What’s happened?
We’re here. Operation 23 has come and gone, and I’m back on the road to recovery once again.
I forgot how stressful operations can be and what a drag recovering really is. I’m 2 weeks and 3 days into recovery right now and only just beginning to feel a bit like myself again. I am just so bloody tired!! What better thing to blog about during the summer holidays than the latest operation in a long line?
Before…
So as I have mentioned before, this operation has been long in the pipeline and the day has finally arrived- 1st August. At 4am, Mum, Dad and I were up and out of the house and heading to Hatton Cross and towards the Royal London Hospital. Already tired from a late night packing my bag and waiting for Lisa to get home, so she could plait my hair ready for the op, I was not exactly feeling ecstatic to be up that early and on a train.
Something I have always found amusing, is that despite having never been one for having breakfast; usually making do with a cup of tea or glass of orange juice, whenever I go in for an operation it is like suddenly my stomach wants to eat every single thing within a 10 mile radius! There is definitely something about not being allowed to eat or drink before an operation that makes you think only about eating and drinking all the way to your operation.
7:00 we arrived at the Royal London and went up into the Day Surgery waiting room where there were quite a few people already milling around. Now, I have been in many, many hospitals and every single one of them do operations differently, and this one was no different. At around 7:15 a nurse came out and gave us a speech about what would be happening during the day and how we would be processed.
With most operations I have had, we have sat in the waiting room and been called in for the various tests and conversations that needed to be had before the op and then sent back out to sit. However at the Royal London, they don’t. So at half 7 my name was called and I went in through the doors and that was the last time I saw Mum and Dad until half 7 that night. Despite having had 22 operations previously, my anixety levels just before going in are usually fairly high and I can’t sit still. Mum usually is able to calm me down by sitting with me and chatting and dad keeps me talking and distracts me. Being thrust into the new situation of not having anyone there with me until I went down to theatre was a strange and uncomfortable one.
After having all the tests done and getting changed into the stunningly awful gown, I was sent to sit outside a little changing booth and wait. Honestly, this part is always mind-numbingly boring and so happy days when the lady next to me struck up a conversation- Julia was her name and thank God she was there to help pass the time. We were both sitting next to a lady who seemed to be a little out of it and kept on talking to herself (we decided :)) about her eyes and where her phone was and telling anyone who would listen that her son was picking her up at 11:00 and she musn’t be late. Eventually she was carted off for her op and we were left in peace.
We chatted and laughed and eventually a nurse came over to us and here is where we thought we’d be on our way and get it all over with. How wrong we were. The nurse had come to tell us that as of then, there were no post-op beds and so unless they found us one, we wouldn’t be having our operations. Julia was incensed as she had already been moved from the following Saturday to the previous Thursday, and had travelled a long way (I think maybe even further than me) to be there for the 7am admission time. I on the other hand, was annoyed, having got up early and not eaten in over 14 hours, but in a way slightly relieved. I had never felt that before with an operation and hence the day had finally arrived when I knew that once this one was done, unless it was absolutely necessary, I would not be having anymore operations- number 23 would be my last. I was just done with the preparation, waiting around and then the knowledge of the recovery that was to come.
An hour later and still waiting on edge for whether we would be done or not, the nurse returned and gave us the (good?) news that we both had a bed and we would be having our ops very soon so get ready. At 12:45 my name was called, I was taken down and put onto the bed ready for the anaesthetic to take hold and there begun the operation and recovery!
Recovery…
6 and a half hours later, and I am woken up and instantly I am greeted with the bright lights of the hospital, an awful headache and a very sore left hand side of my whole body. Not my ideal way of waking up to be quite honest! After telling the lovely nurse about this she proceeded to grab my left arm, hold it above my head and shake it quite vigorously whilst saying that it is probably where they had me laid during the operation which I guess made sense, but bloody hell it hurt! Hearing them bringing in my mum made it all that little bit better and being able to see her, through admittedly tired and groggy eyes, made me all that much happier.
They took me up to the ward where mum and dad were waiting and they sat with me for half an hour before deciding that actually I was way too out of it to really engage in any conversations and off they went for the night.
During the night I was woken up many times for blood pressure checks and to have drugs pumped into me, or the drips with antibiotics in changed, and eventually I just gave up trying to sleep and watched the world go by from my bed. The nurses all bustling around trying to get things done and cater for so many different people’s needs and doctors sometimes coming in to see a patient who isn’t quite right; it’s an interesting place to be. Around half 4, I asked for some painkillers as my ribs were not playing ball and I was in quite a bit of pain. They brought me morphine which I thought was going to be brilliant, it wasn’t. The pain did not go away and I felt more alert if anything and this didn’t help the lack of sleep situation so an hour or so later I asked again for another painkiller- which this time turned out to be paracetomol which held it at least for a little bit thankfully.
