I recuperated over the next five long tortuous days without having the ability to move much as I was quite well attached.

A nasal tube had been implanted for gastric drainage, another tube on the right side of my abdomen for fluid [blood] drainage, pineal tubing for urination and an antibiotic drip: And I had wires attached to monitor my heartbeat. Consequently, I was well entangled in a maze of wires and tubes which restricted free bodily movement.

The next two days of the recovery phase would be the most crucial as post-surgery success or failure hinged on an uneventful two days. As my immune system would be depressed by surgery, any viral or bacterial infection could be disastrous and this was why I was given an antibiotic drip.

The heart monitor was necessary to ensure the heart beats normally as the after-effect of anesthesia could weaken the nerve impulses to the heart and the pineal drainage was necessary because I lost control over my bladder due to the effects of anesthesia.

As I was not allowed food or drinks for the next five days or so, the gastric drainage was to prevent my stomach lining being burnt by internally generated hydrochloric acid.

Comforted with the presence of my family and friends and supported by the compassionate servitude of the nurses and the Ward Sister named Rachel, I was making good progress toward my recovery. I was still feeling the pain where the wound was, stitched up and plastered. Sneezing exacerbated the pain and to soften it I had a pillow pressed against the cut whenever the urge came to sneeze.

The days passed imperceptibly by which gave me golden moments of thoughtful recollections and prayerful contemplations: I felt peace permeating through my mind and was relaxed.

On the second day of my recovery, I was pleasantly surprised by a visit from my father-in-law who had flown all the way from Kuching just to see me: His visit made my day. He is one of a kind. Words could hardly justify the character in a man of irrefutable kindness. Through his presence, my soul was lifted up to the highest heavens and I felt utterly honoured.

As the days wore on, I became a little fidgety and started toying with my nasal tube. I saw that the fluid draining through the tube was a slight greenish-yellow and was informed that it was gastric juice. I was not allowed food or drink during this phase of recovery. Hunger generated a lot of stomach juices which had to be drained off.

I became good at hastening the drainage by tucking in my stomach and even entertained my visitors with this "game". Meanwhile, the colour of the fluid draining from the tubing in my right abdomen was changing from blood-red to a lighter orange. An itch was felt on the fourth day and the tube was "yanked" out when the fluid turned almost clear. All this while, I was suffering from intense thirst which made my tongue and throat intolerably dry and painful. My request for fluid was unceremoniously turned down by the nurses but Doctor Tan allowed me to suck an ice cube wrapped in gauze.

That moist sensation was utterly comforting and I relished every drop which melted in my scorching throat. It felt like the biblical Lazarus and the rich man in hell not being allowed to a drop of water on his parched tongue.

I am not trying to sensationalise this description but that was exactly how I felt; believe it or not. Those of you who have undergone major surgeries would appreciate what I am talking about.

The fifth day saw me in a better mood as I had all my attachments removed and I was learning to be mobile once again after having been sedentary for the last 6 days. Walking required good effort as my knees were weakened by atrophy.

After a few hours of labouring, I was able to walk straight - thanks to the Ward Sister Rachel who "barked" at me to get out of bed more often. From this day forward, urinating and defecating became excruciatingly painful: Never had I ever experienced such pain and discomfort.

The peristaltic urge to defecate was painfully pressing but nothing seemed to emerge: enema didn't help at all and in fact made it worse as it increased the painful peristalsis. Urination was back to normal after 2 days.

On the sixth day prior to my discharge at about 3pm, I was hit by an unexpected "Whammy" from Doctor Tan when he announced to me that three lymph nodes which had been removed during surgery had been tested positive with cancer infiltration which meant my cancer had metastasized [spread]: The danger would be if the liver had been infected.

In addition, the analysis of the excised section of my colon showed that the cancer had penetrated the serosa- the outermost fifth layer of the colonic membrane. In other words, the cancer had penetrated the colon and there could be leakage of intestinal fluid or blood either of which could aggravate the condition.

He went on to say that the stage of my cancer had been graded as "Duke C" and recommended chemotherapy [third stage in layman's terms: Cancers are staged or graded according to the seriousness or spread of the disease, from Duke A {stage1} to Duke D stage 4} which is end-stage cancer]. Upon hearing this, my heart literally dropped to my feet. How much worse could it get, I thought.

With a quivering voice, I asked Doctor Tan, "Isn't chemotherapy toxic to the body and that it kills good cells as well?" He sought of nodded in agreement and responded by saying, "but it helps". I went on to ask him for his prognosis, "Doctor, how many years are you giving me?", "5 years?" No response. "3 years?" Yet no response. "What about 2 years?"

He lightened up a bit and gave a reluctant smile. "Is that all I have?" I persisted. He excused himself and displaying a hint of sympathy he left. Just before leaving, he finally said that the oncology department would contact me for the chemotherapy schedule.

Statistically, for patients with metastasized lymph nodes, i.e. three or more nodules affected, less than 20% celebrated their next three birthdays - this means 4 out of 5 don't make it to the 5-year "cure" prognosis - not very good odds, I might add.

At about 3 pm, I was given the discharge certificate with a patient's card from the Oncology Department to visit them a week from then. I walked with my family to our car and we drove home.

A sigh of relief came over me as I touched home feeling happy to be back to my nest and to enjoy the sweet fragrance of home. Alas, the family is a complete unit once again. My girls were happy so as my wife, Jackie.

Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived as I was constantly tormented with very painful urges to evacuate but nothing came of it.

Often I squatted for more than 30 minute a time until I got the cramps in my legs. No results, indeed. This excruciating experience continued unabated for over 3 months made worse after every cycle of chemotherapy. Medications were of no relief and doctors just listened dumbfounded to my predicament.

Adapted from, Thank Goodness I Have Cancer
By Lawrence Loh

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