On Thursday some friends drove me down to Hove to stay at their house for a week and have a break from London where I have been mostly housebound since leaving Barts hospital in April.

Months ago, as a precaution during chemotherapy, I was given a surgical procedure called an ileostomy, where they severe your bowel and stick it out of a hole in your belly. Here you place a ‘stoma’ bag which you empty into the toilet when full (which is about 15 times a day).
Yes, in case you haven’t worked it out, it’s quite literally a bag of shit under your shirt. Talk about a social barrier! The operation can be reversed but they have to wait until you are finished with chemotherapy as surgery is dangerous with a weakened or non-existent immune system.

By Saturday teatime my ileostomy had prolapsed (the bowel had swollen and started to push itself out of the hole) and I had to be admitted to West Sussex County Hospital in central Brighton where I was kept in over night.

All I had really done was swap one hospital for another, however I did have a lovely view of the sea from my 9th floor ward window.
On Sunday I had to pour sugar on the prolapsed bowel for 3 hours to reduce the swelling and then a doctor used his fingers to force my bowels back through a hole in my side while I sucked air and gas which is usually given to women during childbirth. It’s not an experience I’d like to repeat and the gas didn’t seem to make any difference to the pain endured.

Now it’s Monday afternoon. I’m still extremely sore, my stoma is swollen and my mobility isn’t quite as good as before I left. Since the beginning of my visit I’ve also broken the toilet flushing system in the second loo and smashed a tall beer glass.

This morning my friends’ diabetic cat Alfie was found unconscious in a narrow passage down the side of their house and had to be rescued by firemen! His back legs had given in and he may have been hit by a car. He’s currently with the emergency vet and it’s touch and go as to whether he will make it.