Hi, how are you? Remember me? The 'pleasant' middle-aged lady who had the exploratory laparoscopy? I haven't seen or heard from you for a whole week, so I think you might've forgotten me again. Either way, that's seven whole days for me to build up a whole steam of resentment.
Let's begin with the lead-in time. You guys know I've got cancer - yes? That's why you're going to do this op. So, it's a given that I'm scared and upset and stressed out the wazoo, wherever that may be. That being the case, do you really think it's considerate to tell me not to eat from midnight, not to drink from 8.00 am, call me into hospital for 11.00 am, and then just leave me there for five hours, still on nil by mouth, with not a word to keep me updated? I'm telling you, going under the anaesthetic came as quite the relief. It's my personal opinion that you had forgotten all about me. Any word on that?
Then: claustrophobia. I warned you about that. I told you I couldn't bear any sort of confinement. So what did you do? You stuck oxygen tubes up my nose and put me on a catheter. "Your oxygen levels are low," you said. You know why that was? It was because I was having a screaming panic attack. As soon as I pulled the air lines out and was breathing for myself, my levels went right back to normal.
As for the catheter: there was no reason in the world for that to stay in post-op - I was fully ambulant and capable of getting to the loo by myself. But oh, no, you had to leave it in overnight. Why? Certainly not for my convenience (as it were), so I guess it must have been for yours.
I've got a urinary tract infection now, by the way. Thanks for that.
Then: the stitches. I don't know what you did with these stitches, but they totally perplexed my practice nurse. She managed to get the straightforward one out, with a bit of an effort, but the ones in my tummy button have totally defeated her. When one of them started bleeding - I think your estimate of four-five days for removal might've been a bit optimistic,but then, five minutes before you said that you told me they would self-destruct absorb themselves, which was also patently wrong - the nurse gave up. We're going to try again on Friday. Let's hope for better luck, eh?
While I'm here, you did promise me painkillers to take home with me. That didn't happen. Maybe if it had've done, I wouldn't have been in so much pain following the op. That's logic, as I know and use it.
You tell me I have peritoneal cancer, and that you're going to try chemotherapy. When is that going to happen, exactly? As I said, it's been a week with no word. Has the magic gone out of our special relationship? I fear you don't love me any more.
Actually, I don't know why I'm surprised, since it takes you at least a week to move from one step of the procedure to the next. That's okay. Take your time. I can wait, I have all the time in the world.
Oh, no, wait - actually: no, I don't!
Incidentally, all this nonsense cost my housemate £10 in parking fees. The poor woman had been expecting to drop me off, go to work, then come back and take me home later. Nobody told her she'd be there all day! I am very glad that she stayed, especially until after the op, as she was able to put up the fight that I, by that time, couldn't, but still: it's hardly fair on her, is it? You know she had to take that day as unpaid leave? So it actually cost her a day's salary, as well as the parking fee. Which, for the record, is exorbitant.
PS: I kind of fancy your anaesthetist, btw. Is that weird?
