So, as long as the surgeon and anaesthetist know what they’re
doing, and as long as nobody knocks anybody’s arm at an inopportune moment, and
as long as Hippo - the aptly named theatre cat - doesn’t go to sleep on one of
the flexible pipes supplying me with something essential, there’s a good chance
that the road beyond the curtain will head off in a reasonably substantial
direction after all.
There are, however, a couple of issues causing me some
disquiet. For a start, they want me to book in at 7am. 7am is, to me, a
hideously ungodly time even to be getting out of bed, let alone reporting to a
hospital twenty miles away. I’ve tried telling myself to imagine that I’m going
on holiday and have to catch an early flight. It isn’t working very well.
And then there’s the prospect of lying in a strange bed in a
strange building surrounded by strangers for between two and seven days, acting
entirely on the direction of authority figures who aren’t even a bit ill, and
being unable to have a cigarette and a few scotches, watch YouTube videos, or write blog posts. I’ve
tried telling myself to imagine that I’m lost in the Amazonian jungle and it’s really exciting, but that isn’t working
very well either. The only two prospects showing any promise at all are:
1. That I might get some decent blogging material out of it,
which I suppose would make the whole thing seem worthwhile in retrospect.
2. That I might get to enjoy the ministrations of a whole
regiment of attractive young female nurses called Abigail. One or more of them
might even be Chinese and called something a bit more exotic like Tang Su-Min - which would be pretty damn splendid - and I might finally get
to learn how 'guzheng' and 'ruan' are pronounced.
But then there’s the question of visitors. Will I get any?
Why would I?
8 comments:
The sense of relief this gave me was physical. I'm so so so very glad to hear it!
Thanks for the kind words, Kaetlyn. I, too, was a little relieved. Now all I have to do is get through the extensive (apparently) pre-op assessment which is scheduled for Wednesday, and then I should be in to have the kidney removed in a couple of weeks time.
Sorry I haven't been in touch, by the way. I've been laid low these past few days by the chest infection, heavy cold symptoms, flu-like symptoms, and a return of my old friend the UTI - been out on flooded roads today to get more antibiotics. I wonder whether it's unreasonably optimistic to hope that one day I'll feel normal again.
Glad to hear the good news! Is it common for such a long time to pass before getting the results of a CT scan? Mine was read within an hour or so. Maybe that's the price you pay for the silly English commitment to keep the lot of you alive and healthy for as long as possible. We in the US have fought long and hard against the tyranny of basic life-sustaining services.
Do English hospitals have televisions, or is that money earmarked for your ridiculously inexpensive pharmaceuticals?
Sorry for all the snarkiness, but I just received a $500 bill for a 5-minute exam to confirm that there was nothing in my ear. Imagine how much it would cost if they had actually found something.
Funny, I didn't see your response to the comment until yesterday and I was getting quite worried! Sorry it's dragging on for you there - I'm beginning wonder if there's some tie to our seemingly endless winter here and your seemingly endless crappy ails these days. I hope it lets up soon a chara.
Can you somehow rent or borrow a laptop to bring to the hospital? And I have experienced the hospital from both sides, as a nurse and as a patient. I'm such a 'bad' patient they always want to discharge me asap. But having also taken care of surgical patients can I 'put my oar in'? If your body is dependent on alcohol at all you will go into withdrawal, probably right after surgery, and if you're delirious they won't know what's wrong. Tell them beforehand. Hope I didn't offend.
Madeline doesn't realize that most people don't get their CT results right away in the US. The area we live in is 'entitled'.
We would definitely visit you if we were closer!
Nancy
First of all, sorry for the fact that some of the comments have gone unanswered and I've been off the blog completely. When I got the letter calling me for a pre-op assessment last Saturday, the operation suddenly loomed like an approaching iceberg that I can't avoid and I went into seriously scared and depressed mode. Consequently, I just haven't been here for the past eight days and probably won't be until I know whether I've sunk or survived. (I have to stop myself reading about the Titanic which I keep feeling oddly compelled to do.)
So, Nancy, not offended at all. Thanks for your concern. I have no idea to what extent my body is dependent on alcohol, if at all. My consumption is at the top end of the prescribed 'safe' limit and I drink regularly, never in excess. I never crave alcohol. My drinking habits were included in the pre-op questionnaire and no concern was expressed, only the instruction to desist for 24 hours before admission which I will obviously do. Now you mention it, however, I wonder whether I would find being delirious an interesting experience. It's one I've missed so far.
Meanwhile, in the absence of the opportunity to visit (which I would have greatly appreciated), maybe you might consider singing a verse or two of 'For Those in Peril on the Sea' over breakfast (NY time) next Monday.
Dearheart, if I could, I'd of course visit you ... and bring you a healing talisman ~ a silk-tasseled corn cob.❤ Sending Love ❤
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrtZTkv3nm8
How nice to see you here, Shay, and how gratifying that you still keep that keen Sicilian eye on this little corner of England. Your presence at the site of my incarceration would also be appreciated, although how the NHS would cope with a ward full of American women begs some speculation.
The original Minnesota corn cob (or whichever side of Old Man River it came from; I can never remember) still has a place of some prominence in my living room. If it weren't so dry I would take it with me.
Many thanks for your kind wishes. Do continue to throw the odd friendly spell this way. I sometimes suspect that somebody with less convivial intent is sticking pins in a wax effigy of me.
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