6:30am and Caroline, my surgeon came in to check on everything and explained to me that it didn’t all go as smoothly as they had hoped and the skin had split meaning I had a scar down the middle of my nose which will disappear, eventually. Finally, 9:30 rolled around and Mum and Lisa were allowed in to sit with me and wait for me to get discharged into their care. Cue a few more hours of just sitting around, attempting to eat a dry and lumpy lasagne, and mum fussing about, checking I really am ok to go home (she wasn’t convinced!), and I am discharged and allowed to finally get dressed and go home- Hallalujah!
Everytime you have an operation you forget how awful it really is, especially the first 3 days. It’s true what they say- the third day is always the worst and it gets better from there! Due to being under for over 6 hours, the anaesthetic took a long time to work it’s way out of my system and 4 days later I was still napping quite a lot during the day.
My family are brilliant, looking after me when to be honest I can’t function for myself independently. Lisa sat with me for over a week, making sure I was ok, getting me up and down when needed, making me lunch and helping me wash my hair. Due to having numerous bandages on my face, on my ribs and not being allowed to get the stitches wet, showering is pretty difficult and I needed help. Ciara, whilst writing up her PhD work, and literally working non-stop (she’s a machine!) would come in and check on me every so often, sort out the cushions behind me to make sure I was comfortable and sitting upright as not to disturb the bandages and disrupt the recovery process. On the third day I was laying on the living room floor having found that there was the only comfortable place I could find to help me doze, tears running down my face because I was uncomfortable, fed up and literally could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. Ciara sat with me, talked it through and tried to distract me from the negative emotional thoughts running around my head. Mum and Dad took me to the hospital, drove me home, ensured I was comfortable and made sure that I didn’t miss any of the tablet times, whether that was the antibiotics or painkillers. Honestly, every time I have an op they are there doing what they have to do, to get me through and I will be forever thankful!
Another thing with the first 3 days, along with the pain, tiredness and constantly being hot or cold with no inbetween is the weird dreams and annoying thought processes. I can’t tell you now, 2 weeks later, what those dreams were about or what was going on in my brain but I can give a piece of advice- NEVER listen to musicals that you love before you go down for surgery because a line or 2 of the same song will race around your head from the minute you wake up, until the anaesthetic and whatever else they pump into you during the operation wears off, and you start to feel a little more normal again. Hallucinations and the huge spectrum of emotions you go through will be something I will never get used to- I went from giggling like a 5 year old with Lisa to absolutely bawling my eyes out in the blink of an eye.
After around a week and a half I felt up for popping out for short bursts of time (and wasn’t Lisa happy with that!!). I have met up with friends from work and uni, who have kept in touch throughout the holidays, leading up to the op, and afterwards to check how I am doing, which has been so, so lovely, Just seeing a friendly face, going for a short walk, having coffee or just receiving a text or a present, has just helped me to focus on other things, rather than what has been done. It still baffles me that there are people who genuinely care about how I am doing, but I can’t say how bloody grateful I am that they are there in my life to help me through the difficult patches. I will never take that for granted, ever!?!
Now here we are- over 2 weeks later and looking to have my dressings, splints and stitches removed on Monday (I cannot bloody wait!). Due to the split in the middle of my nose, I went to GOSH a week after surgery to see the consultant. She removed those stitches and replaced the splint and dressings to continue to protect the areas for another week and a bit. It was very weird to be returning back to a place that 3 years ago I didn’t think I would ever go back into as a patient. On the other hand it felt massively like coming home and despite being there in recovery I went in and left with a smile on my face and having spoken to many of the nurses and consultants I had come across in all the years I spent under their amazing care. GOSH for sure is one of the best hospitals I have ever been in and I will sing their praises whenever and wherever I go forever more.
I am beginning to feel a little more like myself. I still am mega tired and can’t do too much without feeling the pull of my ribs or some sort of uncomfortable, but I will get there and eventually I will be back on the trampoline and the track but for now I need to take it slow and build it up- rushing the process will only harm me in the long run.
I’m glad it is over and I am well on the road to recovery but as I said to mum as soon as I came out of surgery (after I asked her the time); I’M DONE!
Wow, a long one. Thank you if you’re still reading, I hope it wasn’t too boring (oops!).
Sinead xxx
What Am I Doing? 