"When it is a question of "do or die" who will choose to die?" - Robert Allen
It was a Tuesday morning in late July of last year. Hilary felt sharp pain in her abdomen.
By Wednesday, the pain had gotten so bad that we went to the emergency room. They did an x-ray on her abdomen.
The E.R. doctor told Hilary in a lighthearted manner, "Gee, you are just constipated. See all that cloudiness in the x-ray? It's just poop!" The doctor said it was caused by the narcotic pain pills that Hilary took. The doctor said for Hilary to go home and take some Senokcot pills for constipation and she'd be just fine. Hilary hadn't gone to the bathroom since Monday, so it sounded right.
The pills did nothing.
On Thursday the pain was getting unbearable. We called our radiology oncologist who was kindly willing to help, since her regular oncologist couldn't be bothered with her little constipation problem. The radiology oncologist recommended that we get a bottle of Magnesium Citrate liquid and have Hilary drink half of it. He said that it has never been known to fail. She drank half a bottle it and nothing happened. He told her to drink the second half the next morning. She drank the second half on Friday morning, and again, nothing happened.
By late Friday afternoon, we were back in the emergency room. She was in the worst pain I had ever seen anyone in. After about 6 hours they took a CAT scan. I sat next to her in a curtained 'room' with all the other emergency room patients. At regular intervals she was involuntarily screaming loudly out in pain. Several times nurses ran in to check on her, but there was nothing they could do.
It was late Saturday morning by the time a doctor talked to us. He was Indian and he had a strong accent. He kept talking about hospice, but neither of us had a clue what he was talking about.
Next a surgeon came in to talk to us. He said that the CAT scan showed a perforation in her intestine, which caused her digestive system to shut down. He said for a healthier person this meant surgery, then wearing a colostomy bag for the rest of their life.
He said that he didn't expect her to survive the surgery, but without the surgery she would never poop again, which is fatal. Considering her metastatic cancer, he suggested that she just go into hospice where they would heavily sedate her until she passed away. He said he discussed it with the hospital's neurosurgeon who agreed.
However, getting the surgery was her option.
She decided that at least there was a chance for life with the surgery.
Before long, I was standing next to her as she lay on a gurney outside the operating room. She was brave and strong and she expected to get through this. But she did tell me to sue that hospital if she didn't make it.
I paced around the surgery waiting room for about an hour or so. Eventually the surgeon appeared and motioned me into a little room with two couches. He sat opposite to me. He said that it turns out that it wasn't a perforated intestine, but a perforated ulcer in her stomach. He stitched it and she would most likely be fine. No colostomy bag needed.
After a stay in the hospital, we were back home again. The abdomen pain was gone. And we celebrated every time she pooped. We were both so grateful that she had a simple bodily function that everyone takes for granted.
Because of her will to live, Hilary added nine months to her life. And we enjoyed those days, days that the doctors would have taken away, had she let them.
