Did You Call to Reschedule your Colonoscopy? … Um. I don’t have a colon anymore.

Doctors make mistakes all the time. Some are more forgivable than others. You rarely forget them, however. You learn from these mistakes. You learn that in the medical world, you need to take care of yourself. You can’t expect your doctors to be perfect.   

Around the age of ten, I began losing weight, experiencing exhaustion, and having blood in my stool. My pediatrician was convinced that I was simply suffering from anemia. After taking iron pills for a period of time with no improvement, my parents took me to an oncologist due to a family history of leukemia. While I do not remember the specifics of how I came to be diagnosed, I can be certain that doctors made  some mistakes in diagnosis along the way. Eventually, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease and treated accordingly.

One of the treatments that seemed to work was Remicade infusions. This medication, like many others used to treat Crohn’s, was originally meant to treat Rheumatoid Arthritis. (This makes sense, since both conditions involve inflammation in the body). I went in for infusions every few weeks between the ages of about thirteen until sixteen or so. Then the Remicade stopped working and I started getting very sick.

Enter Dr. Rabih Salloum, a man I have adored since the first time I watched him yell at my pediatric gastroenterologist. I was admitted to the hospital immediately after performing as the lead in my high school drama production (I refused to be admitted prior to our final performance). The medication that had been working so well had also caused strictures in my rectum. My gastroenterologist failed to check for this as I was receiving treatments. Dr. Salloum fixed me up during my ten-day hospital stay and has been fixing me up since then. I switched doctors to an adult gastroenterologist soon after that.

The most recent errors of my medical team earned me forty-six days in the hospital… and then an additional four days after being home for a week and a half. I came to a point in my life when I was counting down the days until surgery…that is how sick I was. I couldn’t live life anymore. I went in for an ileostomy in December. During the routine surgery, my adored surgeon accidently nicked my small intestine. We all realized this about ten days later when I started vomiting and feeling like complete shit. A few tests confirmed the error and my surgical team cut me open further to stitch up their mistake. Unfortunately, my remaining intestines were paper-thin due to years of steroids and trauma from my disease. Their stitches didn’t hold and I got sick again. We decided to cut me open even further and then pull out the ripped part of my intestine, forming a second stoma. The incisions were so deep that they used foam and a vacuum system to keep me closed up for a few days. I had about 3 more surgeries spread out the next few days to clean out my insides and finally suture my tummy together. The sutures didn’t hold and we ended up cutting them out. My stomach is currently home to two stomas and a large whole that is getting smaller daily as it heals from the inside out. 

Many mistakes were made and my surgeon was open about them. He has informed me that, “At this point, everything is my fault.” It isn’t all his fault… and it’s hard to blame him for the parts that are because he is pretty good at what he does. He loves me and everyone makes mistakes.

He made another recently by telling me I could eat anything I wanted. (See Beans, Beans…). Partially my fault? Yes, but I can still blame him a bit.

Of course he couldn’t forget that I no longer had a colon. He took it out. The staff at my gastroenterologist’s office did, however. I called to make an appointment the other day (I don’t want to, but I have to. He isn’t a very good doctor, but he’s cutting edge in research). His horrible secretary answered and asked if I wanted to reschedule a colonoscopy.

No, you dumb girl. We discussed this a month ago, actually. You called me to tell me my doctor had to schedule my colonoscopy for a different day (probably because you screwed up the schedule)…a day after my ileostomy surgery. Remember that? We decided it wouldn’t make sense to do it after surgery because there would be nothing to scope. Yes, we had this conversation. I yelled at you. You forgot though.  

“Um. I don’t have a colon.” She paused for a while and then proceeded to ask what I needed to see the doctor for. Seriously.

WARNING: Pictures of my tummy follow. Probably not for the easily grossed out. :)

 After the surgeons went in and stitched the intestine. The cut down the middle is where they went in. The plastic pieces on the sides are tension sutures. The gaping gross hole at the bottom is where they removed my organs initially. Finally the red dot is my stoma. (and some laproscopic scars).

 A bit better--Stomy and Junior. (Yes, I named my stomas and call them by name when they are acting up as I change their dressings). Everything is sutured up, but they didn't last long. I look like this now sans the sutures and with a hole in between my stomas...