slip-sliding away…..

For some, it may be embarrassing to talk about certain medical conditions. Either because of how they came about, or, in other cases, the nature of those conditions. Having haemorrhoids (otherwise known as ‘piles’) is one of those, because – let’s face it – any medical condition dealing with one’s ass can be embarrassing.

And while it can indeed be uncomfortable to talk about this particular problem, I really don’t see the shame in admitting to experiencing the condition. I don’t know stats for the rest of the world, but a quick Internet search tells me that about 1 in 20 Americans has them, and they’re more common as you age, affecting more than half of people over age 50.

I must warn that, although I will try to be discreet in how I talk about this, some of you may be uncomfortable with what follows, so please feel free to stop reading if you prefer. I’m not writing this to freak out anyone, but simply to relay a major experience in my life, which others may relate to – or may experience later on (in which case, I hope it can serve as some kind of preparation).

And so, here we go: my pain in the ass (P.I.T.A.) story…

The arrival

I’m still a long way off 50, but the issue of haemorrhoids hit me hard lately. I actually first felt them some 20 years ago, in my early twenties. But they were never an issue until the COVID years, when I started working from home, which led to me using the toilet more frequently. Throughout my life, in public, at school, and at almost all my workplaces, I have always used the toilet far less frequently than I should, because I simply don’t like doing so away from home…especially with my probably-higher-than-normal hygiene standards. So, I suspect the change to toilet frequency in the last 4 years exacerbated a problem that had been lingering within for decades.

Anyway…a few months back, I suffered the worst incident of these creatures (for that is what I will call them) causing pain. It was after a Sunday hike, when I had no reason to suspect anything unusual would happen. But happen it did, during a routine bowel evacuation. They emerged from their dark cavern, and because of the size they had swelled to, they wouldn’t go back in like they had before.

I had no idea how big they were, because I didn’t look. But, from what I could feel, they were probably about half the size of a squash ball, if not bigger.

It got worse through the night, and I just could not sleep. Every time I would drift off, a sharp pain would strike me. I didn’t even think to take painkillers. And so, this was the longest and most agonising night of my life. The pain and discomfort brought me to tears, and I felt all sorts of extreme anxiety – including wondering if this was some sort of cancerous growth that had developed in me. I worry about cancer because it has become so common nowadays – even amongst younger people. I didn’t want to die, but I wondered if this was going to be the beginning of the end: the point at which I learnt what had been silently developing for all these years, and would now need extreme treatment, which may ultimately fail, causing my demise.

Thankfully, my wife was there for me and took over the next morning. She only realised the seriousness of it when I cried in front of her (which has rarely ever happened in the 16 years of our marriage). The kids both stayed away from school (because there was no one to take them), and I was rushed off to my GP for his first available appointment.

Just one look…

The look on his face when he saw the creature – his instant reaction – told me all I needed to know. He could do nothing for me. It was a “severely strangulated haemorrhoid” and I needed to see a surgical expert immediately.

Now, for years, my wife had told me that I should get the surgery done, because this kept coming back. But it had never been severe enough for me to even consider that. Who chooses to have surgery when it’s not necessary? I thought I’d just keep managing it. A little discomfort and occasional blood, but no significant pain, was preferable, and life would totter along without major incident.

But, that morning, my fate was sealed. The word was that I may even have the operation that same day. Still, I was grateful that this was not a cancerous growth.

The doctor scrambled to find me a surgeon (which was difficult on a Monday morning), while I went home waiting to hear which hospital or specialist to go to next. He soon got hold of a specialist, and the appointment was made for that afternoon.

I prepared to wait at home for the next few hours, still in severe pain, trying to find a suitable painkiller which wouldn’t exacerbate the problem, and praying that this could all be resolved the same day. My wife really stepped up to take care of things, and I ended up rushing to the hospital for an earlier appointment, when the surgeon would see me between operations.

The pain merchant

I hoped this man would be able to administer some kind of treatment right then and there to resolve it, if he wasn’t going to operate the same day. What he did, though, shocked me, simply because he didn’t tell me beforehand. With no Vaseline or lubricant of any kind, he simply started pushing this monster back into my long-suffering anus. I yelped in agony, and asked him to use Vaseline, which the nurse kindly gave him. (And, of course, I had no mind to entertain the worry about strangers – especially the nurse – seeing this part of my body). Whether he had simply forgotten – in his rush to deal with me, or whether he preferred not to use it, I’ll never know. But I was grateful when he was done.

He explained that he could not operate because it was too large. There would be too much blood loss, so the course of action was to push it back in (as agonising as that was), and shrink it using an ointment and suppositories. Frequent icing would also be needed to help the process (as well as manage the pain). The plan was for me to wait at least 3 weeks, then come see him again so I could schedule the surgery, which he advised would be the best long-term solution.

Recovery

And so, off I went, still in severe pain, but relieved that I had a course of treatment which would hopefully deal with it for the short term.

Things cleared up within a few days, and by the time a week had passed, I felt back to normal, though I still had to manage my toilet visits carefully to minimise the chances of a relapse.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I arranged with his admin team to have the surgery done at the end of November. I wanted to delay it until as late as possible because of work commitments, and also because I would have preferred the recovery period to be in early December – when my wife was more able to help me after her busy period at school was over.

