THIS WAS WRITTEN IN OCTOBER, 2007, AS A SAGA ZONE BLOG ENTRY.
Everything's packed, including pyjamas - there's no way I'm getting caught like that again !
A quick Zone visit to get Gill up to speed, then we're off to see the Wizard . . .
We're met on the ward by Gary, who shows me my bedspace and commiserates with the 'nil by mouth' situation, as he sets off to provide everyone else with breakfast.
The anaesthetist stops by and explains a few things to me, then he, too, is gone - presumably in search of some breakfast.
Next up is the consultant who's carrying out the procedure - the Wizard !
After quite a comprehensive briefing' which seemed to dwell unwholesomely on pain management, use of patient-controlled morphine pumps, etc, he asks if I have any questions. There were so many I wanted to ask, but I decided to confine myself to matters surgical, and his speciality subject - pain.
"If childbirth rates a ten, what am I looking at? 8? 9? 10+?"
With a look of bemused incredulity - perhaps he thought he'd uncovered the 8th Wonder, a man with experience of labour pains [Lancet would lionise him for weeks] - he asked "and what would you know of labour pain?"
"I've witnessed 3 of my children being born. From their mothers' faces, I reckon I know as much as any man in that position can know about the associated pain"
"OK" he replied, momentarily occupied with the plural of 'mother', "You'd be looking at 4, maybe 5"
"In that case you can dispense with the morphine" I said, looking at Gill [a mother of 4] "I could never look a mother in the eye again" I explained. . .
We had Gill's sister Tina with us, they were both getting hungry by this stage, so off we all went in search of breakfast. I never really appreciated the nutritious benefits of aromatherapy until Tina ordered bacon and eggs . . .
25/10/07. 14:30. Post-Op.
Surreal. Looking back, I should have cherished those few hours, enjoying the manifestations of the residual anaesthetic, the absence of any kind of pain. Life can be so perverse!
It was so good to see Gill again, too.
26/10/07. Op Tonsil +1. The Escape committee tell me I'm top of the list !
The night passed fairly uneventfully and I was gradually becoming acclimatised to my new diet - Paracetamol, Brufen, toast and water - mmm, my favourites . . .
Swallowing had become a bit of a mission.
[If you're squeemish, look away now]
They had removed quite a bit of tissue from the left half of my soft palate; shortening the path between the mouth and the nasal passages. Too much fluid resulted in my doing an impression of the Trevi Fountain, with water gushing out through my nose ! It could be some time before I take the Memsahib out for a celebratory meal . . .
The solution, arrived at with a bit of experimentation, involves small quantities being thrown to the back of the throat and hastily swallowed before the head returned to the upright position. "Wouldn't pay to get too thirsty" I mused, "I could end up with whiplash"
OK, you can look back now.
26/10/07.14:30-ish. Back home !
Feeling pretty chipper - no, really !
I was probably registering 1 or 2 on the pain-ometer [mild discomfort] and the recuperative effects of walking through your own front door could not be overstated !
The rest of the day was pretty low-key.
We fielded a few phone calls and Gill sorted out my flowers from the people at work (I was in two minds whether to mention them; I trust you).
27/10/07. 06:30. Op Tonsil +2.
I really thought I'd be first on the 'Good morning Saturday' thread . . .
Having had the privilege of rude health for most of my Life, this was something of a novelty to me. Imagine, if you will, the Mother of all hang-overs; like someone had smashed every pane of glass in your head - well it was nothing like that !
It would probably come a close second, though.
"Ha ha ha, we laugh in the face of pain"
To his credit, the consultant had predicted, with uncanny accuracy, that this would happen. Nostradamus incarnate.
Apparently, days 4 & 5 are the ones to look forward to; presaged by 4 'jockeys', or somesuch . . .
Gill kindly offered to go into town and collect my new toy - an Apple Mac-mini, which makes Windoze Vista look clumsy - leaving me to make a few calls and explore the outer reaches of my new diet . . .
Aren't teenage children a tonic !
I have a 16 year old son, Ben, who gives credence to the belief that there is a DNA-like association with the 'laid back' condition. Nothing seems to faze him, and this was no exception. His response to my update ?
"Hey Dad, that's pretty cool"
We love each other to bits but seem to run the risk of some things getting 'lost in translation', occasionally. Overall, I reckon my future is safe in his genes . . .
I have re-discovered the value of bananas, missing from my diet since childhood.
By the evening I was running into a bit of emotional turbulence. Brought on, no doubt, by lack of real sleep, a frustration over eating and drinking problems and a dawning realisation that the worst was lurking just around the corner . . .
"You're far more used to this than I am" I heard myself saying to Gill [she has a 35 year history of recurring infections, ending up with 3 lots of surgery in the last 9 months], "How do you do it?"
"What's the option?" she replied, with the wisdom of Job and the compassion of Mother Theresa; and she's right, of course.
28/10/07. 04:30. Op Tonsil +3 "Come in, I've been expecting you".
"So, you're Mr Pain ! What kept you?"
"Famine, War and Pestilence send their regards. My uncle is busy elsewhere, but he's a patient kind of guy".
I had to ask - "Is your surname Cowell?"
This will be a good day to look back on !
Time to put the kettle on, sort out my 'breakfast' and take Gill her morning coffee . . .
