‘Twas The Night Before Surgery

‘Twas the night before surgery and on the ward, I lay in my bed after a day of being bored.

And no I am not going to turn this blog into one long poem. I have never been good at writing them. So, what can I say. I have been an emotional wreck these last few days. Yesterday was my worst day by far. In between the housework and arranging everything I was a heap of tears and sobs. This morning I was determined to go out for a run, which I did. But it was doing far more mental masturbation than concentrating on enjoying this last course for a good few weeks. So my run had turned into a walk. But I did enjoy that as well.

The first round of nail biting question came about the closer it got to midday: would I or wouldn’t I have a bed to curl into the night before to prevent me sitting in the day room from early o’clock? The answer came in form of the lovely Janet from the admissions team who took it upon herself to phone me specially confirming that I would be able to make myself at home at the hospital a day before the operation. I. Felt. Utter. Relief. (Which was even more present after my detour but more on that later). Normally I would have had to phone the admissions to find out whether I could move into my all inclusive suite. One worry taken away in the forehand.

So I made my way up into the smoke, something I normally very much enjoy. Not so much this time round. Upon getting there I realised (once again) how German I actually am. Being used to hospitals for a good ten years now, coupled with the built in DNA of disciplined organisation and punctuality I was expecting a bed to actually be ready – considering I was phoned to have the bed confirmed. But no. I got to the ward on time, handed over my paper work like the good patient only to be asked with a startled expression why I was here because my bed wasn’t ready. And not only that, the patient occupying it was still in it. Upon enquiring how long I would have to wait all I got in response was a shrug and an ‘I don’t know’.

I was asked to wait in the day room and after giving the charge nurse an evil stare I was actually shown where it was I needed to go. I mean come ON!!! I have never been an inmate in this prison so how the hell should I know where everything is? And quite honestly, isn’t it their job to actually look after patients? I went into this cold, longitudinally designed day room with nothing but a bunch of chairs, a small flat screen TV and the air con on full blast. One would have thought hospital designers would kind of try and make things a tinsy bit more friendly considering that once you are a patient you generally feel crappy. Oh well, I guess that is something that can’t be helped so….. swallow that jagged little pill. Though hence the reason I am very happy not having to be stuck in there for hours on end waiting to be led to my personal specialist guillotine. I would be going kind of mental which is never a good thing to experience where I am concerned.

I seriously had to laugh when I was told – after waiting two hours – I should have been collected ages ago. I was again escorted to my room, well bed, this time without shooting evil looks and just left there with the curtain drawn. By this point I was feeling more like cattle than an anxious patient due to have major surgery done the follwoing day. I grabbed hold of a nurse first chance I got to ask to be shown how to rock this joint. As mentioned I had never been incarcerated in this particular prison. I was told ‘we will be with you in a minute’. An hour later I had had enough and marched to the nurses desk where they were sitting, happily chatting.

I again asked whether I could be shown how things worked. They tried to kindly explain to me that they were busy with doing things and that someone would be with me to take my order for dinner… Now, I know my voice isn’t the best, or loudest but surely I had expressed that I wanted to be shown how things worked, not order food. At least I was granted the request of fluid as I had felt fairly dehydrated after running the gauntlet from station to admissions to ward, dayroom and finally bed. I think my stroppyness helped as from then on I was treated very friendly, and low and behold, someone did come up to me almost in an instant afterwards.

On a very positive plus side, I have a fabulous view from where I was placed. All I need to do is turn my head to the right and I have this amazing view of London’s skyline. And sitting here, seeing the beauties of my beloved city all lit up, knowing damn well I will be clawing at the windows by day three, begging to be granted leave, I am trying to calm my mind. I haven’t been able to sleep properly these last few days and this lack of is very noticable at the moment. I feel so tired but my mind is so awake still.

I have been messaged by friends throughout the day, had a visitor drop by for a few hours, skyped and now I am sitting here, too tired to fall asleep. I guess you could argue ‘well woman, turn the god damn laptop off and go to sleep‘. I am afraid it’s not quite so easy. Because all my thoughts, particularly with this ambient noise of mucous being coughed up and aspirated by my fellow patients, are able to do is cirlce around the fact that this time tomorrow I will be sliced, stented, trached, tubed and sounding exaclty the same

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