The anaesthetist was bizarre. He introduced himself by saying “Hello I’m the gas man”. He then asked me questions at quite some speed about how sickly I get and said as a parting comment “we’ll have fun”. I wasn’t amused or entirely reassured.
I haven’t had general anaesthetic since I was 13. I haven’t had a hospital experience, apart from babies, since then either. And I am a bit of a wuss. So I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the experience.
To be honest it was fine. With hindsight of course. I cried before I went to sleep – that’s what I do.
The operation? Well I was well and truly asleep thank goodness. If you fancy reading the details it was this.
When I woke, I know it sounds trite, but I was overwhelmed with a thankful feeling. That I was ok, and for my girls and Paul. And as I began to hear the lady in the bed next to me crying in pain, thankful that my procedure was so minor and straightforward.
I had morphine. Then anti-sickness drugs that I might have been intolerant to as pins and needles arrived in my legs and hands. My body hurt. Which wasn’t a great surprise.
And then the night happened. A bit of sleep punctuated by hourly visits to check blood pressure, pulse and to give me medication. I ate a sandwich with some difficulty at about 11 o’clock at night and fended off sickness with a pill and mind over matter since I was terrified of stomach cramps.
In the morning I had a chronic bad back due to being too frightened to move. The nurse asked me why. Really?
Everything is better in the daylight. My consultant arrived early sweeping in like a highly intelligent smiley bird of some sort. She perched long enough to say the operation “went beautifully”. She must be committed. I can’t imagine anything about bladders being beautiful. There was a list of don’ts and then she flew out of my room again.
The catheter was removed. It wasn’t nice.
After that I had to prove I could empty my bladder. Each time I weed a nurse appeared and scanned my tummy. That is once she’d worked out that she needed to press the “woman” button on the machine to make it work properly.
I left a little confused. I have wounds either side of my groin, as it was keyhole surgery, and some internal stitches. I didn’t really have the first idea what I was supposed to do, only what not to do. Don’t shower for 48 hours (yum), don’t bath, don’t use tampons, don’t lift anything, don’t hoover. Obviously the hoovering was going to be a major problem.
So eventually I went home and didn’t do anything. I did shower eventually though if it was putting you off coming to see me.
My consultant says I need four weeks off work and since I came home I have done an awful lot of sitting on my arse. Maybe now is the time I will finish that children’s story.
You’ll probably be pleased to hear that I’ve reached the end of my operation blog entries now. I can switch back to an entry about tropical fish I’ve been mulling over. I imagine my number of hits will drop through the floor…