For weeks, I mentally prepared for these dates. I tried not to think about the surgery or the infamous pain and difficulties that come after such a procedure. My father had had it done decades ago, and he didn’t paint a rosy picture at all. Nobody did. But I knew it was necessary, and instead of suffering twice (the anxiety beforehand, then the actual pain afterwards), I just blocked it from my thoughts and got on with life.

In the weeks before the pre-surgical consult, I felt the monster was growing once more. I used what little medication I had left from the initial batch, along with an ice pack, to try to mitigate its resurgence. But I worried that things may get out of hand (or, in this case, hole).

Surprise!

In the pre-surgery consult – 9 days before the operation – I was told that they had booked two slots for me: that original date which I had been planning for, and a tentative booking a week earlier – which was 2 days away. They asked if I wanted to take the sooner date, which I immediately refused. How could I go in on such short notice? My entire mental preparation hinged on me having those remaining 9 days.

I later conceded that I’d wait to see what the doctor said. And his examination recommended that I take that earlier date. He was worried about the monster coming out again if I waited the extra week. And, I suspect, surgeons are just eager to get things done quickly… so I took his advice and, on less than 2 days’ notice, I was set to go in.

Needless to say, it was a mad rush to get things ready for my admission. I had to wrap up my work tasks and prepare a handover – a week earlier than scheduled, and there was a ton of admin and personal tasks to deal with.

My chance arrives

By the morning of the surgery, I was ready, and my father took me in at 6 a.m.

And it was finally my turn to experience something I’d been curious about for years: You see, from seeing my wife in hospital on the few occasions she’s been in, I’d always envied her. Not for the pain and discomfort of the experience, but for the opportunity an operation gives one to take a break from life. You’re just completely cut off from all your responsibilities and burdens for this period – however many days or nights you’re in – where you are just in the bed, reading, or watching TV, or sleeping, or whatever else you’re capable of. Nobody expects anything of you, and in fact, you get extra attention too. (Though the latter was never an attraction for me.)

I’d spoken to the anaesthetist the night before, and I didn’t really have to worry about the procedure itself because I’d be knocked out throughout. I remembered this process twice before in my life: once, at probably around 11 years old, for a dental procedure, and then at age 16 when I had my wisdom teeth out.

I was more worried about the pre-surgery enemas. The discomfort of having something stuck into me and then how quickly it would work. Whether I’d be able to rush to an available toilet in time.

Thankfully, it all went well. No mess. No fuss. And in record time.

Going under

I was clear for the next stage, which was having the IV put in. I hate needles, and also worried about the discomfort of having this thing stuck into me, with a tube then connected to something else. But, like all else, it was necessary, so I had to just deal with it.

Next, it was showtime. Oddly enough, I sort of felt like a king – lying on that bed and being wheeled down the passage, on the elevator, down to the theatre ward. I wasn’t sure exactly how much time I’d have until going in, but I used it wisely, almost completely in prayer, because I expected that this operation could be the death of me. It was probably a fairly routine procedure, but one can never be sure that things will go well, so I prepared to meet my Maker.

In the operating room, the anaesthetist explained what he’d do. His “poison” (as a fellow patient had earlier quipped) would knock me out in seconds, but they’d also put a tube in my throat for breathing – which would be taken over while I was under.

I felt something warm going into my arm, as he fed his anaesthetic into my IV. That was the last thing I remember before waking up afterwards.

The return

It took a while for me to come out of the haze. My mind recovered quickly, but my body couldn’t keep up. Nor could my voice. So I just waited it out before I could speak again.

Soon after, I was wheeled back up to my room, and presented with a sandwich and some water, despite not having much of an appetite. But I nibbled, and was soon fully conscious and physically able once more.

Surprisingly, I didn’t feel much pain. Maybe I expected I’d feel it immediately, but I suspect the lingering effects of the anaesthetic insulated me from it for quite a while afterwards.

My IV was connected to a drip, which ended up having only water in it. That was soon removed, but, unfortunately, the needle and tube remained. They needed to be in – for the night especially – in case something had to be administered on short notice.

I had a bloody pad taped to my rear end, and it remained there or most of my stay in hospital. The nurses said they shouldn’t change it yet (which I assumed was for medical reasons), and – from the difficulty I experienced it removing it myself the next day (the pain being from the hair being ripped off) – it turned out to be the right course of action.

I stayed in that hospital room, prayed (sitting, of course, but still with several unavoidable complications), and bided my time until being transferred to the room which would be home until I was discharged.

The medical holiday begins

And this was when I started to enjoy the experience. There still wasn’t much pain – just constraint of movement – but my mind was all there. I did some writing, reading, watching downloaded shows and a movie, and of course communicated with loved ones.

Going to the toilet was a tricky affair, but manageable….probably because, in hospital, I didn’t make a number 2, which is the release that causes the most anxiety and pain after this kind of procedure.

We were served lunch (after the un-appetising sandwich of earlier), which I ate without trouble. In fact, the food throughout the stay (supper after this, and breakfast the next morning) were top notch. We even got to order what we wanted, and it really felt like being in a hotel or a restaurant, because the choices were amazing, and everything tasted spectacular.

