Friday night (early Saturday morning) excruciating agony kicks in. The same thing happened five days before, and six months before that, but nowhere near as bad. It was time to take it seriously, and based on the genetic history of my family, stones were a likely candidate. I was right, it was stones. Shit that stuff hurts!!
Unlike the last incidents (when I decided to get through the pain, because sometimes that’s less scary than facing hospital) I knew I had to act, so I asked Steve to take me to the hospital at 2am. Sorry love. But he knew it as well – no more messing around. He felt like I was a ticking time bomb now.
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| My mini loves were anxious for their mumma. I was just happy when they let me wash my hair! |
Four days later and I finally get out of the hospital. There was talk of me staying in another night, even though the surgeon said I could go home, but the specialist had “concerns.” There was a risk something else could happen – a stone travelling into my liver, which wouldn’t be a good thing. She let me go in the end. You never want to stay in hospital a minute longer than you have to right? Besides, of course nothingelse would happen. I’m lucky. Fingers crossed it won’t.
But during this little soiree, two extremely weird things happened. The first when Steve was saying goodbye as I was being rolled off to surgery. I knew he wouldn’t be there when I got out, because I insisted he went home to be there for the boys when they woke up. I didn’t want them spun out hearing their mum was in hospital. Thankfully he listened. But it got me all emotional.
He bid me adieu through his own tears, but I couldn’t stop crying. I’m on the chopping block and they’re trying to calm me down – I’m trying to calm me down – but I just kept getting more and more hysterical… Let’s just say I’m not a fan of crying in front of strangers – definitely not my thing. Thankfully the drugs kicked in and I was gone.
Next thing I was viciously woken up and took two gulping breaths with no air coming in. Not being able to breath certainly wakes you up quickly right! But then I was hit by a wall of pain. Excruciating. I had people all around me, but all with their backs to me, and they were ignoring me. I was moaning, crying out in pain, pleading “please can you help me?” Occasionally a voice would come close to my ear, just a minute, we’ll give you more pain medicine when we get you back to your room.
But I don’t want it when I get back to my room. I want it now. It hurts so much. Help. Help. Please can someone help me. No one helped. At least I don’t think they did. It was awful. Back in my room, the pain continued. The pain started at 12am and finished at 1.30am. I knew the time better than anything else in that moment, because hospitals have clocks everywhere. I was in the usual befuddled state one gets into when coming out of anesthetics, but I knew the bloody time.
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| My view for four days |
I also knew something wasn’t right. I’ve woken up from operations before and pain is the last thing you feel. Did someone miss something? Why am I hurting? Help. Please help. I’m in my room, people were there sometimes. Mostly I was alone. I got an injection in the arm. An hour and a half later it stopped hurting, the room was empty. They left the lights on. The nurse call button wasn’t anywhere I could reach. I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. The light was hurting my eyes.
I was befuddled, confused, and eventually, not in pain, but shit, what was that all about? I kept asking the doctors and nurses the next day, but no one wanted to talk about it. I get that, but I wish someone said there was a mistake, or you didn’t take to the pain killer we gave you, or, or, or, but of course, that would never happen would it? I might sue the fucking hospital.
I’ve never sued anyone in my life and I’m not about to start now. An explanation would have been nice though.
It’s done now, but Steve and I have certainly agreed that if there are future operations, the other will be there afterwards. It was definitely nice when Steve was in the hospital making things happen for me. Although I have to say, I’m glad he didn’t see me going through that. It would’ve been awful for him to watch!
I survived, one less organ in my body which I’m bummed about, but I’m doing a whole lot better than most people in this life. I’m just happy to be home – tender, tired and with a bloody HEADACHE (coffee withdrawal? Too many drugs whirling through my system?) – but home with my loves. The only thing that matters.
Anyone else wake up from an operation in agony?
Yours, without the bollocks
Andrea
