To my amazement, by Sunday I'm getting ready to go home. Most machines were unplugged on Saturday, just in time for the children coming in to visit (not that they cared by the time I played my trump card and showed them I could get Cbeebies on the tv in my room - anything to stop a highly inquisitive two year old with a talent for pushing buttons (literally and figuratively) from playing with the remote control on the bed, and also to distract DD who is getting distressed by the cannula in my left hand). Getting Out of Bed, Going For A Walk and even Climbing Stairs were achieved without incident. I even take a shower for the first time, and it is the best shower ever.
The plumbing consultant came in on Saturday morning and his colleague comes on Sunday. He was in theatre for part of my operation and it strikes me as strange to meet someone who is better acquainted with my bowels than he is with me. Both have one achievement in mind: before I can go home, I have to have a poo.
Food is now going in, in small amounts. Air is growling around my belly and I am, ahem, passing wind, which is apparently a sign that the join is working properly and the bowel is moving in the right direction. Apparently when it's touched the bowel can stop moving completely which is, according to a nurse, not a good thing. But, apart from wind and some large lumps of blood that stink to high heaven, nothing else is forthcoming.
This is worse than having toddlers around. Now everyone feels entitled to ask about my bowel habits, particularly DH who is now texting for updates. I promise to tell him the moment anything happens, if he will just stop asking!