The nurses would come in periodically to take vital signs and dispense our pills, but they really weren’t intrusive at all.

Visiting hour came, and with it, guests of the other patients, along with my wife and kids. They’re still at an age where they make their own cards for occasions (birthdays, holidays, etc), so I got some lovely letters from them, along with the snacks I’d requested from home. They soon left, and I wandered around a bit (because I could walk fairly easily) before bedtime. The maternity ward – where our first child was born – was right across from our ward, so it was a trip down memory lane going back to see that waiting room, and peeking into the place from which brand-new lives emerge.

I slept fairly well, despite the subtle beeping of medical machines around me. I knew we’d be woken up at 5 a.m. for the tea service, which came 3 hours before breakfast. I suspect they arrange it like that so that patients have something in their bodies for the medication to come later. I’d planned to wake up a while before then, for the morning prayer, but my opposite neighbour was up from 4 a.m., so that got me going sooner. I preferred it that way, though. I worried about my morning alarm waking up the other patients, and thereby becoming the villain of the ward.

Anyway…

So I pretty much stayed up from that time, with more pills, breakfast, and then a sitz bath (soaking your bottom half in a tub of hot water and coarse salts) completing much of the remaining time until the doctor came to see and discharge me.

He explained the procedure they’d done – including a “stapled rectopexy”, which included putting bands around the little monsters inside to suffocate them, before they would just fall off and pass out of my system naturally, and advised on the most important tasks ahead of me.

He was super positive, and he really gave the impression that I would recover in no time, which set me up for an expectation of recovery being quick and easy. I mean, I still felt very little pain at that point, so I had no reason to believe it would get worse. I thought I was past the peak of difficulty.

And just like that, it was all over. I was free to go…

Homeward bound

My father fetched me, and we went to the pharmacy first, for the meds that were prescribed. Unlike the past, where the hospital had its own pharmacy, this service had been discontinued, so we needed to go elsewhere for the critical painkillers which would hopefully make life bearable in the days to come.

The first day back wasn’t too difficult, though my inability to get much significant out on the toilet was a concern. This concern would grow over the next week, as the painkillers probably hampered natural movements…but I couldn’t function without those painkillers, so laxatives were the only solution I had.

In the days that followed, I’ve experienced near-constant pain – even through the painkillers. Though, I suspect, without those meds, it would have been much worse. My pain threshold is super low, so I unfortunately have just stayed on them every single day (while trying to cut down where possible).

The pain and physical discomfort made me quite the miserable patient to be around, but I believe it’s subsided to some degree of late, and I’m making more of an effort to be pleasant around others. And it’s getting easier, too.

The main thing is that – in this recovery phase – not much is expected of me, especially physically. And that in itself is something I’m most grateful for: that I have people around me who can pick up the slack. I have my wife to thank the most for this, because she’s carried these burdens admirably even though it’s been the busiest time of year for her at school.

The patient patient

I’ve been home almost a week now, and this time has largely found me in bed or the bathroom. It’s an enforced physical relaxation which I’ve really appreciated, because at this time of year, I would have been hectically busy with house things, admin (which is building up a backlog), and physical exertion. Instead, I have to take it slow in order to heal.

The physical constraints – like struggling to get up out of bed or the bath – have reminded me to not take my physical abilities for granted. Even sneezing and coughing hurts at times, because those actions are connected to internal parts which were impacted by the surgery.

The great Islamic scholar Imam Al-Shafi’i said that “Health is a crown that the healthy wear on their heads, but only the sick can see it”…and this week has reminded me of that.

My mind wants to do so much, but I have to give my body its right of rest and recovery, so that I can get back to normal and serve myself and the people around me. I’m so used to just doing things – for myself and others – even when I’m off sick. But this time, it’s completely different. Yes, those tasks are piling up – there’s a backlog – but I can afford to just leave it for now, because I simply have to. I can’t drive – it’s too painful to sit in the car – and I’ve only been out of the house twice in this past week. And I can’t sit and work for long periods (life and house admin – not my actual job).

But I find I am actually really enjoying the self-care. It’s rare in life that you can focus on yourself so completely – especially when you have kids. I suspect I won’t get this chance again until I retire (if I live to see that age, that is).

Lessons

Anyway, so that’s been what’s occupied me of late.

And if I can summarise a few lessons – for anyone who may be experiencing haemorrhoids – it would be these:

1. Please don’t be embarrassed by the condition. It’s very common.
2. Don’t ignore them, and don’t assume they’ll resolve automatically. Research and take the non-medical measures you can to try to deal with them, but mentally prepare for the possibility that you may need surgery.
3. If you get the surgery, prepare yourself for the pain afterwards – especially if you have a low pain threshold. It’s uncomfortable and unpleasant, but very much worth it if this prevents a disaster later on.
4. In your recovery period, rest, rest, rest! Do not try to do too much. Honour your body’s right over you and give yourself what you need in order to heal.

Thank you for reading, and if the title made you think this was a post about a kind of bread, I’m sorry you were disappointed 😉.