Marilyn Claire Murphy

Piss!

I don’t know the time – just that it’s pitch dark when I roll over in bed to my left … and the damn plastic hose that connects my catheter tube to the collection bag pulls out.  F##k!

It’s not like I made a big puddle on our new carpet. Maybe a few drips. But still . . . this sucks! I want to cry and feel sorry for myself. I certainly am entitled – right? Instead I roll over to my right, direct the plastic tubing into the overflow receptacle that we’d positioned for such an event. Good planning pays off yet again.

I fall back to sleep. The refrain from “Calling All Angels” plays in my head. I’m blessed.

That’s probably not what you expected to read at the beginning of this post. TMI? Oh well.

I’m surprising myself at how open and willing I am to reveal such embarrassing details of this recovery. First, poop – now, piss. I’m thinking the people who are following this blog are not going to freak out or judge. Those would not be my peeps. Not my angels.

One thing I’ve learned: I piss a lot. We probably all do if we drink sufficient liquids. But this damn little bag fills up all too quickly! I’ll spare you photographic evidence. (You’re welcome.)

I will see the doctor on Friday and hope they’ll remove it. It’s the most inconvenient part of this post-op stuff.

Just in case you’re wondering (in keeping with my theme), I am pooping regularly. But that process hurts. Even with the stool softener I take each morning.

Okay, okay – I’ll stop.

Surgery was a week ago. By early afternoon, Scott and Kathleen had spoken with Dr Axtell and Scott had sent out the email I’d pre-written with the desired outcome.

Hello everyone,

Good news so far. Marilyn got out of surgery after only two and a half hours and the doctor said the mass didn’t look cancerous and was not wrapping itself around other organs so she excised it cleanly. We still have to wait on the pathologist’s report in about a week but due to Marilyn’s positive attitude and the grace and goodwill shown by all of you we are confident the outcome will be positive.

I have been absolutely amazed, but not surprised, by the love and support that everyone has shown towards Marilyn. You all are as inspiring as she is.

Thank you and God Bless.

Scott Gibb

The last thing I remember about that morning is the ride from the pre-op into the O.R., after a hurried goodbye kiss to Scott and Kathleen. It was 7:15am.

I remember being rolled through the wide corridors into a room that was larger than I expected, with massive overhead lights and a team of people counting what appeared to be a huge number of surgical instruments and asking, “Are they going to use all those instruments on me?” Lots of people in baby blue shower caps and scrubs scurried about.

I don’t remember seeing the anesthesiologist or the surgeon peering down from above as I’d expected.

I felt no fear. Only curiosity. Very strange.

Waking up is easy. I expected to be woozy and drugged up, but I think I’m fairly lucid. Scott and Kathleen are there. It’s just after 12 Noon. The nurse shows me the simplest and most effective remote control I’ve ever seen. “Press this button when you feel pain,” she instructed. “Don’t worry about how often, don’t try to be Wonder Woman, just press it.”

Who me? Wonder woman? Who told her . . . ?

I am sharing a room with a woman who speaks no English. Her television blares a Spanish-language soap opera. I ask my nurse to ask her to turn it down. I ask Scott to pull the curtain so that I don’t see the monitor. I ask Scott for my Bose Noise-Canceling Headset. (NOTE: Best tip I can share with anyone in hospital: a good noise-cancelling headset.)

I notice that I’m asking. Hmmm . . . something’s different about me already. Asking for what I need is not necessarily my M.O.

They bring me a lunch tray. Liquid diet. Warm broth tastes good. Could use a little salt, though. The “Ambassador” comes to take my dinner order. “Have you looked at the menu?” she asks.

“Haven’t seen it,” I reply. She shows me a multi-page menu featuring such normal-food options as Caesar salad, hamburgers and Vietnamese Pho noodle soup. Told that I have no food restrictions, I order the Pho. (NOTE: Don’t order the Pho.)

Back to the present. I sleep till 7am this morning. Remarkably, so does Brutus. Scott crawls out of bed a bit after 8. He finds me in the den with my headphones on, cleansing my tear ducts yet again after listening to k.d. lang sing “Calling All Angels” and “Hallelulaj.” These are good tears. I’m feeling emotional, tender and vulnerable. Not in a scary way – but in a hopeful way. Scott wonders, “Is it hormonal?”

I think it might have something to do with slowing down and opening up. I’ve never made space in my routine for such things before. A new adventure, for sure.