It has been well documented over the past few weeks, on numerous occasions, that I had been due an operation, (the removal of my right kidney) and by Sunday morning the time had come for me to make the call to the hospital to see if a bed was available for me. As instructed by the Royal Gwent I phoned them at 11am to see if they were able to accommodate me later on that day, but they told me they would call me back later that afternoon to confirm whether they could or not. I didn't mind the delay too much, I appreciated that they wanted to make sure there was room for me before asking me to come, but I'll admit the waiting wasn't nice and left me slightly on edge. It felt as though I was on death row, only in the way that I knew it was going happen, but wasn't quite sure when, it didn't, of course, feel like I was going to be executed.
Sure enough, later on that afternoon they called back with the news I would now have to come in early Monday morning rather than Sunday afternoon and to be honest that suited me, I mean who wouldn't prefer a night in their own bed rather than in a hospital bed before an operation? I was instructed not to eat or drink anything from midnight onwards, which worried me more than the operation itself, sure 12-7 would be easy enough, but what about when I wake up? I'm always hungry regardless of how much I ate the night before and I hate being hungry, even for such a short period of time.
So I got up at half 6, had my last shower at home for a good few days, said tata to my mum and was chauffeured to the hotel by my dad. We went to the ward I would eventually be staying after the op and I noticed straight away that the clientèle was rather old and as pointed out by my dad, it stunk of piss. But really, what else could we have expected from the urology department? I was told there wasn't yet a bed on the ward but I could wait in the day ward until the operation - fine by me.
So there I sat in a nice quiet room, reading my book for the next two hours, I was a little apprehensive, but my nerves were calmed somewhat after I had met the anaesthetist and surgeon, they seemed very sure of themselves, which is what you would expect from people in such important occupations. I was also told I would need to give a sample of my blood, this is something I'm usually very relaxed about - I've had blood taken from my arm countless times - but I was slightly more anxious this time as I had embarrassingly collapsed a month earlier during this procedure. This time, however, it went fine, such a brave soldier aren't I?
So there I sat in a nice quiet room, reading my book for the next two hours, I was a little apprehensive, but my nerves were calmed somewhat after I had met the anaesthetist and surgeon, they seemed very sure of themselves, which is what you would expect from people in such important occupations. I was also told I would need to give a sample of my blood, this is something I'm usually very relaxed about - I've had blood taken from my arm countless times - but I was slightly more anxious this time as I had embarrassingly collapsed a month earlier during this procedure. This time, however, it went fine, such a brave soldier aren't I?
The time eventually came for the operation, it was about 12 o clock, give or take 30 minutes when I was wheeled, in a creaky old chair, into the operating theatre wearing my rather unflattering gown, with a blanket on my lap and for the first time I had begun to feel like a real patient. Nerves kicked in, but it was kind of exciting too, I was now stepping into the realms of the unknown. I was put onto the operating table and the anaesthetist and the surgeon's helpers relaxed me, they asked me my favourite holiday, to which I replied Kenya and then answered what my favourite animal was (Lions and Elephants). I was now in a talkative mood, these people seemed great to talk to, "I've also been skiing a few times, that's pretty good too and..."
...and then I woke up. Jesus, where was I, what the fuck was happening. "Gavin, you've come out of theatre, everything's fine, if you feel any pain press this button and it will relieve it" said someone or other, I have no idea who, but the important bit there is what was said, rather than who said it, self controlled morphine? Interesting. To be honest there is little to write about the rest of the day. I vaguely remember being visited by my parents and also trying to watch Coronation Street on one of those small TV screens, but as the anaesthetic was still making me very sleepy and morphine was being pumped into my veins at 10 minute intervals, I can barely remember a thing.
Tuesday morning I wasn't much more with it, but I did start to make progress as I was taken out of my bed and put in a chair which was approximately eight inches from where I had been laying. I managed to stand on my own two feet for about 15 seconds, before being put into the chair, where I would stay for the best part of four hours, drifting in and out of consciousness. Although still not compos mentis I did begin to get some baring of my surroundings and indeed who I was surrounded by. From what I could gather I had a 93 year old man to my left, a (white) 68 year old South African (who, by the way, bared all the traits you would expect from someone of that nationality) to my right and 3 other men over the age of 60 opposite me, 2 of them probably 80+. At the age of just 26 I was experiencing my first taste of life in a nursing home for the elderly, nuts.
The rest of the day/evening/night was spent back in my bed, I was visited by various family and friends and happily tucked into jaffa cakes, chocolate eclair (sweets), wine gums and grapes (mandatory), whilst still happily pressing that little green button, which was firmly attached to my right hand.
