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You are expected to turn up on Friday afternoon, but realistically Saturday morning is reasonable. From Saturday morning, and for the next WEEK, you are on a water-only diet..... very cruel!
I arrived on Saturday around 1pm after some delays in Central London, and put simply there wasn't a bed ready at the time, so I was put on the water and told to wait in the TV lounge, which, I admit, did have a rather comfy recliner chair!
I tried to hire one the small private tellies for my stay, but as it turned out it was unlikely to arrive before Monday and as such I was condemned to sit in the common room.
By teatime of course I was ravenous, and unable to eat a bean. It was around this time that my bed became available. Normally, SRS patients will get a side room off the main ward area, but pre-op, this depends on availabilty. Remember that there are ILL people needing these and you're not ill .... yet! So I was led to my bed in a small ward of four bed conveniently beside the toilet! (This WAS beneficial!)
I met the current SRS patient and had a chat while she waited for her pack to be removed.
Much later than it should have been administered, at around 9pm, I was given my first sachet of Picolax.
This is a small sachet of power which you mix with water to make a single glass of rather over-sweetened lemonade-tasting laxative. Icky, but not poisonous!
This takes about two hours to do it's dirty work, and thankfully without cramps, so I had time to watch the evening film before starting my runs!
Boy did it work! I only went about three times that evening, for about fifteen minutes each time, but it really cleared me out!
Mr Royle's colleague, Mr Mattie, came around and popped in to see me for a few minutes. I went to bed at about 12:30am and tried to get some sleep, made all the more difficult by the patient opposite being an very old lady with a throat tube on constant oxygen. Somehow through the hissing, spluttering and popping I got some sleep that night.
Apart from the various explosions from below over the course of the afternoon, Sunday was boring. I was put onto some basic antibiotics to start getting my system dextoxified. Started to feel very run down and weak. Sleeping a fair bit. After the Picolax had done it's work, (It had to run almost clear down below!!) I took to bed around 12am again and tried to sleep with my unmusical background noises again to disturb my rest. Somehow I slept.
A nurse appeared who asked me about my blood tests, which had not yet been carried out. This delayed things a little because they HAD to have those tests before surgery! (Estrogen levels and the like). Ah well. Given my lovely stockings to wear. These are white, very tight and are full length and remain on until you are out of bed and walking about to prevent blood clots and DVT. Uncomfortable really.
At around 8am a porter appeared to take me upstairs to theatre, and it was all systems go!
I was taken up in the lift to the Theatre Suites, which seemed to have lots of doctors walking around the area, and wheeled in the pre-med room, off the main theatre. Waiting there was my anesthetist, who didn't take much time in giving me my initial injection to push me off to dreamy land. Before I passed out completely I remember how powerful this stuff was.... extremely cool stuff!!
I awoke at some point arount 12am-1pm I think, in the large open-plan recovery room, which was an interesting place. It looked like a service station, for hospital beds, with a few beds at some of the 12 or so "pumps". I wasn't the only one coming round from an operation.. My first reaction was amazement at how awake I felt at the time. My throat was inevitably sore from the pipe they put in for anasthesia, but I wasn't in great pain, just a kind of constant pressure on my abdomen and the surgical area. Shortly, I was taken back down to the ward where I was checked every few hours to see how I was by the nurses. I was passing in and out of unconciousness, but wasn't completely out of it. At one stage I entertained by the new patient opposite, (my wheezy old lady having gone for her surgery that morning too, thankfully). She was an astonishingly small, thin, wiry old lady who was spending her time walking around trying to hide food in various places and annoying the staff generally. I seem to remember a doctor asking her questions later that day about what year it was and how long she'd been anorexic!... Oh great .... Still... it was diverting....
The man with the telly finally arrived at some point that afternoon when I was fairly sleepy and still only capable of the odd croak, thanks to my sore throat. He asked me if I could pay for the hire in advance and got a highly withering look from me. Twit. As I found out, I would not have the attention span to watch TV for a day or so yet.
My drug regime was two painkillers and two antibiotics, four times daily, with a single Heparin injection daily into the surface of my tummy to prevent clotting. (Not badly painful, just nippy)
So I slept.
Still not much pain, although I did have my Patient Controlled Analgesia machine to give me little shots of morphine as and when required. Still lots of pressure down below. I was able to look a little closer now and noticed that it looked like I was wearing a nappy! It was tied with a bandage around the top of my hipbones which was REALLY cutting into me, hence the pressure. I had two drains and a catheter leading into that area which dealt with the fluids effectively. All I had to do was drink water... lots of it.
Charing Cross has a personal phone beside each bed with an incoming phone number of each phone. You call out by using a pre-payment card method. This was great because I could now talk, or rather croak, to my family, which helped a lot.
