Post Surgery Part I

I left the last post just after waking from surgery, but I will start this one off from the few minutes before - from what I remember.

Waiting outside the theatre, the last thing I remember is being injected with what the surgical staff referred to as "Happy medicine."  At the time I didn't think much of it, and then they asked me to start taking breathes from a mask.  I remember thinking after the first two inhalations "This isn't really doing anything..." and then on the third breath "Is this meant to be..."

Next thing I know I am waking up in the recovery area with an oxygen mask on my face, very very confused - wasn't I awake just a second ago?  The next thought was "What is that weird pumping noise...what is up with my legs?"  Looking down at my legs they seemed to be much bulkier than normal and inflating and deflating.  The following thoughts; "Did something go wrong?  What's up with my legs?  What the hell...wait, I have a pump!"...I'm thirsty..."

It turned out that my legs hadn't been replaced by bionic ones, but that post-surgical socks had been put on with a pump type device, that I assume massaged them to keep the blood flowing to prevent blood clots (I had these on for the next 36 hours, and damn were they annoying).

After returning to my ward and becoming more coherent after a few hours, I realised I needed the loo.  Really really badly.  In fact, for the next 12 hours I needed to pee practically every 20 minutes - I can only assume this must have been a side effect of the anaesthetic as I have no other explanation for it.  However, after surgery I was very very sore, and the complete opposite of mobile.  The surgeon had used staples to close the incision (Which I found out later was because they are meant to heal better and scar less) - these proved to be very very inflexible, and pulled at the slightest

Assimilation Complete

It has happened.  On the 30th of July at 9.30 am I became fully assimilated - but it almost didn't happen.

After spending the morning of admission trying to contact the ward I was meant to be staying on, to make sure a bed was ready (as they had told me to do), it was only when we were halfway to the hospital for the admission time that I managed to get through.  And that was when the nurse (without any hint of sympathy or compassion) told me that there was not a for me.  Oh, there was a theatre slot for me, but because there was not a bed, the surgery could not go ahead.

After trying repeatedly to get through to the nurse that this could not be, that my surgery was happening TOMORROW, that I had waited for TWO YEARS for this, that I had been told that there would be a bed, I had to hand the phone over to Ben as I was getting near speechless with anger and frustration.

I nearly gave up, but my parents carried on driving to the hospital, and for the next 8 hours, the Battle for the Bed commenced.  My parents and Ben were near seething with rage over the situation, and we pretty much refused to leave until it was sorted out.  The receptionist was sympathetic, and called the ward manager, and my parents went up to the ward to have words whilst Ben took me for a calming cup of tea.

The next few hours were spent waiting to hear from the site manager, who was trying to find a bed.  We then levelled up to the day room of the ward I was supposed to be on, and spent a good few hours there.  The key issue was finding a ward that would take me, due to my "extra needs" - even though I can look after myself perfectly well, it would just be post surgery I would need looking after, but to be honest, anyone would need help after surgery!

Finally, after arriving at 1pm, at after 9 in the evening, a bed was found in the older wing of the hospital on a non-neurosurgical ward - it even had its own bathroom and shower!  By this point we were all well and truly knackered, and couldn't give a stuff what ward it was on, at least I had a bed.

Things brightened up, as I was told I was first on the theatre list the next morning, and so, at 9.30 am I was wheeled into theatre for the Baclofen Pump insertion - it was all a bit surreal to think that it was finally happening, after all the waiting, the phone calls, the lost letter, the trial complications - I was finally getting it.

Waking up from surgery was a very bizarre experience - wrapping your head around the idea that there was now a piece of technology inside me is hard to do when you are all foggy from anaesthetic.  I will cover post-surgery and recovery in the next series of posts though, I don't want to skim over these as I think these are quite important to document, I just procrastinate a lot!