Wednesday came and I felt a whole lot better. My medication was downgraded slightly from the intravenously injected morphine to the trippier, less drowsy tramadol, taken via tablet. I also had the catheter removed, I'm not going to explain what this is, if you don't already know then search in google, you will probably find a picture of one in action as well if you look hard enough. So with the catheter removed I was now free to wander the ward on my unsteady pins, in all there were 4 wards of 6 people, 2 male and 2 female and there wasn't a person under the age of 60 in sight, barely any under 70. It's hard to imagine quite how lost I must've looked.
After an entertaining Wednesday night, when the ward was introduced to it's latest patient - a 77 year old man from Bishton who fell out of an apple tree - Thursday soon came and it was time to go home and recover, it was a shaky drive home and one which made me feel nauseous, but it was a journey worth making, as I knew where I would rather be.
As the last week or so has passed my state has gradually improved, I weaned myself of the tramadol as the pain subsided and have started to move more freely and although I've picked up an unwanted habit of waking up at 5am each morning, I'm at least sleeping pain free. I am, however, beginning to go a little 'stir crazy' and have fallen into a daily habit which, from 9-6 goes a little like this: get up, watch a film, read, eat, sleep, watch another dvd, play xbox, eat. It's not great, a little boring, but lest I say, it's still not quite as monotonous as working life - yet.
So that's the end of this particular chapter in my life. As I stated earlier, it will change my life to a degree as I will now, hopefully, be able to start drinking alcohol again without feeling that dreaded pain. I probably won't drink quite as much as I did pre pain as I like to feel that my lifestyle has changed somewhat over the past 6 months or so, but I'm not one to rule things out.
As I type this up I am sat next to my Gran, explaining about the blog and how it works. "Who can look at this then?" she enquired "anyone, if they really wanted to" I replied "so they can find you're address then" "not on this no, but it's not hard to find anyone's address anyway, if you really wanted it" I answered. "Even from America then?" she asked "why would anyone from America want to know my address?" "In case they wanted to come over here and shoot you." Second thoughts, I wonder if I can start work again tomorrow morning?
Tuesday morning I wasn't much more with it, but I did start to make progress as I was taken out of my bed and put in a chair which was approximately eight inches from where I had been laying. I managed to stand on my own two feet for about 15 seconds, before being put into the chair, where I would stay for the best part of four hours, drifting in and out of consciousness. Although still not compos mentis I did begin to get some baring of my surroundings and indeed who I was surrounded by. From what I could gather I had a 93 year old man to my left, a (white) 68 year old South African (who, by the way, bared all the traits you would expect from someone of that nationality) to my right and 3 other men over the age of 60 opposite me, 2 of them probably 80+. At the age of just 26 I was experiencing my first taste of life in a nursing home for the elderly, nuts.
The rest of the day/evening/night was spent back in my bed, I was visited by various family and friends and happily tucked into jaffa cakes, chocolate eclair (sweets), wine gums and grapes (mandatory), whilst still happily pressing that little green button, which was firmly attached to my right hand.
Wednesday came and I felt a whole lot better. My medication was downgraded slightly from the intravenously injected morphine to the trippier, less drowsy tramadol, taken via tablet. I also had the catheter removed, I'm not going to explain what this is, if you don't already know then search in google, you will probably find a picture of one in action as well if you look hard enough. So with the catheter removed I was now free to wander the ward on my unsteady pins, in all there were 4 wards of 6 people, 2 male and 2 female and there wasn't a person under the age of 60 in sight, barely any under 70. It's hard to imagine quite how lost I must've looked.
After an entertaining Wednesday night, when the ward was introduced to it's latest patient - a 77 year old man from Bishton who fell out of an apple tree - Thursday soon came and it was time to go home and recover, it was a shaky drive home and one which made me feel nauseous, but it was a journey worth making, as I knew where I would rather be.
As the last week or so has passed my state has gradually improved, I weaned myself of the tramadol as the pain subsided and have started to move more freely and although I've picked up an unwanted habit of waking up at 5am each morning, I'm at least sleeping pain free. I am, however, beginning to go a little 'stir crazy' and have fallen into a daily habit which, from 9-6 goes a little like this: get up, watch a film, read, eat, sleep, watch another dvd, play xbox, eat. It's not great, a little boring, but lest I say, it's still not quite as monotonous as working life - yet.
So that's the end of this particular chapter in my life. As I stated earlier, it will change my life to a degree as I will now, hopefully, be able to start drinking alcohol again without feeling that dreaded pain. I probably won't drink quite as much as I did pre pain as I like to feel that my lifestyle has changed somewhat over the past 6 months or so, but I'm not one to rule things out.
As I type this up I am sat next to my Gran, explaining about the blog and how it works. "Who can look at this then?" she enquired "anyone, if they really wanted to" I replied "so they can find you're address then" "not on this no, but it's not hard to find anyone's address anyway, if you really wanted it" I answered. "Even from America then?" she asked "why would anyone from America want to know my address?" "In case they wanted to come over here and shoot you." Second thoughts, I wonder if I can start work again tomorrow morning?
No comments:
Post a Comment