commencement of food into my daily routine.
The first sampling of liquid sustenance proved to be a shadow of my expectations. I was served bouillon broth and green tea, both of which hardly satisfied my stomach's desire; the broth was intolerably salty to my unused tastebuds and the tea unfamiliar. Nevertheless, I consumed a fair amount of each simply as a reminder that I was licensed to function as any other human, eating and drinking as a matter of course.
Within 24 hours after my first ingestion of liquid food, I proclaimed that I felt an urge to go to the bathroom. The nurse excitedly told me not to flush the bowel movement until she had inspected the stool; it was to be a clearly monumental event! After having proudly enacted the endeavor of which the absence had, for weeks, instilled nervous qualms into the doctors' thoughts, I emerged from the bathroom; the nurse quickly surveyed the matter, simultaneously taking notes. It was as if I was a hen who had laid a golden egg, except for the humbling fact that my offering was soon flushed from view.
I greeted the doctor that day with an unusually wide smile, knowing that when he asked his well-rehearsed question, I would be able to answer in the affirmative; however, he had already received the news by way of the nurse's chart, and beamed with apparent happiness. "You had us worried for awhile there," he said. "Well," I countered, "I told you that you would get what you wanted if you fed me." I sat upright in bed, grinning tight-lipped and amused by the sheer commonality of the entire situation; only in a hospital would one find so many individuals whose good tidings could be realized through such unlikely aspects of life. Actually, it was rather refreshing; if the bulk of society could gather contentment from such normal functions, such simple pleasures, what an unassuming, peaceful world it would be.
With the advent of my ability to utilize my stomach, came other surprises which were beneficial to my happiness, if not also my thighs; instead of morning and evening shots, I could now receive medication orally, thus sparing my legs further abuse. Dr. W. was assigned to prescribe the medication replacing the shots; when I told him that I was unable to take pills, he studied me from behind his clipboard, and a wry smile spread slowly across his lips. "You can't swallow pills?" he asked. "No." was my firm reply. My dad, who had been observing the entire scene unfold, queried, "Laurie, after all you've been through, that would be easy!" It was of no consequence to me how "easy" swallowing a pill seemed to them. . . it was unnatural. I had no intention of trying, especially after all I had been through.
Thinking an injection of fundamental guilt or embarrassment would make more pliable my stiff-willed stance, Dr. W. raised his eyebrows and said mockingly, "My three year old can swallow pills." Surely such an assertion by a proud father of his youngster's amazing feat would be a sufficient reason to shame me into taking my medicine. I looked at him undaunted and unimpressed. "I can't swallow pills." Perhaps remembering my success at wearing contacts all day, despite his positivity that I could never insert the lenses, let alone wear them for the period of more than several hours, he nodded and selected an alternative to pills. The art of negative and positive persuasion had little effect on me if I had full reign over my senses. Eyeing each other like rivals, we broke into good-humored smiles as he turned to leave.
Sometimes one's dreams and aspirations bring more pleasure than their fulfillment in reality. Many, I am sure, have waited in gleeful anticipation for a certain event to take place, only to feel acute disappointment when its enactment failed to bring forth one's expectant jubilation; such was the case with the ambrosiac manifestations which I had bestowed upon food, and the effect which said food wrought upon my stomach. To explain further, eating brought about nauseousness; this surprise substantially daunted my adoration for food, and putting away my recipes, turned my attentions to other, less torturous joys of life. Eating was eyed with sharp suspicion; I was told that, since three quarters of my stomach was gone, I could expect nausea following meals and, because of the small capacity, should feed myself often. As a result, I would eat a small amount, become nauseous, recover, only to discover that another tray of food was being placed in front of me. I had to force myself to eat; it was a chore to maintain my existence, not a delight, as I had earlier supposed.
Another curiosity which stemmed from eating was noticed after the initial bite of jello; oddly, jello seemed to "stick" at the point of entry to the stomach, then, eventually, pass down into the stomach itself. Never having experienced this sensation before my operation, I mentioned it to the doctors. They were unconcerned, and felt that any difficulty would soon repair itself. I nodded, wondering if it would, indeed, recover on its own. I remembered the tender lump which my head had somehow sustained during my lapse of unconsciousness in the operating room. Five days later, approximately all of the hair in the scalp which grew within the sore region fell out, leaving a temporary oval bald spot on the back of my head. When asked about this curiosity the doctors were mute. Perhaps it was the result of an operating room panic; I could understand their silence amid such societal leaches as lawyers and "lawsuit" seekers. The lump would be a mystery.