Ahh this hospital thing is a doddle! I'm obviously one of those high pain threshold, quick healing types. Yep, had major surgery at 11:00am on Thursday 29th and was let out of jail this morning, just 3 days into what should be a six day stay. Ahh . . . I can breathe fresh air, sit in the sunshine, eat fresh fruit and veg instead of reheated slop, pat my dog and order my children about.
Despite my reservations, everything went according to plan. Booked into the Hills Private at 6.00am on Thursday morning to find that the gyny wards are full so I've been given a private room in the chidren's ward. Now this my friends, is pain worse than death, crying, sick toddlers, whining and screaming. So I've worked myself into a blood pressure heightened frenzy upon admittance into my very cheery orange walled room with pretty blue curtains with red Volkswagens posted on them. "Do you usually suffer from high blood pressure" asks the affable Leslie. No I don't, it's the thought of being woken every four hours by crying small creatures that's winding me into a lather. Fortunately, there was only one little girl in children's ward and she was no bother except when they stuck things into her about four times a day poor little mite. Reminded me of Clare at that age, she was in for intensive asthma treatment and rehydration but very good as littlies go. Yeay, kids ward with no kids - a coup!
Anaesthetist pops in, asks all the usual questions and kudos to this man. Never met him in my life but have emerged pain free and alive so gold stars all round and I can't even remember his name.
11 ish, delightful little fresh faced porter called Mitchell wheels me into the bowels of the hospital, without exposing my naked posteria in a very stylish gown. We chatter down to where the operating theatres dwell. All hidden in the basement, windowless and sterile. He's just finished his HSC and thinking about what to do with his future. Sweet little boy with a good sense of humour so we joke about the lovely paper hat's we're wearing and he wishes me luck as I'm pushed along the traffic jam of surgery victims for that morning and parked promptly in a 'waiting bay' outside Operating Theatre 2.
There's a bit of lying around in the ass exposing gown with my silly paper hat on and special anti DVT leg warmers, just outside the operating theatre. It's similar to queuing at the movies waiting for the first session cleanup before you're allowed in. The anaesthetist, pops a pain free canular in my arm in preparation for the operational dose and I'm asked a million times by a swag of different theatre staff:
Them: "You're here for a hysterectomy?"
Them: "You're having your tubes and ovaries removed"
Me "Yep, the lot"
Them: "You're name is Helen Bainbridge?"
Finally, transferred onto the operating table, a quick chat with the surgeon about Put and Call Options and the fact that you can now have installment warrants in your self managed super fund and it's lights out.
What seems the proverbial 3 seconds later and I'm in recovery. (Actually about an hour and a half later). Feeling good thanks to copious amounts of morphine and a nice wash. Handsome doctor tells me it was a difficult surgery thanks to severe endometriosis which didn't show up on the scans, a baseball sized tumour on one ovary and a bunch of fibroids that were causing all the bleeding troubles in the first place. However, all went well and he'll pop in and see me later.
So apart from being very sore on the actual wound sight and a rather tight feeling across my abdomen, I have a smile on m dial thanks to self-administered morphine, a catheter, three lines administering saline, antibiotics and pain killers and am warm and comfy in my little orange room. It really wasn't that painful so I stopped the morphine at about 2.00pm, just an hour after coming out of recovery. It was making me incoherent and not really doing much for me. Thommo came for a visit and was surprised how 'perky' I was. Clare came later and we chatted about what had to be done before I came home. Handsome Doctor came in and said he was going to see Elton John in the Hunter Valley over the weekend and would pop in on Monday to assess the damage but all was good from his end of the knife.
Friday, tubes are out, painkillers disconnected and I had a shower, fortunately without the assistance of either Leslie or Sylvia . . . neither of whom I fancied seeing my nudity despite the fact that they had both blessed me with an anti-inflammatory suppository in the dead of night. Crept up behind me so to speak! They said they can give them to kids without them even waking up . . woke me up with a start I don't mind telling you! Never had one in my life!
Then launched into the first three series of Six Feet Under on a borrowed laptop. No internet unfortunately so , DVD's only. I was well stocked and setup for the entire weekend.
It seems that the BIG deal with this operation is one's ability to pass wind. In fact multiple and frequent farting is encouraged and rated on a scale of 1-10. A little pfft or polite fluff, is not considered enough for you to move onto anything other than a liquid diet - a full blown flatulent fart, will see you given a solid three course meal. Credit to my surgeon, all the potentially leaky bits didn't, and I qualified for a steak by Saturday lunchtime. It was so awful that it also qualified me for the next criteria before leaving, the passing of a poo . . .damn thing gave me the squits!
The nursing staff were great, the food was absolute bollocks and by this morning (Sunday) I'm feeling a million dollars and walking laps around the car park whilst two women who had the same procedure at the same time are still hobbling around and clinging to the corridor walls! So, when Handsome Doctor phoned in to check on his patients, duty nurse Cheryl advised that Mrs Bainbridge is doing so well she's got itchy feet and wants to go home. Yeay . . . he cleared me for six weeks of further convalescence and much to ClareBear's chagrin, she was woken from a fitful slumber to pick me up at 10:00 am. The house is a mess (there was a BIG party here yesterday for her birthday) but I don't care. I'm out of that institution, I feel fine, I don't need any pain killers, just have to make an appointment on Wednesday to have the stitches removed and it's all over! Only humility prevents me from declaring myself a legend in my own lunchtime! Forgive the bragging, I'm normally the humble type . . . just glad to be home. Thanks everyone for your kind wishes, lovely flowers and hamper. I'm afraid DrummerBoy and Kahler, I couldn't convince them to put my innards in a jar for your respective analysis and shelf ornamentation. And DrummerBoy . . . no, there were no 'teeth' in the ovarian cyst. (now you can all go eeeeuuuuuuwwwww!)