Along came the cheerful nurse. Yep, a nurse who seemed genuinely cheerful and unburdened by the job, pay and conditions they work under.
She was young.
She must have been new.
So she walked me down to the ........hmmmm.......reception area seems strong, but basically the place where you wait before being taken into the theatre. By this time I had a tag attached, presumably telling them who I was and what I was having done. I didn't look at it. By this time I was shaking in my sock-less trainers as it finally dawned on me I was about to have an operation whilst awake.
Then came the walk into the theatre. It seems an odd name really. Why not garage? Or workshop? Then you realise that there is a lead actor (the surgeon) , a supporting actor (the other surgeon) supporting cast (the nurses and anaesthetist) and then the audience (you, the patient). Of course a lot of the time the audience is asleep which presumably guarantees there'll be no calls of 'Encore!'. It also means there'll be no heckling, which must be a plus point for the 'cast'. Mind you it would be a peculiar audience /patient to shout at the surgeon 'Oi, its rubbish mate' or 'Get another job' wouldn't it.
So I was one of those who would be a proper audience, awake, alert, aware but not actually able to see what was going on. Just as well really, the thought of seeing my stomach opened up holds about as much appeal as seeing Anne Widdecombe in a see through negligee wearing stockings and suspenders.
I apologise now for planting that last image in your minds.
She was young.
She must have been new.
So she walked me down to the ........hmmmm.......reception area seems strong, but basically the place where you wait before being taken into the theatre. By this time I had a tag attached, presumably telling them who I was and what I was having done. I didn't look at it. By this time I was shaking in my sock-less trainers as it finally dawned on me I was about to have an operation whilst awake.
Then came the walk into the theatre. It seems an odd name really. Why not garage? Or workshop? Then you realise that there is a lead actor (the surgeon) , a supporting actor (the other surgeon) supporting cast (the nurses and anaesthetist) and then the audience (you, the patient). Of course a lot of the time the audience is asleep which presumably guarantees there'll be no calls of 'Encore!'. It also means there'll be no heckling, which must be a plus point for the 'cast'. Mind you it would be a peculiar audience /patient to shout at the surgeon 'Oi, its rubbish mate' or 'Get another job' wouldn't it.
So I was one of those who would be a proper audience, awake, alert, aware but not actually able to see what was going on. Just as well really, the thought of seeing my stomach opened up holds about as much appeal as seeing Anne Widdecombe in a see through negligee wearing stockings and suspenders.
I apologise now for planting that last image in your minds.
Anyway, as I laid down on the bed, I took the deep breaths I was convinced would help me through something I had now upgraded from a doddle to an ordeal. Dr Evil started the 'act' with some barked orders at the nurses. A greeting for me, in much the same way as the villain in a Bond film greets 007.
"Good Morning Mr Bond, we meet again" .........yep just like "Good Morning Mr Jack...we meet again' . And this villain would have knives and cutters and needles and all sorts of weapons of evil with which to maim and injure me with.
Yes...I know he was a doctor there to help me, but at this point I was starting to reel mentally. Why does the mind do this? Even as I stared up at the smiling nurses the image of Laurence Olivier standing over Dustin Hoffman in the Marathon Man famous chilling scene sprang to the forefront of my thoughts.
At first it seemed chaotic, the team not knowing where anything was, the surgeon barking orders at them. It was like the first 5 minutes of any Chelsea match. Trust me, they appeared like strangers.The needles went into the back of the hand after some 'encouragement' , my torso painted with iodine and then the words "You'll feel the needles entering as I administer the local, sorry but this will hurt."
He was so right. But being the macho, bravado ridden type I decided I'd had worse so this was merely greeted by a nod and some tightening of the knuckles as I gripped the side of the bed even harder. It would pale against what was to come. The next words I remember other than the Colour Sergeant Major barkings of Dr Evil. Then I saw the smoke.
Yep, smoke.
Smoke from me.
From my flesh.
And what did Dr Evil say? Only this ...." I'm cutting in now and using something to stop the bleeding as I do it. You'll see some smoke and steam rising and you might smell something like barbecue pork chop. That's you that is"
And that's where the decline started. After this I could feel the tugging, pulling and the odd minor twinge. Nothing bad, but still the psyche works in funny ways and every horror movie involving the slicing open of the captive victim was now in the mind. Then the first of the pain. Something was snipped or cut and the pain reverberated through every nerve ending in my body. I have never felt anything like this before and I hope I never do again. The reaction from me was a sudden rigidity which must have looked to the 'team' like instantaneous rigor mortis. Dr Evil asked if that hurt and through near tears I muttered a muffled "Yes".
"No points for bravery" he said "You have to tell me if it hurts so we can administer more local"
So in went more. 10 minutes later, the same happened again. Within minutes of that I felt the sweat pour, the breathing labour and the pulse treble in speed. I was going to pass out. Weedily, I managed to speak the words " I think I'm going to pass out" and within seconds a kindly nurse put the oxygen mask on. During all of this Dr Evil barked questions at his team.
"What is a hernia?", "What is the cause", "What is the alternative to surgery?" etc , and each of the team stumbled over an answer. Unsurprising really given the nature of his questioning. It seems he does it to keep everybody on their toes and to concentrate on the operation.
After 55 minutes he closed me up. 55 of the longest minutes of my life. Despite the nice nurses talking to me the sense of relief was massive. The tugging, the pulling, the tension and the flashing blades were all over. They took me down to post op, the nice Nurse chatted away to me, laughing at how Dr Evil made her feel, and that even if he asked the names of her kids she'd freeze up. Little Sis greeted me and after Hello, her first words were "You look like you've had a bit of a shock".
She was so, so very right. Some tea, toast and a visit to the loo confirming bladder function and I was off home. Feeling like I'd had my guts removed and replaced with a medicine ball with spikes on the outside.
2 weeks later and I'm able to walk and nothing else. No driving, no lifting, no cycling and no swimming. Dr Finlay and his Casebook, my GP, checked today and said it was looking good despite the continuing pain. Apparently age slows the recovery down and a 100cm cut is similar to what women get on a Cesarean, and its often 6 weeks for full recovery.
And there was me thinking the op would be 15 minutes, I'd be home in an hour and back at work in 2 days.
That's the art of under-estimation, executed with skill of the highest order.
Later, GJ
*PS - in hindsight Dr Evil was more like Dr Efficient. Maybe Dr Blase. Or Dr Routine. I'm sure that he's done a good job and maybe we should expect these people to be like they are. After all, there's nothing wrong with being arrogant if you're right.
No comments:
Post a Comment