I think we're at home now.

I went in for my third and final surgery on Friday. I went to sleep at about 8:30am and was out to recovery around 10:00am. The "takedown" as it's called is notably the easiest and quickest of the three.

Once I woke up, I had a couple of IVs in my arm, some pain meds and hydrations. I looked down and was also minus a colostomy bag. There was just a small bandage covering what I would come to realize were 7 stitches holding me together. I thought I would be more emotional about it - losing that little part of me - but I wasn't. I did, however, feel really really great.

Within 2 hours of waking up, I walked myself to the toilet to pee. When they finally rolled me up to my room at 14N, I ended up taking 2 laps around the floor before tucking in for the night. They never really let you sleep at the hospital - every few hours they're either poking you with a needle, taking your temperature, blood temperature, or asking you questions.

On this last surgery, they look for a few things to happen to show that you're healing correctly. The first, and most important function they would like to see your body do is to pass gas. I was on a mission to fart.

As ridiculous as it seems, I knew that farting was my ticket to freedom.

And that happened midday on Sunday. I had a few visitors and I hollered from the restroom, "You guys! I farted!"

"We heard."

Later that night, I got a clear liquid diet (broth, Jello, tea) and Monday started on solid foods. By the time Dr. Michelassi did his rounds around 3pm, I was prepared to make my case for going home. I had all my ducks in a row. Fortunately, he didn't put up much of a fight...so home I went.

And here I am. Home and healing.