Finally, the morning of Monday 7 September arrived. The cab was coming at 6:15am to get me to the hospital for 7am. It said on the paperwork that I was not to take public transport and there was no way Jill would be up at that time of the morning to take me, so cab it was.
I couldn’t eat anything after midnight and I could only drink water between then and 6am and I was to be totally nil by mouth after 6am. I even stopped smoking. I was giving this the best chance possible as far as I was concerned.
I arrived at the designated ward and was told that I was second on the list so would be going down for surgery at about 11am. There was a blood pressure check, more questions to answer and the obligatory blood tests and the cannula made ready. The anaesthetist came in for a chat too, wearing what seemed like full HazMat kit and I was given the never fetching hospital gown and compression socks to get prepared. Then, as is the norm with the NHS, it was a waiting game. I had a doze and then all of a sudden, it was my time. I went down to theatre and saw the anaesthetist again. I got myself comfortable on the bed and was holding the oxygen mask over my face. That was the last thing I remember until I was woken up in Recovery.
For the first time ever after a general anaesthetic when I was woken up, I didn’t throw up!! I had warned the staff and the anaesthetist that this was normal procedure for me, so to not be sick was a great start. It still took me about 30 minutes before I started to feel even remotely normal and that was when they hit me with the news that there had been “complications”. Oh Lord. What happened? What’s the result? Did you get the gallbladder out? What time is it? What day is it?
The surgery was successful and my gallbladder is no more. However, it was very inflamed so it took more effort to get it out. The plan was that the operation would take an hour but it turned out I was down for three hours. They had to pump more air into my stomach to make room to really get in there and chip away at the gallbladder to get it out. Lovely. Not entirely sure I wanted a full description of the surgery to be honest. And it was already 3.30pm. Somebody then said something about an injection of something and something about 4 hours before going home. I didn’t register any of that because I was dozing back off again and my brain felt super fuzzy. I dozed for a bit longer and then I had a cup of tea and some toast. I was actually quite hungry. It was then that I asked again about the injection and the four hours because the paperwork had said about going home 1-2 hours after the surgery, not four, so I was confused. Because the surgery had taken longer than planned, I had to have an additional injection to help prevent the formation of blood clots and that had to be the four hours.
Very quickly, I passed all the other pre-requisites for discharge in that I’d had something to eat, something to drink and I’d been to the toilet. I was already dressed back into my own clothes, I’d text Mum and Jill and told Jill what time I’d be allowed out. I had packed my little overnight bag back together, I’d put some cash in the side of my phone case for Jill and Jack for petrol and to get themselves a take away because the delay had properly cocked up their evening and I had my house keys at the ready. Yet again, it was a waiting game until 7pm and I wasn’t patient at all. I just wanted to get home. I was up and walking around – basically pacing the ward.
At pretty much 7pm on the dot, I had my anti-blood clot injection. I had my discharge paperwork, my spare dressings and it was now time for me to make my break for freedom! I was escorted off the premises by the ward sister who had just finished her shift and Jill and Jack were waiting for me outside. It was so good to see them. Although I had spoken to Jill during my pre-op isolation, it just felt so good to see her (and Jack to be fair), to see them in the flesh. It felt “normal” again even though I had just had a fairly serious operation!
We got back to my house and they came in for a cuppa just to make sure that I was okay. I had been texting Mum regularly throughout the day (when I was conscious) so she knew I was alive and well and I phoned her after they left. She was relieved that I was home and safe but had been worried throughout the day. Mum couldn’t come down to stay though. We’d had a very in-depth discussion about it and we decided that because of the amount of time I had spent in hospitals over the past month, we couldn’t run the risk of me inadvertently picking something up and passing it to Mum who could then pass it to Dad. I wouldn’t know if my C-19 swab was clear or not until the day of surgery so we decided that it was best not to take the chance with Mum and Dad’s health. Now, don’t tell my Mum this but after Jill and Jack had gone home and I’d finished speaking with Mum on the phone, I took myself off to bed and really just wanted a hug from my Mum!
But, the worst was over. The op was done and now it was time to rest and recover. Yeah, I wasn’t ready for that either!
Living The BPD Life 