Friday sees the commencement of operation ‘colon’, as I undergo surgery to remove the tumour from my lower bowel. I have to remember that this is just the first stage of the process of recovering my health to what it was before. The next few weeks and months will involve different stages as we treat this bastard thing called cancer.
As you will recall from earlier posts, the discovery of my bowel cancer came about after my regular pooping habits were interrupted by a period of botty whizzbangs that left me with what my doctor first thought was a ‘nervous’ bowel. I’m not sure what my bowel had to be nervous about, but clearly it was trying to tell me that everything downstairs in the poop-making department wasn’t right and that industrial relations between my bowel and stomach were not good.
Since I was diagnosed with bowel cancer, the various parties involved in my backside power struggle have settled their differences and in general, things have been pretty normal. So over the past few days I have been savouring every opportunity for a quiet, meaningful poop as these may be my last. There is a strong possibility that I will have a permanent colostomy after the op and my days of sitting on the loo, browsing Facebook or Instagram on my iPad will be gone. The loo is also an important place for me in the workplace, as it is the only corner of a school or college I can go to without being bothered.
Being Head Teacher in my last project afforded me the luxury of a rather nice office and that office had a door and the door had a window and the window had a blind. As all modern leaders do, I kept my door open to ensure that I maintained good relations with all the school’s staff. Very occasionally, I would close the door and pull the blind down. However, this didn’t stop people trying to gain entry and time-after-time I was interrupted by someone looking for the meaning of life or some other vital matter. So the loo became a refuge, somewhere to to sit and shit and contemplate without disturbance.
But those days may now be numbered and I will have to find another bolt hole, as after Friday I might not have a functioning arsehole and no excuse to excuse myself for a few minutes.