A combination of events led to my first unpleasant experience on Tuesday afternoon. I was required to kind of sit up a bit and a combination of the general anasthetic leaving my system, the PCA and the effort of moving left me feeling dreadfully sick. I was going to chuck it, but somehow got control after some breathing exercises. I was put onto anti-sickness pills, which got me back to normal.
Apart from the four-times daily interruption by the nurse to take my blood pressure, tempaerature and pulse, it was more sleep, water and telly.
By the way, an amazing amount of wind seemed to be produced from wthin during these few bed-rdden days. Pooh!
Hmmmm.
After I had taken an extra couple of PCA shots, the nurses came in and got down to it, snipping the two stitches keeping then in place (ouch), cutting the tubes, and then pulling them out. YYYYEEEEEOOOOWWWWWW!!!!
Ohhhhhh... that HURT!
It didn't last long but it wasn't fun. I decided I would take pain precautions before my other procedures later in the week!
I had a couple of visitors that day, and I probably looked worse than I felt.
The "Pain Team" came to visit. They deal specifically with prescribing analgesia. I told them that I was doing OK with what I had, but I would really like something extra for Saurday's pack removal and possible the catheter removal too. They recommended Entonox (Gas & Air) and I agreed. It was duly prescribed and made ready for me. Phew!!
Offered Bovril for the first time. Cordially refused... YUK! I can't figure out where anyone thinks this could be at all edible. Where's some nice, thin, chicken flavour stuff??
Back to the water..
Had my PCA taken away today, so no more morphine. I wasn't using it much by then anyway, but I had a bad night later on. A bit of "nippy" pain and not being able to sleep well.
Boring day otherwise.
First he cut the bandages, which was a wonderful relief after feeling as if a 12-stone man had been sitting on my belly!
Then off the came the whole "nappy", exposing Mr Royle's handiwork. Oohhh... interesting!
Damn smelly tho'. ICK!
Then started the nasty stuff. He cut a stitch or two and proceeded to attempt to remove the pack.
This was, frankly, Hell. Very painful, very nasty. He kept trying to get me to relax my pelvic muscles which were of course tensed up with pain and fear.
Eventually the pack came out amidst much tears. More to come......
He readied the dilators and inserted each one slowly, but this too was really awful and painful.
The catheter, I learned, does not get removed till the Monday and so I was still attached to my little bag!
After it was over he cleaned me up and disappeared, and I lay on the bed completely drained of all energy and shaking slightly.
It was then that my anger started to get a hold of me.
I feel that Mr Mattie showed a shocking lack of concern over my personal feelings. This matter is not over.
After an hour of lying on my bed resting I realised that my restrictions were finally removed.. I could get out of bed and I could EAT too!!
I tried at this point to get out of bed, and it wasn't fun. Seven days of water had left me weak and powerless. I almost passed out.
I did have my first supper tho', and the Lasagne tasted like high Cordon Bleu. Wonderful!!.. After a nap to get my strength up I finally struggled out of bed and tried to walk a bit. I wasn't in great pain, but I longed for my bath. I just could'nt do it. My strength was so low it was amazing. I resigned to having my bath the next day.
My first personal dilation was..... uncomfortable. Not really painful. A damn funny feeling, but at least I did it!
I slept like a log a log that night. It had been an eventful day!
Finally made it to the bath, although the effort was still very hard. Ahhhhhhhhh.
What a wonderful feeling, to get clean, fresh and brush the mats out of my hair, which was a complete rat's nest. Starting to feel human at last.Not fun trying to bathe with a catheter in! Awkward to say the least.
Ahh... no more stockings... another relief.
Progress, progress.
Did I demand my gas and air? Damn right I did!!!
Did I need it? errrr...... no..
Ah well...
The nurse let down the internal "balloon" which kept it in place, which made me go "oooo", but not sore, and then pulled out the tube. Very tickly and odd, but not bad.... and it was all over!!
Finally not attached to anything!!!!
I went back to bed and drank plenty of water to ready myself for the attempt to pee later. By this time the meals are three times a day and most welcome! Great at building up strength.
In the afternoon, my bladder told me it was time to try, and so off I went. I took AGES to get anything out! But when it came, the stories were true. Non-directional, intermittant and frustrating as hell. But after half an hour on the loo, I had done it! No recatheterisation for me...
So I relaxed. I even finally had enough strength to walk down to the shop downstairs to get a magazine something to drink and some Always. HINT: you will need plenty sanitary towels. Get them before pack removal.
Took it easy and continued trying to pee.... not getting any easier but at least achieving SOMETHING.
A lazy day therefore. Time to get my head together and continue dilation. Nothing eventful.
Funny smells, Linoleum floors, no more.
The journey wasn't fun because of the sitting around, and the inability to get comfy.
When I got home I made a beeline for the loo. Funnily enough, in the surroundings of my own home, everything seemed easy.
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