Friday was outpatient surgery, at WDH, a new hospital that I’d not encountered before, but that I’d heard absolute horror stories about from other people – That it was filthy, that it was inaccessible, that it was basically a nightmare, so I wasn’t looking forward to it.
After a lovely drive (Sunshine, spring flowers, lambs, VOTE LABOUR signs everywhere) me and Dearest arrived at WDH to find that, other than being a bit of a maze, it was really rather lovely.
Moved into a small ward, and was the only person given a bed rather than a chair (They had documentation in advance saying that I had prior health conditions). I was assigned a nurse, who did all of my paperwork for me, and I was bumped forwards in the rotation to get me home as quickly as possible, since I was in obvious pain already (Having not taken my morphine in the morning, due to forgetting it at 7am with my cocoa, then not being able to have anything to wash it down with later, and not being sure if I could take it anyway).
We arrived at 12.00, and by 12.30 the registrar had been around to get me to sign a consent form, by 13.00 I had spoken to the anaesthetist, who had told me to take my morphine, and had reassured me that she’d put some more in my general anaesthetic to make sure that I was still comfortable when I came around, and then it was only a short wait, until 13.45, before I was asked by a second nurse to go down to the theatre. This was the only problem;
“How far is it?”
The nurse thought she was being helpful “Oh, not far, just down the corridor”
“Yes, but how lng is the corridor?”
“Not long, just around the corner.”
I started walking, and she told Dearest to go and wait in the waiting room. I insisted that he should go with me, in case I fell flat on my face. She, grudgingly, assented. It turned out to be a lot further than she’d insinuated (I had to drop to a squat three times) and every time I sat to wait, she said “Shall I get you a wheelchair?” and I asked “How far is it? Because maybe” and she said “Not far!”, and every time I believed her.
Eventually, she said “Oh, it’s just through these double doors, so (Dearest) can go back now!” and indicated a pair of doors very close by. Dearest, of course, said his goodbyes and started to walk back. it turned out that she meant another set of doors, another fifty yards away. So he had to come back, and help me through them.
Do not be evasive when talking about distances, really.
Anyway, I got onto the stretcher, was introduced to everyone (Nurse, other registrar, anaesthetist again) and was cannulated in one swoop – Straight to the back of the right hand, using a paediatric needle, like I’d mentioned in the ward. She was surprised that I didn’t mind watching it be done, but was fine with it. The registrar remarked that there was a lt of money in my tattooes, and I couldn’t help but grin. Then on went the oxygen mask, and in went the fentanyl, and after what felt like an eternity of lying still and blinking, I was under.
When I came around, the nurse was talking about UKIP (Broadly in favour) and her son thinking of travelling to Japan. I recommended a working holiday visa, did my best “Farage is an outright liar, don’t trust him as far as you can fling him” and then was wheeled back to the ward.
Time passed. I got toast with two types of jam, and wanted to go home. I stood up, and the blood ran down my leg like a tap. I lay back down, and complained. The nurse, without asking, flipped up my gown in front of the whole room and assessed it as “A normal amount of blood”. Slightly horrified at having my genitalia casually exposed to the entire room without even being asked if this was all right, I went to the toilet to clean up. The nurse hammered on the door, and insisted to see me. And just reconfirmed that it was a normal amount of blood.
Now, forgive me if I’m wrong, but the Mirena insertion procedure doesn’t actually involve any cutting – The coil goes in through the existing aperture of the cervix, and sits in the existing space in the womb. I have no idea why, two days later, I’m still bleeding.
Anyway, at his point the nurse got really huffy that I wanted to go home immediately, and tod me to stay for “Another few hours”. Then apparently realised that she couldn’t have it both ways (I couldn’t be both “fine” but also “needed to stay longer”) and finally let me go.
We were back home by about four.
Tomorrow, at 14.30, I have to argue to keep my medication. Wish me luck.